Casino King: A Dark Mafia Romance (Carfano Crime Family Book 1)

by Rebecca Gannon

  Casino King

  Carfano Crime Family

  Book 1

  REBECCA GANNON

  Copyright © 2021 Rebecca Gannon

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  website, blog, and links to all social media:

  www.rebeccagannon.com

  More by Rebecca Gannon

  A Pine Cove Novel

  Her Maine Attraction

  Her Maine Reaction

  Her Maine Risk

  Her Maine Distraction

  Carfano Crime Family

  Casino King

  The Boss (coming May 18th, 2021)

  To all of those who feel like they don’t really come alive until the night, a black rose blooming in the shadows, only needing that one person to see them hiding there amongst the other lost souls and bring them out into the moonlight to see that the dark isn’t a place to ever shy away from, but where kings and queens rule, this is for you.

  The Carfano Family

  Leo (d)

  (m) Katarina (d)

  |

  Michael (d) Salvatore (d) Anthony Richard Maria

  Micheal (m) Anita -- Leo, Alec, Luca, Katarina

  Salvator (m) Teresa -- Nico, Vincenzo, Mia

  Anthony (m) Francesca -- Stefano, Marco, Gabriel

  Richard (m) Christina -- Saverio, Gia, Aria

  Maria (m) Carmine -- Matteo, Elena

  (m) – married / (d) – deceased

  “born from fire, she danced with flames

  with a power that shook the devil’s domain”

  - r.h. Sin

  Chapter 1

  Tessa

  The music flows through me like a warm breeze, touching me with heated possession as it takes me over entirely. I pull the audience into my orbit, entrancing them with every movement and look.

  The bass drives my heartbeat.

  The rhythm moves my body.

  The tempo thrums my senses.

  The lyrics sway my emotions.

  Here on stage, I’m the me I need to be. Everything I hold onto all week comes out, and I feel free. I feel lighter. Everything I do and don’t have doesn’t matter when I’m up here. It’s just me.

  The lights swirl and flash, and in between the beams, I look out to the first row, seeing him.

  I knew he’d be there.

  Every Friday night for the past month, he’s sat at the same table against the wall, half in the shadows, watching, his eyes always on me.

  I can feel them caress my body like he’s undressing me, possessing me, and covering every inch of me in all of the thoughts running through his mind of what he wants to do to me.

  From the glimpses I’ve gathered over these four weeks, I still haven’t seen him fully. His face remains either partially or fully in the shadows, only his square jaw making an appearance when he leans forward to reach for his drink.

  His dark suit is tailored perfectly to his built frame that I know holds great power beneath the expensive material. Even from up here on stage, I’m drawn to him. To the air of authority, strength, and confidence he exudes.

  My eyes slide over him as I spin, bend, lift my arms in the air, and sweep my leg up and around. They’re like magnets being pulled towards the force that wants them the most.

  After the second show with him in the audience, I came back to my dressing station to find a bouquet of black roses, and I knew right away they were from him.

  The next week, the same thing, this time accompanied by a little black velvet box containing diamond stud earrings and a note with a simple A as a signature.

  Then last week, another bouquet of black roses and a velvet box. Only this time, it was a diamond tennis necklace, and the note had more than just a single letter.

  I want to see how this looks on stage next week.

  -A

  I have both the earrings and necklace on now, and I know the diamonds are catching the lights in blinding glimmers.

  My back arches as I lift my leg in the air and spin, my red sequin fringed skirt fanning out from my body, my eyes sweeping over him again, giving him a small smile there in the shadows.

  I feel weightless – my limbs moving through the air like they’re a part of it.

  His hand tightens on the whiskey glass in front of him as I glide across the stage, the song almost coming to an end. With one final fan of my leg, I hold it near my ear as I lift up on my toes and spin, then end in a split with my back arching to touch my thigh behind me.

  The clapping of the audience fills my head as the lights fade and the curtain falls.

  I only started dancing here at The Aces six weeks ago, and I already have a solo. The show’s manager saw something in me right away, and while the other girls who have been here longer might have a slight issue with that, I couldn’t care less when I’m up here.

  Tonight is the first time I’m performing my solo, and for these three and a half minutes, I can let myself break free and become one with the inner me that fights to find her way out every other minute of the day.

  Every time I practiced this week, I thought of him sitting there watching me, knowing the feel of his eyes on me would make me better and would drive me deeper into a trance.

  And I was right.

  The Friday night show at The Aces is something unlike anything I’ve ever known or been a part of. The casino has a number of other shows they put on the other days of the week – burlesque, comedy, dance companies, unbelievable talents. But the Friday night snow is a combination of show girl and modern and contemporary dance and ballet, with a touch of burlesque in how we dress and perform. It’s an overall sexy show, and I have to admit the costumes were a big draw for me.

