by Raquel Belle
“I think it’s time for you to leave,” it’s a man’s voice, deep and gravelly. All I can see is the broad shoulders and back of a perfectly tailored dark-grey suit jacket. Looking up, I see a close-cropped head of dark hair, peppered with the faintest flecks of grey at the temples.
“Ahh c’mon buddy, I’s just talkin’ to Laura Ingalls here.” I have to admit, that’s kind of funny that he made the connection. I’d just thought the same thing about my dress.
The mystery man standing between me and the red-faced drunk raises his arm slightly and for a horrifying moment, I think he’s about to punch the guy. “Wait!” I screech, grabbing the raised arm. A muscular bicep twitches under my grip.
“What?” The man turns to me and looks down, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. I gulp. The square-set jaw is tense, indicating clenched teeth, and one eyebrow is raised slightly. His eyes are stormy, so dark they’re nearly black. They’re looking at me as if I were a nuisance.
“Don’t punch him.” I manage to croak out the words. “Please. I didn’t want to make trouble.”
The look of annoyance is replaced by one of surprise as the stern-looking man lets out a bellowing laugh. The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly. A gleaming smile, featuring perfectly white, straight teeth, crosses his face. “I was not about to punch him. I was simply getting security.”
He snaps his fingers, once, and then drops his arm. As if on cue, one of the men in dark suits whom I’ve spied roaming the casino floors throughout the evening suddenly appears. Without a word, the security guard takes the red-faced man by the elbow and walks him away. It all happens so fast, the man can barely open his mouth to protest.
The man turns to face me. He still has a grin plastered on his face. “We try to avoid violence at Fortuna,” he says with a wink. “Are you alright?”
“Yes. Just a bruised ego.” I feel vaguely embarrassed that security got involved. I wish I could handle situations like that myself. But… I shrug.
“David.” The man sticks out his hand.
“Lilly.” I slip my hand into his, noticing how cool and dry his palm is against my own hot sweaty one.
A look of confusion flashes in his eyes. “Why did that guy call you Laura?”
“Oh… uh.” I can’t help but giggle, slightly relieved that he didn’t catch the reference. “Laura Ingalls? She wrote those ‘Little House on the Prairie’ books for kids? About pioneer life?”
He still looks slightly quizzical.
“I think it’s because of my dress,” I go on, turning red as I feel myself babbling. “Because of the flowers. And I guess it’s a bit more um old-fashioned… I mean, it covers more than some other… It’s just that—”
“It’s a lovely dress,” David cuts in..
“Thank you.” I feel relief wash over me. “I just feel a bit out of place.”
“Well, if you want to stand out in Vegas, showing less skin instead of more is the way to go,” he acknowledges with a low chuckle and a shrug. “Did you just arrive?”
“This morning,” I nod. “I’m visiting my sister, Deanna.” I gesture towards her. Brian, Blair, and Stacy are clustered around her at the roulette table, egging her on. They’re so engrossed in the game, they haven’t even noticed my run-in with… What does this guy do anyway?
“You work here, I guess?” I cast back in my mind for some of the casino lingo I’ve been hearing Deanna and her friends use in conversation over the past hours. “As a pit boss?” I bite my lip, hoping I got it right. I think that's what Brian said. It’s the name of the person in charge of a defined section of casino floor. And this guy definitely seems to be in charge.
“You could say that,” David responds, his smile growing. “I wear many hats in my job. Sometimes that includes pit boss. In any case, you caught my eye. It seemed like you could use a hand.”
“Your timing was perfect. It was like you came out of nowhere.”
“That’s part of the job. If I’m doing it right, I’m like a ghost. There when you need me. And otherwise…invisible.” He shoves his fists, balled up, into the pocket of his slacks.
I take a moment to appreciate how well-dressed he is. The dark charcoal grey suit fits him perfectly and a blue pocket square peeks out of one pocket. Underneath, he has a crisp white shirt, adorned with gold cufflinks, emblazoned with a single letter. F. His polished leather shoes gleam against the dark maroon carpet under our feet.
