by Ford, Brenda
“Just getting too used to these lie-ins.”
“Pfft. Wouldn’t get away with it in my job.”
Although we had never served together, Jake had been a marine around the same time I’d been a SEAL. We’d been friends since long before either of us ever joined the service and in recent years we’d reconnected. It was good to have a buddy to share battle stories with; the experiences normal folk just couldn’t understand.
“Construction’s not that bad.”
“Getting up at the crack of dawn to tear up foundations? Using your brawn to haul debris?” He flexed his bicep. “It takes more than standing around the fruit machines.”
“Until some guy blows ten grand he doesn’t have. Then you know about it.”
“Is that why you keep coming to the gym? So you can man-handle those gamblers?”
“You here so you’ve got the wrist strength to drive a forklift?”
We catch each other’s eye and laugh. We’ve been ribbing each other since we were kids. We share a friendly rivalry where we always make fun of each other. He’s my best friend.
“Come on.” I jerk my head towards the weights bench. “Spot me.”
I lie on my back on the bench and Jake prepares the 360lb barbell. When it’s above me, I curl my fingers around the iron and slowly lower it down then back up again while Jake prepares to share some of the weight if I lose focus or grip.
“I don’t know when you get this hench, man. I remember when you were a pale skinny-ass seventeen-year-old who could hardly lift a book.”
“And I remember when you used to dream of becoming a Nevada cowboy.”
“Yeah, yeah…I remember, too.”
I do six reps and put the barbell back in place. I’m about maxed out at 360lbs; I’ve broken a sweat and my muscles are burning in my arms and shoulders.
“You’re still looking ripped.” Jack nods in approval. “Any of this effort going towards bagging that waitress you’re always harping on about?”
“Rose?”
“As if I could forget her name. She’s about all you talk about these days.”
I chuckle. “It doesn’t hurt to stay in shape.”
“Jesus, Darren. You’re a grown man. Why don’t you just ask her out?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Her father is very protective of her, and she respects him too much to go against his wishes.”
“Her father?” Jake groaned audibly and sat beside me on the workbench, passing me a towel to wipe the sweat from my face. “I’m sorry. I thought this was the twenty-first century.”
“They’re old-school. Italian, very traditional.”
“Are you sure you want a girl like that? Do you want to date a woman whose Daddy is always looking over her shoulder?”
“It’s not like that. She’s not steamrolled, she’s just…respectful. It’s refreshing, actually. Men throw themselves all over her and she turns them down with grace.”
He rolled his eyes. “So you want her because she’s the girl you can’t have.”
“No. I want her because she’s funny and smart. She’s devoted, hard-working, mature. You’ve dated those girls that dream of being an army wife and that’s all they care about; I know you have. Rose isn’t like that. She’s got substance.”
“The waitress has substance.” He sighed. “The heart wants what it loves, I guess.”
* * *
Rose is sexy in a way a man like me can’t find the words to describe. I can’t tell if it’s that sparkle in her eye or the way she flips back her long, black hair that drives me wild—or maybe it’s because I’m a sucker for girls with tan skin and legs as long as hers.
All the servers in the casino wear the same skimpy little outfit—a tiny black skin-tight miniskirt and crimson corset-style top with a little black bowtie at their necks—but none wears it better than Rose. She’s a playboy bunny and Audrey Hepburn all rolled into one, not losing any of her natural elegance by showing off her slender figure in that tiny outfit.
I stare at her from across the floor. She flashes her smile at a regular as she hands him his usual Long Island and throws back her head as she laughs at something he’s said, playfully pushing his shoulder at whatever naughty comment he’s made.
I know every man who walks in here tries his luck with her—young and old, single and married, not two dimes to rub together and the millionaires that throw down thousands on a single roll of the dice. She could have her pick.
Still, whenever our eyes meet in this place, I sense that she doesn’t want any of them. The way she bites down on her lip and whispers to Natalie as she stares at me from under those long, dark lashes tells me she feels the same spark as I do.
I take the opportunity to patrol the floor just so I can have a reason to pass her.
I stand a step behind her and take her by surprise by speaking into her ear. “How’s your night going?”
She gasps, turns around, then smiles. “Hello, you. I was wondering when you’d come and say hi.”
“I’ve been keeping my eye on the tellers. One of them was getting an earful from a patron earlier; he started pounding on the glass. Really shook her up.”
“Mollie?”
“Yes.”
“Poor girl. This isn’t really the right environment for a sweet girl like her to work in.”
“Some would say you’re a sweet girl too, Rose.”
She laughs and flexes are muscles. “Me? You’re joking, right? I’m hard as steel.”
I smile. Rose can talk her way out of most situations or calm an angry patron with nothing more than a smile and a gentle hand on the shoulder, but I hate to think of her faced with real danger. She does her best to stay out of trouble, even when trouble is on her doorstep.
“What’s the house special on cocktails tonight, then?” I peer at the drinks on her tray; she has half a dozen pink, slushy cocktails in tall glasses with over-the-top garnishes and sugared rims.