  I also teach dance at a studio in town, and I had come to see a Friday show a couple of months ago after the mom of one of the kids I teach gave me her tickets when she found out she couldn’t go last minute. I was entranced from beginning to end, and right away, I knew I had to find a way to be up there with those dancers. I wanted to feel as free as they all looked.

  And two weeks later, I was.

  If I had to give a classification to my solo, it would be something along the lines of a contemporary ballet piece. It’s not ridged like classical ballet, which is what I grew up trained in. Here on this stage, my body is loose and free to move how it desires – how my emotions desire.

  Changing my costume for the finale, I wait for the other routines to finish and then get in line with the other girls. We’re dressed in classic show girl costumes with big red feather headpieces, a red sequined bra and panty set, red rhinestone thigh-high wrap-up heels, and a matching rhinestone choker necklace that has long strands of red crystals hanging down our torsos like chandeliers.

  After the final curtain falls, I make my way back to my station, and once again find a bouquet of black roses and a jewelry box waiting for me. They always magically appear while I’m on stage for the finale.

  Brushing my fingers over the soft, velvety black rose petals, a small smile pulls at my lips. It’s such a fitting color for him. I have a feeling most of what he owns is black.

  Ope
ning the jewelry box, I suck in a quick breath at the sight of a diamond bracelet that matches the necklace I got last week.

  This is too much. It’s all too much.

  Nobodies like me don’t get gifts like this from anonymous sexy strangers for no reason.

  Pulling the note from the envelope resting against the flowers, I run my fingers over the script. He has beautiful handwriting. So much so, I know he could seduce a woman with that alone if he wanted to.

  Congratulations on your solo. You were mesmerizing.

  -A

  I need to know his name. I need to know something about him other than either his first or last name begins with and A and he likes to gift black roses and expensive diamonds to a woman he doesn’t know beyond watching her dance.

  I go through the routine of changing out of my costume, taking off my show makeup, and throwing my hair up into a bun. With the armor gone, it’s back to reality, and it’s back to the fact that no mystery man would find the real me as fascinating as the one I embody on stage.

  Carefully, I place the bouquet of flowers and jewelry in my bag and head out, smiling politely at the dancers still left backstage.

  I make my way through the back halls of the casino and out the side door that leads to the parking lot.

  Most of the other girls change into party clothes and either head out into the casino to gamble and cozy up to the high rollers at the tables, or go to the casino’s club, Royals, to try and pick up wealthy men who can show them a good time for a night or two.

  Never me, though. I don’t even own any going-out clothes. At least not like what the other girls wear.

  That’s why I was drawn to this show and why the version of me on stage is never going to be the real me, no matter how much I wish it was. I can’t afford a single costume that I wear, and I work three jobs just to keep a roof over my head and food on the table. But I’d never complain. I teach three dance classes twice a week, I work at a fifties styled diner in town two shifts a week, and then I dance the special Friday night show here at The Aces which also has rehearsals for it twice a week. To be in the show, I had to cut back on a couple diner shifts, but it’s more than worth it for how it makes me feel.

  I’m always busy, I’m always tired, and I don’t have any time for a life outside of work, but I love what I do. It’s all I have.

  Checking the parking lot to make sure no one’s around, I make my way over to my well-loved little Nissan. I’m always cautious when it’s late and I’m alone, and even more so knowing I have a bag with very expensive jewelry in it.

  Getting back to my apartment, I drag my feet to the bathroom for a hot shower before I pass out for the night. My legs are more tired than usual from the extra practicing I had to do this week for my solo, and as I drift off, the only thoughts in my mind are ones of a mysterious man in the shadows who makes me feel like the most beautiful thing in the world when I never have before.

  Chapter 2

  Tessa

  Swiping primer across my lips, I dip my finger into the red glitter pot and press it on top, matching my eyes.

  Pursing my lips, I turn my head back and forth to watch the light catch on the glitter before applying my fake lashes and mascara.

  My solo is next, so I make sure to put on my diamonds for him to see. My mystery man hasn’t been here for the other numbers, but for some reason, I feel like he’ll miraculously show up for my solo, unable to stay away.

  Every night this week, I’ve taken the jewelry out and held them, wishing I knew the man behind them.

  Touching the necklace, I give myself a small smile and put on my red sequin tassel skirt and red bikini styled top.

  Red always makes me feel sexy, and as I tie my red satin pointe shoes around my ankles, I do a little spin in front of the mirror to make sure they’re tight enough.

  Walking over to the stage area, I get a smile and nod from the show’s manager, Dan, and return it with my own, getting in the zone for the seduction I’m about to perform. That’s what my solo is – a seduction. And I love every second of it because it’s so opposite of who I am normally.

  When the music changes and the curtain rises, I spin out onto stage, the crowd’s applause filling my ears. But when my eyes float over to the table against the wall, it’s still empty, and my smile slips momentarily.