“Your sister is on quite a roll.” His words interrupt my outfit analysis.
“Yeah.” I turn my attention back to the table.
He cranes his neck, presumably to assess the pile of chips Deanna has amassed. “Look like she’s up about $400,000.”
“That’s a lot,” I say softly. “That’s an entire house. That could be two houses.” I gulp. It’s unreal to me that a stack of plastic is worth that much money. That’s more than I’ve ever seen! Or Deanna. Or our parents. Or anyone I know.
“Maybe she should quit while she’s ahead,” David says, suddenly stern again. “Your sister’s riding high right now but that could all change very fast.”
“There’s no controlling her when she’s like this,” I respond, hoping he can’t hear how helpless I feel. I know that if Deanna loses this much money now, she’s going to have a total meltdown.
“Okay, well. I tried to warn you.” He gives the table a last glance before motioning to the cocktail waitress. It’s the same one who keeps plying us all with champagne. “Take special care of this group, Marissa.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Milner.” She nods smartly. “Our high-rollers are top priority, of course.”
“High rollers?” I squeak out the words.
David, already preparing to turn away, pauses and looks back at me. He flashes that smile, running his eyes over me from head to toe. It’s like he’s taking my dress off with his look. I feel my palms get sweaty again.
“Just remember. The house always wins in the end.” He says. And then he turns to walk away.
“Wait!” I call after him. One last question is bugging me and I want the answer before this mystery man disappears. I doubt I’ll see him again.
“Yes, Lilly?” Hearing him say my gives me a start. I pause in surprise before I go on.
“How did you know I needed help? I mean, you weren’t even standing at the table when that guy started talking to me. Sure, you said you’re like a ghost but…you can’t show up out of thin air.” I smirk at the last part, feeling sly.
“True. I haven’t mastered that trick yet.” He matches my smile with a wry grin of his own. “Like I told you, you caught my eye,” he pauses, registering my blank expression before going on, “the House has eyes everywhere. Even in the sky.” He raises an eyebrow and jerks his chin quickly upwards, his piercing gaze targeting the area above my head.
I crane my neck back, looking up to see a small black dome jutting out of the ceiling. Looking further, I see that these tiny, black half-spheres are all over the ceiling, evenly spaced throughout the entire place. Cameras. Everywhere. How did I miss that? I’d been so overwhelmed by the sights on the floor in front of me, I hadn’t looked up once since I’d set foot in the casino a couple of hours earlier.
I feel my mouth drop open in surprise and snap it quickly shut before looking back down. I don’t want him to see the shock on my face, giving away my utter naiveté. Stupidity, some might call it.
He’s looking at me with a sly smile. Before I can get out another word, he glides off, his broad back disappearing into the crowded sea of casino revelers. I watch him go. The pit boss. Invisible. A ghost. And with eyes everywhere.
Chapter Two
David
“Keep an eye on the group at table nineteen. That girl on the roulette table is running it up. The sister says her name is Deanna. Keep their drinks flowing.”
“Got it, boss.” Terry gives a curt nod.
“And get a still off the cameras of the gentleman we just 86’d. Make sure all security has a copy.
We don’t want him back in here. Not tonight.”
“Temporary or permanent?”
“Temporary 86. Just for tonight. He can barely stand and he’s hassling other clientele. Too deep in his cups.”
“Of course.” Terry doesn’t miss a beat, he’s already making his way to the far side of the control room to consult with one of our security camera technicians. He’s the best floor manager in all of Las Vegas. That’s why I pay him double the average floor manager’s salary. Worth every fucking penny. He oversees a vast team of pit bosses. And each one of those pit bosses supervises a pool of floor personnel and dealers, ensuring gamers in their pit are happy. Happy people bet big. Our pit bosses also monitor credit markers and dispense comps…at their discretion. Terry compiles their end-of-shift reports and presents them all to me. I review every detail. Because I’m not technically a pit boss. I’m the boss.
