Chapter 45 Rocco
The casino pulsed with energy, giggles, the steady ring of chips, the occasional burst of victory or rage. I had a perfect view of the floor from where I stood. The flashing lights, the cigarette smoke wafting through the air, the subterranean tension that always lurked just beneath the surface of establishments like this.
I leaned against the railing, drumming fingers absently on the glass as I surveyed the crowd. Business had been good. Money was coming in, the dealers were solid, and the security was where it should be.
And then, I saw Riccardo.
He was exactly where I should have known he'd be, leaning back in a chair at one of the VIP tables, a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he toyed with a woman riding his lap. She was laughing, her bright red nails tracing the curve of his shoulder, as he held a drink in one hand and a stack of chips in the other.
I chuckled Of course.
I checked my watch. If he had time to waste, he had time to work.
Pushing off the railing, I descended the stairs to the ground floor. The moment Riccardo saw me, his sneer deepened.
"Look who finally came down from his tower," he drawled, raising his glass in my direction.
I did not slow my stride. "You done wasting time?"
Riccardo laughed, looking at the woman in his lap before he lightly tapped her on the thigh. "Give us a minute, sweetheart."
She pouted and climbed off him, her gaze flitting over me before she walked way. Riccardo yawned, rolling his shoulders. "You always know how to ruin a good time, brother."
I tuned him out. "I need you to run the books before you go. A few of the high-rollers hit the cash desk more than usual tonight. I want someone keeping an eye on their record."
Riccardo let out a dramatic sigh. "And I thought you came down here just because you missed me."
I gave him a look, unimpressed.
He sighed, picking up his drink and draining the rest in one gulp. "Fine, fine. I'll run the books.
I nodded, scanning the casino again. All seemed well. Security was in place, the dealers were keeping the games flowing, and no one appeared dumb enough to try anything tonight.
However, something sat heavy in my chest.
Maybe it was just exhaustion. Maybe it was all that had happened with Fiorella and her family.
Maybe it was the feeling that something was coming.
I didn't know what.
But I didn't feel right.
A small disturbance on the opposite side of the casino caught my attention. The usual flow of players between tables came to a standstill, the ripple of tension spreading across the room like a slow wave. The dealers' hands did not waver, but their glances flicked toward security.
I was moving before Riccardo had even noticed me.
By the time I got to the source of the problem, I observed two men facing each other near the high-limit poker tables. There was a thick-set man in a poor suit and worse attitude, his fist crumpled in the collar of another man, a thin nervous individual who had clearly lost more than he could afford.
"Think I don't know a cheater when I see one?" the fat man snarled, hauling in the other fellow. Chips and cards sailed around the table, the dealer sat rigid in his seat.
"I—I wasn't cheating, I swear! I just happened to get lucky—"
"Lucky?" The fellow let out a mirthless laugh. "You lost all goddamn the hands last game, then this game you win me clean?"
"Hey." My voice cut through the air like a knife. The tension whipped around to me, the stocky man glancing over his shoulder. His grip didn't let up.
I took a step closer. "If you have a problem, you take it to the house. We don't tolerate fights on our floor."
The man sneered. "This jerk swindled me. You gonna let him get away with that?"
Riccardo stood next to me, arms crossed. "If he did, we'll handle it. You don't make the decisions here."
The fat man looked back and forth between us, hesitating a fraction of a second too long.
I pointed to the dealer. "Run the tape. Check the cards.".
The dealer was quick, the pit boss already summoning the security feed. The wiry man swallowed hard, his eyes darting between me and the big man still holding on to him like a lunatic.
No more than a second passed for the response. The dealer glanced at the pit boss, then back at me.
"No cheating detected," he assured.
The bag man's face twisted with anger. "That's bullsh—"
I intervened. Fast. My fingers closed around his wrist, forcing him to drop the other man's shirt. "That is the decision," I said quietly. "Now you can either take your loss like a man or leave my casino."
The man's mouth shut, his teeth snapping. But he was not stupid. He knew very well whose floor he was on.
In an extended, percolating moment, he pulled his arm loose from its hold and spat onto the floor. "It's a rip-off."
I remained still. "Exit's in that direction."
Security were moving before I said anything else. They grasped him, jerking him to the door.
The thin fellow seemed to want to fit in. My eye turned on him. "Cash out and leave for the night."
He nodded so quickly I thought his head would fly off. "Y-yeah. Sure, of course."
The crowd went back to their normal lives, but the atmosphere still felt tense .
Riccardo whistled softly at my side. "Always the diplomat, huh?"
I said nothing. My gut was still in knots.
There was something not quite right about this.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just another gambler too drunk with pride to perceive a loss.
But as I sat and saw security escorting the man out the doors, I couldn't shake it off.
Something was coming.
And I needed to be ready.
I didn’t move from my spot even after the floor returned to normal. The tension in my chest hadn’t settled.
Riccardo was already disinterested, slapping a dealer on the back before walking away to where a brunette in a low-cut dress had been eyeing him. But I stood still, scanning the floor of the casino.
Something didn't sit right.
I watched the pit boss and one of the security guards exchange low tones before they both headed towards the back office. My instincts buzzed.
I followed behind them.
In the surveillance room, the security feeds glowed on several screens. The familiar scenes—players, dealers, security at exits—filled most of them. But one of them drew my attention.
The camera outside, by the alley.
The big guy we had just removed wasn't alone anymore. He was at the entrance of the alley, talking to someone.
Someone I knew.
A man in a black suit, standing partially behind the low light.
Marchesi.
A chill, slow burn in my stomach.
Riccardo's voice behind me. "Tell me that's not who I think it is."
I thought he chased after a brunette. I didn't answer.
Because I knew precisely what this meant.
The Marchesi weren't just watching.
They were moving.