Page 49 of Maximum Bet

Violet laughs. “Nora, meet Dominic Tariello, the owner of Pharaoh’s Temple.”

Nora’s mouth drops open as she turns toward Dominic, her eyes scanning his body.

“You should probably leave,” he says, his tone hardening, allowing no room for argument.

Nora collects her things, a sour expression written on her face. Before she heads toward the exit, she gives one last quip. “It’s your loss, Violet. Just wait until your show opens with critics bashing it.”

Unperturbed, Violet gives a sarcastic wave, and we watch as Nora makes a dramatic exit up the aisle, slamming the door behind her.

“I like what you did,” Violet says, attention shifting to me. “But do you think you can fix the choreography for the entire show?”

I look at the dancers who have collected in a group behind us. “If you guys are willing to work with me, I don’t see why not.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” the guy with a ponytail says. “Just those few counts are the best choreography I’ve seen in the past month.”

Dominic appears at the edge of the stage. “Cassandra, how long do you think it will take you to choreograph the entire show?”

I turn to the dancers. “I would need someone to fill in for me in the show at Il Palazzo,” I say. “But if we bust our asses, all-day rehearsalseveryday, I can probably finish in a week.”

The dancers murmur in agreement.

“I can be ready to perform by then,” Violet says.

“Can I schedule the opening for the weekend after next?” Dominic asks.

I look at Violet; she raises her brows at me, then turns to Dominic and says, “Let’s do it.”

Chapter 18

Dominic

Iscour the spreadsheets laid across my desk. List after list, linking shell companies with names like Maksim and Ilia Petrov, cousins of Anatoliy Kozlova. Due to the family tree Lucas found online, our list of known Kozlova associates has doubled. In our research, we’ve found that the younger members have a connection to Jesus Perez, a twenty-year-old we recently discovered to be the the bastard son of one Esteban Perez.

“Rostov Trading transferred one and a half million rubles into a Bahamian bank account yesterday. That’s about twenty grand US.” Leo loosens his tie while he studies the account reports on his computer.

Lucas leans from his chair to peer over Leo’s shoulder. “That’s the third week in a row.”

“A kickback?” I ask.

“Probably.” Leo’s fingers dance over his keyboard as he continues his search. “But from what?”

“Drugs?” Marco snorts, lounging on the couch on the side of the room.

“Or something more sinister.” Leo grimaces.

I rock back in my chair, resting my elbows on the arms and steepling my fingers. “Have we caught any movement from the Kozlovas or Medina members recently?”

“As in, is anyone else headed to Vegas for another attack?” Leo asks.

I tilt my head side to side. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

He sighs and clicks his mouse a few times. “So far, I don’t see anything. The men who showed up the night of the gala flew into Reno and drove down. Lucas and I are keeping track of all flight logs in the Southwest. Nico’s team is helping watch for anyone coming in from South America and Mexico, and I have a couple more associates watching Russia. There’s still a lot of movement to and from Puerto Rico, but nothing to the States in the last couple of weeks.”

“I’m starting to feel like a sitting duck,” Lucas mutters, then looks around wide-eyed. “Not that we aren’t doing everything we can.”

I drop my hands to my lap. “No, I get it. There are too many angles where they can come at us. I have a contact watching the southern border, but he says it’s pretty locked down at the moment.” I pause, my lips twisting. “Although I’m sure Esteban Perez knows how to get through a checkpoint without getting flagged.”

“A contact?” Leo peers at me over the rim of his glasses. “Any chance I might be able to have access to this contact?”