I own Fortuna Hotel and Casino. And the establishment’s sister property, Destino. These aren’t low-roller spots. They’re both carpet joints, casinos that cater to high rollers. Between the two of them, billions of dollars come through every year. More than one man can track himself. That’s why I rely on trusted personnel, like Terry.
“Another win on Table nineteen’s up-and-up high roller, sir.” Paul, one of my security camera monitors remarks. I shift my eyes to the screen. Four images give me a view of everything I need to see. A top-down birds-eye-view of the table, including the croupier—the guy at the roulette table who gathers the chips and drops the ball on the wheel. Angled shots let me see people clustered around the table…including the girl in the flowered dress.
Lilly. Fitting. A floral name for the fresh-faced girl in her floral dress. Even the faint hint of perfume she was wearing had some kind of delicate, flowery aroma to it. Lilly. She’s a human flower from top to bottom, just as her name would suggest. I grin, watching her now. Uncomfortable as hell. A flower removed from its usual garden. We get all kinds of people here of course, from all over. But Lilly stands out like a sore thumb. More than usual. I watch her swirl her barely touched glass of champagne uncertainly. Her face is drawn tight with concern as she watches her sister on the table. She has good reason to be worried.
“Still making even money?” I ask Paul.
“Looks like it, yeah. One-to-one. Her pile's growing though.”
“What do you think, sir?” Terry comes up from behind me, having quickly taken care of the security task. He takes off his round glasses and polishes them with a handkerchief, blinking quickly. He stares at the screen for a second before turning to me. “Want to move that money off the main floor?”
“Let her hit half-a-mil. Then let’s get a plant down there. I want her on the high-stakes poker game at the back. What else do we know about Miss Roulette? Deanna.”
“Already checked her out. She’s a local. Deanna Marie Madison.”
“Not a hotel guest? Her sister is an out-of-towner for sure. Just had a chat on the floor.”
Terry gives me a sharp look. He knows I rarely make an appearance on the floor myself. “Nah. The girl playing lives in the area. One of our shooter girls knows her from the scene. Twin sister is here celebrating their birthday. They’ve been ordering shots all evening.”
“Hm. Where’s the local one working?”
“The Circus Lounge. Bartender.”
“And her friends?”
“All got nightlife gigs. The usual Vegas riffraff. The guy is a small-time drug dealer. But he seems to be taking the night off.”
“Good. I don’t want that shit in our houses. 86 him if you see any hint of activity.”
I don’t ask Terry how he’s gotten all this info about Deanna and her friends. He could probably tell me Deanna’s social security number if I asked. Las Vegas might seem big to outsiders but it’s got a small-town feel to it if you work here. Everybody knows everybody. Part of Terry’s job is knowing everything about everyone. He no doubt started digging for information about Deanna as soon as she passed the $250k mark on winnings.
“I’ll go ahead and let Jerry know,” Terry says shortly and walks off. Jerry is the pit boss for the section of the floor Deanna is playing in. He’ll send a mole to wrangle Deanna into the poker game, someone friendly and charming who can dangle the prospect of even bigger winnings in front of her nose.
“Terry.” I stop him short. “I don’t want the friends back there. Too out of control. Just her and the sister.”
“Sure thing.”
“And make sure there’s a spot for me at the table.” I scan Lilly’s face on the security screen. She’s peering directly up at the eye-in-the-sky, a look of slight wonder on her face. “I think I’ll play tonight.”
“You got it.”
I tear my eyes away from Lilly’s face on the screen and step back. I have other areas to check on. I slowly make my way around our security hub. The carpeted section of tables in the casino’s center could be called the heart of the casino. This is the brain of the casino. And this is where I spend a good portion of my days. The massive windowless room requires two levels of security to enter. The first door requires a pin code that changes daily. This is followed by a fingerprint scan. The only part of the casino with more stringent security measures is the cage, where the actual money is kept.