“I think it’s pink gin, raspberry, and Archer’s.”
“And what creative name has the bartender come up with this time?”
Rose pulls a face. “It’s called a Tasty Orgasm.”
I grimace, then laugh. We shared a running joke about how the bartender, Martyn, always named his cocktails something hideously embarrassing and awkward to promote. “That guy’s a sex fiend.”
“Right?” She laughs. “He’s named the last three something kinky. We’ve got the Tasty Orgasm tonight, the last one was the Vodka Moan, and what was it before that?”
“The Chambord Climax.”
“That’s right.” She rolls her eyes with a wry smile. “I think he does it just so he can make innuendos at the pretty girls who go to the bar.”
“Most definitely.” I mock Martyn’s smarmy voice. “Can I offer you a Tasty Orgasm, Madam.”
Rose played at a female tourist. “Oh my! Yes, you can.”
“And perhaps a drink also?”
She giggled. “You’re as bad as he is.”
“No. I’m much better. I’ve got the physique to back up my pick-up lines.”
“So humble, too.”
“You look like you’ve been working out.”
“Stop it. You know I haven’t got time to put on make-up most nights, let alone spend hours at the gym. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Force of habit after all those years training in the navy.”
“I bet.”
I look up and see Silvio and several others on the security team slipping into a staff-only door. It’s unusual to see that many of them disappear together.
“I’d better get back to work,” I say. “Nice catching up.”
“Yeah, you too.”
“Let me know if anyone gives you any trouble tonight. You know where I am.”
She laughs. “I’ve had no trouble in the last three years, Darren. I’m sure I’ll walk away unscathed tonight.”
I want to sta
y and flirt some more but duty calls. I leave Rose to find out what’s going on behind closed doors. I cross the casino floor to the stock room where the team disappeared, wondering why they’d gone in there when there was nothing inside but janitorial supplies and tools for the machines.
I take hold of the silver doorknob and tug but someone has locked the door from the inside.
What the hell is going on in there?
Suspicious, I step back and loiter by the giant Wheel of Fortune, keeping my eyes glued to the door. I don’t like the way the hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. Lately, Silvio’s behavior seems more sketchy than usual. More and more of his business seems to be conducted behind closed doors these days.
It’s almost an hour before anyone leaves again. Three of our guys exit, then a few more minutes pass until Silvio appears. I notice him wiping blood from his fist from a distance while he looks around unperturbed.
I go to him. “Silvio! Is everything okay in there? I saw half the team inside.”
“Just a little team meeting.”
“Anything I need to know?”
He pats my shoulder reassuringly. “You’re one of my top guys. There’s nothing I can teach you that you don’t already know.”
“Was a patron getting out of hand?” I nod towards his bloodied hand.
Silvio frowns. “It’s best you don’t ask questions, Darren. Be a good soldier now, and only concern yourself with the orders that come your way. Never mind what goes on above your head.”
3
Rose
My father always eats for free at Francesco’s. Whenever we dine there, he is given a celebrity’s welcome and offered a silver service. He always gets the best table and a bottle of wine on the house. I’ve asked him before why he gets such special treatment at Francesco’s and he simply tells me he and the owner are ‘old friends’. He seems to have a lot of old friends in this town.
Regardless of whatever strange relationship my father might have with the restauranteur, the restaurant itself is lovely. It’s as stereotypically Italian as you can find as if someone had taken a survey of what Americans thought Italy was like and made it into an upscale eatery.
The walls were bare stone, the lights were low and dim, and the seating was brown leather. Red tablecloths adorned each of the oak tables and there were huge cases of luxury red wine on display. There were heavy bouquets of white flowers everywhere, more ornate and extravagant that I’ve seen at most weddings.
The diners were upper-class and refined. Most of them were dressed as if they were going to the opera rather than to a restaurant. The men wore tailored suits and polished shoes and the women wore diamonds and fur stoles.
I felt almost underdressed in my emerald Prada pleated midi dress and emerald earrings. I always dress up when I went out with father; he always took us somewhere upscale. As I said, he’s not subtle with his wealth.
“Those flowers smell sumptuous,” I say with a smile. “And the food smells delicious.”
“Best Italian outside of Italy.”
I ordered the swordfish steak with sautéed potatoes while my father ordered the crab and prosecco linguine.
Francesco himself came to present our wine to us. He approached the table in his finest suit, beaming with pleasure to see my father again.
He greeted him with a kiss on each cheek. “Giacomo! What an honor to have you in our fine establishment once again. It has been too long.” He held up the bottle of wine. “I’ve been saving something very special for you. It is a 1984 Dom Perignon. Very good year.”
“Exceptional, Francesco!” My father patted his hands with a broad smile. “I feel honored.”
“Of course. You are our most welcome guest.”
I sit back and say nothing throughout the exchange until Francesco turns to me.
“Mio Dio! Giacomo, your daughter gets more beautiful every time I see her. Welcome, Signorina.”
“Thank you, Francesco. A pleasure, as always.”
