Page 3 of Caruso

“How long have you worked here, Mrs. Joyce?”

I ask out of politeness, but to be honest, I like her enough to ask, anyway. She isn’t so scary anymore, and she rolls her eyes. “Twenty years, but that was before it was bought by Mr. Caruso. It was a very different place then, not anywhere near as opulent as it is now.”

I’ve heard of the Caruso brothers. Not much of it is good, although they are held in silent awe as their reputation is spoken of in hushed whispers on the strip. Nobody messes with that family because if they do, it will be their downfall, and many hope never to set eyes on them—ever.

She rolls her eyes. “Standards are high and discipline higher. My advice would be to keep your head down andyour mouth shut, not that I expect you to interact with them.”

Her phone rings, and she frowns.

“I’m sorry, I must run.”

She points toward the food stretching out before me like a delicious dream.

“When you’ve finished, please report to housekeeping central. Dorinda will kit you up and point you in the right direction.”

As she turns to leave, my voice shakes as I stutter, “Th, thank you, for the opportunity, um, Mrs. Joyce. I won’t let you down.”

She nods and leaves without another word passing between us, and before she has even left the room, I am diving toward the food as if my life depends on it.

Chapter Two

Matteo

The man sniveling in his chair irritates me more than what he did. My brother Giorgio catches my eye and shakes his head in derision.

“We should cut off his hands—both of them.” Giorgio adds as an aside, and the guy—Charlie could be his name—starts to wail.

Giorgio grins, and I really believe he is the only one of us who enjoys this shit—gets off on it, in fact and I glance at the tiled flooring, wondering if the stain will be apparent. Flooring is expensive in Vegas—they appear to charge a premium. Then again,everythingis a premium in this city, which is why we take stealing so much to heart.

I grasp a chair from the side of the room and drag it in front of the hapless thief who decided to bring his trade to The Artemis and as I sit astride it, I fix him with an evil glare. The sound of his piss hits the tile, and my other brother Tommaso hisses, “Fuck.”

He doesn’t hesitate and removes his gun and holds the barrel flat against Charlie’s head, or did he say Charles, Chas, or is it something else entirely?

“I should shoot you for shooting your piss on our fucking floor, you miserable piece of shit.”

I shift to avoid the puddle at my feet and sigh inside. This shit is getting old real fast.

“Thirty thousand dollars.”

My voice is delivered on steel as I glare at him and hiss, “Did you really believe we wouldn’t discover it’s missing?”

He shakes his head wildly and pleads his case.

“I’m sorry, please, I’m begging you. I’ll pay it all back, every cent, I promise.”

“And how exactly will you do that?”

My voice is resigned to the endless pleading of a known criminal who will say and do anything possible to escape death at our hands.

“I have means, contacts, information.”

He is frantically searching for the magic word that will unlock forgiveness, and Giorgio laughs softly.

“I like the sound of all three. Tell us, what are your means?”

“I’m a thief, a good one. I’ll have the money returned within twenty-four hours.”

“If you’re a good thief–” I lean forward, noting the slightly glazed expression of a man who obviously inhales his good fortune with not a lot left to show for it.