Rows and rows of screens are laid out in front of me. Each one is showing a live feed, relaying valuable information about what’s happening on the floor. Paul is just one of the many security camera monitors in the room. Each one is attuned to his or her own cluster of screens. Buttons and dials on the control panels in front of them allow them to zoom in and out, catching every nuance. They are a source of information, relaying details to Terry about potential high rollers, brewing altercations, and, of course, possible cheaters. In a casino, as elsewhere, knowledge is power. Terry then communicates with pit bosses, located on the floor, giving them intel and instructions. When Terry isn’t on the job, I’m the one giving orders.
“Sir?” Paul, the young, baby-faced security camera monitor raises his hand tentatively, as if he were a schoolboy asking to go the bathroom. I stifle a grin and resist the urge to call the kid out. He’s new.
“News?” I step towards him.
“The fish at Table nineteen hit a half-mil. The mole is wrangling her now.” Fish. Slang for a novice gambler. Even Paul can recognize that Deanna isn’t a pro but just a girl having an exceptionally lucky night. The luckiest I’ve seen in a while.
“Good.” I straighten the collar of my shirt and check my cufflinks. The gold glints back at me. Each one is emblazoned with Fortuna’s signature F, matching the one that appears on the casino’s chips.
“Terry! Table ready for me?”
“All yours, boss.” Although he’s worked for me for more than a decade, Terry has never once broken the formal employer-employee boundary between us, a fact that I appreciate. I glance back at the security monitor one more time. Our mole has done his job. Paul has zoomed in on the shot. Good job, newbie, I think to myself. He’s showing Deanna nodding enthusiastically and grabbing a hesitant-looking Lilly by the arm. Even on the tiny screen, I can see a thin line of worry etched across Lilly’s forehead.
I head to the door and punch in the security code to exit. Before leaving, I turn back to Terry. “I may not be back tonight if this poker game is hot.”
“No problem. It’s a quiet night.” Terry allows himself a rare grin, his teeth flashing white against his dark skin. He well knows that a “quiet night” in Fortuna would be intimidating as hell to plenty of other floor managers. “I’ve got it under control here.”
“I figured.” I shoot him back a smile. Without another look back, I exit the security hub. I’m released into the tiled hallways of the casino’s backroom operations. This maze of corridors is for employees only. This is where all the behind-the-scenes action takes place. It’s also the fastest way to get where I need to go—the private poker suites. Fortuna is a massive property. 3,000 rooms. 14 restaurants. 3 pool
s. A massive greenhouse with full-grown palm trees. An in-house aquarium. And 100,000 square feet of gaming space. But right now, none of that matters.
“’Evening, boss.” The gruff security guards standing outside the entranceway to the private poker room greet me with surly faces.
“Gentlemen.” I nod as I pass them.
“Mr. Milner, how are you?” Tessa, the room’s svelte blonde hostess, greets me with a smile and snaps to the young cocktail waitress behind her. I’m immediately presented with a tray holding a single glass of scotch, neat. No ice. “We’ve been expecting you.” Tessa smiles. I nod. This is typical. I work hard and I hire the best so that Fortuna runs like a well-oiled machine.
I take my drink, down it, and head through the red velvet curtains to the green-topped table behind. Already, a small group of men is seated. Each one has a pile of chips in front of him. I recognize Mr. Hayashi, a Japanese businessman who frequents our establishment, and Jeremy Ainsworth, the son of a prominent New York City hedge fund manager. Jeremy is steadily chiseling away at his trust fund by playing in games like these, confident in the fact that his massive fortune will never run dry. Finally, there’s Maurice, a notorious whale who flies in occasionally from Monaco. The men nod in greeting.
“Is the big boss joining us tonight?” Maurice asks coolly, his eyebrows twitching.
“As an exception.”
“Thought the House never plays.”
“I play with my own money.” I shrug. “There’s me and then there’s the House. And there’s my money and then there’s the House’s money. I play for me.” Without another word, I take a promissory note out of my pocket and hand it the dealer. What I said was true, there’s my money, and then there’s the casino’s money.
“Changing 250,000,” he announces the figure to the room and then slides over a pile of silver chips. These color chips aren’t seen out on the floor, where the max is the $5,000 brown chip. You only see silver in the private rooms. Each chip is worth $25,000.