He leaves and I smile across the table at my father. “Friends in high places, Papà.”
“The best kinds of friends to have.”
The food arrives and it is exquisite. “This fish is to die for. I’m in heaven.”
“If you think you’re happy right now, wait until I tell you why we’re really here.”
I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean?”
He nods towards a table of people dining on the other side of the restaurant. There are six of them, most of them my father’s age or just a little younger. My father points to the youngest of the group—he must have been in his mid-forties.
“That’s Raffaele Alfonsi. Ever heard of him?”
“No.”
“He’s one of the biggest names in Nevada in the gambling business. His family owns eight casinos. He’s heir to the greatest fortune in Las Vegas.”
I look across with only mild interest. Raffaele looks wealthy but no more so than anyone else in the restaurant. Perhaps his clothes are tailored slightly better and those shoes look designer. The watch he’s wearing is definitely a Patek Phillipe—my father’s favorite brand—and would have easily cost in excess of $700,000.
As for the man himself, he wasn’t bad-looking—for his age. He still had all his hair which was dark and thick and his eyes were dark and piercing. However, there was something off-putting about the way he interacted with those around him, dominating the conversation, laughing obnoxiously loudly, and snapping his fingers at the waitstaff.
“Are you buying another casino, Papà.”
“Not tonight, Cara.”
“When why are we interested in Raffaele Alfonsi?”
“He’s noticed you and has expressed an interesting in courting you. He’s spoken with me personally.”
I let out a shocked laugh and put my hand over my mouth to buffer the sound. My eyes widen and I stare at my father in disbelief.
“Courting me? And he’s spoken to you personally?” I take a deep swig from my wine. “I didn’t realize we were living in Ancient Persia.”
“You should take it as a compliment, Rose. And in fact, approaching me first is a very classy move. It shows respect. We are competitors, after all. The fact he came to me first is upfront. It shows character.”
“It shows misogyny.” I pull a face. “I’m not a piece of meat, Dad.”
I only call my father ‘Dad’ when I’m annoyed with him. Papà is the term of endearment I’ve used since childhood.
He nods. “I know that, Tesoro. But, you are single and not getting any younger.”
“I’m twenty-nine!”
“Your mother had your brother when she was twenty-one.” He shrugs, fixing me with a knowing stare. “I want to know somebody is taking care of my little girl. I don’t want to see your time passing you by.”
“I’m happy as I am. I have friends, I work. You’ve always spoiled me rotten. I don’t need a man.”
“Nonsense. Everybody needs someone, Tesoro. None of us were put on this earth to be alone.”
“If I wanted a boyfriend, I’d find my own.”
“You could have any man you wanted. Don’t think I don’t know that. But I want to make sure you end up with the right man. Raffaele is wealthy, sophisticated, well-connected and he knows all about our family businesses. Who better to ensure you are protected and provided for after I’m gone?”
I rub my face with my hand. “Jesus Christ, Dad. He’s hardly a spring chicken himself. He must be fifteen years older than I am!”
“There were sixteen years between your mother and I.”
“Times were different back then. A woman only wanted to be a housewife, nothing more. And if a man was already settled with money and a home, then she considered herself lucky. That’s not what I’m after.”
“And what are you after, Rose?” He pats my hand affectionately. “You’ve been working in the casino since you were eighteen. You’ve shown no interest in stepping up into a management position and you’ve never gone
to college. Will you be a barmaid after I’m gone?”
My cheeks burn. “Dad! Is that what you think of me? That I’m some kind of loser?”
“Not at all, Cara. Your father simply worries for you. I want you to have this kind of lifestyle always. Everything I’ve done, all I’ve sacrificed…it’s been to make sure my family never endures what I endured when I was young. I never want you to be a single mother like your nonna.”
“I don’t even have kids!”
“What’s the problem, Rose? An attractive, wealthy, and intelligent suitor wants to take you out. Do you know how many women would kill to be in your shoes?”
“Firstly, he’s old, and secondly, what makes him think I’m interested? I’ve never spoken to the man! What, has he seen me out with you and decided I look like a nice piece of ass? How entitled can someone be?”
“You just don’t understand traditional dating.”
“Evidently.”
“He’s really wanting to go out with you.”
“That’s a shame.” I drink down the last of my wine. “Because there’s no way in hell I would ever date that arrogant jerk. And if you want me to keep visiting you then you’d better learn that I am a grown woman, not a pawn in your business. Don’t try and whore me out again, Dad.”
* * *
I enter the casino to start the late shift an hour later. My ears are still ringing with rage and I keep replaying the conversation with my father over and over in my mind, wondering which of us was the crazy one.
My fury must have shown as Darren comes over to where I’m loading drinks onto a tray at the bar and smiles at me kindly.
“Tough night?”
I scowl. “You have no idea.”
“What happened?”
“You don’t want to hear it.”
“Try me.”
I huff angrily, throwing my hands up in frustration. “It’s my dad.”
“What’d he do?”
“Get this—he invites me for dinner tonight. Lovely, right?”
