Page 31 of Maximum Bet

The lights dim, and the band plays the instrumental prelude to Frank Sinatra’s “Luck Be a Lady.”

I cross my fingers and pray for luck. Even if I want to believe we don’t need it.

Chapter 13

Dominic

Hidden behind the glamorous walls of Pharaoh’s Temple are stark hallways with linoleum flooring and white walls. A maze meant for employees to travel the building discreetly. Tonight, only a few scurry through as we operate with a small percentage of the normal staff.

Marco already has a hand in his jacket, poised to pull his gun from its holster at a moment’s notice.

“We spotted them entering through the kitchen,” Lucas explains. “I think the catering staff assumed they were members of our security team because they barely gave them a second glance.”

“Any idea what organization they’re with?” I ask as we venture farther into the depths behind the casino.

“Maybe,” Lucas says. “I think you’ll know more than I do when you see the video.”

We arrive at a set of nondescript double doors. Lucas scans his security badge on a console next to them, and the lock clicks open, leading us to an elevator bank.

When we step inside the lift, Lucas presses his finger to his earpiece. “Leo is already upstairs.”

We arrive at the third floor and enter a hall that mirrors that of Il Palazzo. Offices line either side, meant for the higher-ups on the security team, most of whom double as Romano-Tariello associates. Turning a corner, we arrive at the hub of operation.

With another scan of a badge, the door opens, and a hum of activity greets us.

In the corner, Leo inches closer to a monitor, pointing and directing the associate in charge of it to rewind a few seconds. I’m by his side in an instant, watching the screen.

“I’m working on getting good stills to run facial recognition,” he says.

“Any clue who they’re with?”

The associate running the monitor crops a zoomed-in screenshot of a trespasser’s face.

Leo glances in my direction, expression grim. “Looks like a combination of Russians and cartel goons. Here, watch their entrance.”

He instructs our associate to rewind. I move in close and focus on the screen. The hair on the back of my neck rises as I watch the group of four men walk right into my hotel and through a bustling kitchen.

“How the fuck did this happen?”

I spin to face Lucas and find him with a clenched jaw and fingers twitching at his sides. “They had counterfeit security badges. The idiots I stationed out back thought they were with us.” His shoulders fall. “I take full responsibility. I should have done a better job preparing my men.”

“We’ll discuss that later,” I snap. “Right now, we need to find these fuckers and get them out of here.”

“I’ve been following them, Mr. Tariello,” an associate to our left says. “They’ve split up around the casino. They seem to be on high alert. Each one is looking up from their game every minute or so to scan the room. One of the men has been walking the perimeter of the ballroom for a few minutes. I think they’re looking for something.”

“Yeah.” Marco snorts. “Us.”

I return to the monitor and follow a burly Russian man as he passes by the dance floor in front of the stage. He stops to watch the dancers for a few seconds before continuing, facing the wall as he discreetly lifts his arm to speak into his watch.

“That’s how they’re communicating.” The associate points to another screen showing a Hispanic man at a poker table. The man checks his wrist, taps his watch, and obviously reads a message.

“Lucas, get men on each one of them. Tell them to follow but not approach.” I cut my eyes to my security lead as he nods eagerly. “Use our plain clothes guys. I don’t want these assholes to know we’re onto them.”

“Um, Mr. Tariello.” My associate taps the screen showing the ballroom. “We might have an issue.”

My heart comes to a standstill as blood boils in my veins. Near a lighting feature, my fiancée and her best friend are deep in conversation, neither paying any attention to their surroundings. Especially not to the Russian man lingering a few yards away, sending another message to his cohorts.

“Fuck!”