  I’ve gotten used to having him there, and without feeling his eyes on me, it feels like my performance isn’t as powerful. I know I’m good, but he makes me better.

  After the show, I walk back to my station with the other girls, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the bouquet of black roses waiting for me.

  What? How?

  I reach for the card and eagerly pull out the thick cardstock from the envelope, needing to see his beautiful script.

  I’m sorry I couldn’t be there tonight, I had business to attend to. But I know you were beautiful as always.

  -A

  Opening the jewelry box, I’m once again struck speechless. Nestled in the velvet is a pair of dark red ruby stud earrings with little diamonds surrounding the stone. They’re absolutely stunning, and I know they’ll look beautiful with my solo costume. Which I have a suspicion was the drive behind him choosing these.

  The pad of my finger circles the tiny diamonds around the ruby and my mind wanders to the image of who he is and why of all people he’s chosen me to shower with extravagant gifts and attention.

  Maybe one of these days I’ll finally find out.

  Changing into my post-show clothes, I wipe my makeup off as best as I can before I can get home to take a shower, and start making my way down the small back hallway. My thoughts drift to the beautiful earrings in my bag and I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling like a fool.

  I have no reason to think anything other than he’s a man who likes to give the woman he enjoys seeing dance gifts, but I can’t help thinking of what it would be like to be with a man like that. A man with expensive taste who probably has a big important job, an expensive car, a fancy house, and gets whatever he wants.

  Men like that are usually already taken, though, which is probably why he’s stayed anonymous these past five weeks. He’s probably married with a girlfriend on the side, and I’m just something pretty he likes to look at when he’s bored.

  It doesn’t feel like that, but I don’t know…

  Pushing those thoughts away, I drift back to thinking about what it would be like to feel his eyes on me when he’s standing directly in front of me. Those are more pleasant thoughts.

  Taking my keys out of my bag, I unlock my car, and as I reach for the door handle, I see a shadow loom over me right before a hand grips my upper arm and spins me around with a roughness that has me squealing out a strangled cry.

  The face of a complete stranger fills my vision, and I manage to let out a scream before his hand covers my mouth, filling my senses with the scent of cheap beer and cigarettes.

  “Don’t scream,” the man growls. My wide eyes stare up at the imposing figure, knowing straight away he’s most definitely not my mystery man. He drinks expensive whiskey, wears expensive Italian suits, and would never lie in wait for me in the parking lot just biding his time until he can make his move. “I saw you dance earlier. You’re so sexy.”

  “Get off of me,” I try and say behind his hand, but it comes out as a muffled string of inaudible words.

  Bucking my body forward, I try to break free from his grip, but his hand on my arm just tightens as he pushes me against my car.

  Panic starts to set in when I can’t make him budge, and my wide eyes look around for anything and anyone who can help me, but I come up with nothing.

  “Stop fighting me,” he snarls. Pulling his hand away from my mouth, I suck in a ragged breath like I hadn’t had oxygen for minutes when it’s only been a few seconds.

  “Get off of me!” I yell in his face, trying to push him off of me.

  A sharp sting flashes across my cheek and my head is jerked to the side, pain aut
omatically spreading from where he hit me.

  “I said don’t scream!” His harsh voice drips with malice, and I know he’s not going to stop at just cornering me to talk.

  No. I refuse.

  Struggling with every ounce of strength I can manage in the pinned down position I’m in, I fight him. I grunt and huff and manage another scream before he backhands me again and clamps his hand over my mouth. A putrid taste fills my mouth knowing I can’t fight off a man twice my size who’s determined to have me however he wants me.

  I don’t know how long I struggle to break free, but just when I’ve all but given up hope that I’ll come away from this without having his filthy hands all over me, he’s suddenly yanked away from me.

  A man dressed impeccably in a dark suit throws him against the nearest car by the neck, punching him in the face. “Who the fuck do you think you are hitting a woman?” His deep, angry voice is sharp and pointed. He punches him again in the face – hard. “She said no.” Punching him in the gut, the bastard folds over with a pained grunt.

  Relief floods my tightly wound muscles now that I’m free from the clammy grip of my attacker, but when I try and say something, no words will form from my constricted throat.

  My savior gives him another hard punch to the gut that crumples him to the pavement, and then he straightens and turns to me. He’s quite handsome, with tanned skin, dark hair, and eyes that look like they hold a million secrets.

  “You okay?” he asks in a much gentler tone than he was using a second ago. “I’m sorry I didn’t get over to you quick enough.”

  “I’m…I’m okay. Thank you,” I manage to say through my short intakes of air. Forcing a few deep breaths into my lungs, I tell him in a much stronger voice, “Thank you.”

  He gives me a curt nod and turns back to the balled-up man on the ground. He’s a lot less intimidating like this, and I’m tempted to get in a couple kicks of my own, but hold back.