Page 37 of Sin City Obsession (De Salvo Empire #1)

Alessa rolled her lips between her teeth for a beat, then released them and rewarded him with a soft, genuine smile.

Her eyes sparkled but he suspected that was much from the sheen of all the tears she’d cried.

Then she eased off his lap, her thumb moving over her phone.

“I’ll just call Mom back real quick, that way I can use dinner as an excuse if she tries dragging it out. ”

He smiled back. “Go right ahead.” She hadn’t asked what they might have talked about, or lectured him for speaking to her mother .

Even better, she didn’t leave the room as she lifted the phone to her ear.

For as humiliated with herself as Alessa was over the way she’d botched nearly everything on Tuesday, she found what she kept replaying in her mind was not the chaotic memory from the morning’s panicked spiral, but rather something her mother had said later that evening.

“Who was that man with the good Italian name and the strong voice? He spoke like he was fond of you….”

Alessa swore her mother was becoming more meddlesome with age.

She pushed the thought from her head and stepped from the SUV, joining Rocco’s side in the private underground lot of Cavallo’s Casino & Hotel.

Emanuele, Ignazio, and Marzio flanked them.

All four men were dressed in some variation of a crisp, classic black suit.

She was off-duty, there as Rocco’s partner—lover, guest, whatever word best applied—and so she wore a just-modest-enough cute-casual summer dress.

It was more accommodating to the heat, but she felt out of place, when she would normally be dressed in a suit similar to the rest of the security ensemble.

They were in the elevator and stepping out again on the ground floor in barely a minute.

It was a pit-stop, but a necessary one. This was the first day the casino was allowed to re-open to the public, after rounds of thorough inspections from multiple agencies and an expensive, detailed cleaning.

The cleaning, of course, was not so unfamiliar in their line of work.

But it was atypical to have to order it on a property publicly associated with the family name.

It was early enough that the morning light wasn’t terribly bright out yet, and the summer heat wasn’t as oppressive as Alessa had already learned it would come to be. But still, to step into the casino and see it so barren was … jarring. Even for her.

The machines, tables, and chairs were all in place.

A few were brand-new, ordered and expedited.

There were a handful of employees quietly moving about, settling into their stations at poker tables or behind the partitioned cash-exchange bar.

Beefy security in unmistakable attire stood at the perimeter.

But the tell-tale indicators of a casino were nearly all absent.

There was no cloying stench of tobacco smoke, or any other type of smoke.

The slot machines were silent—no mechanical ka-thunk , no shrill bells or chimes, no clanking coins dropping into the little bowls at the bottom.

The roulette and poker tables were full of empty spaces where customers should be.

No dice rolled, no cards shuffled, no people hollered, no chips clacked.

She hadn’t spent any significant time in the casino prior, but the absence of everything felt so very wrong that it filled her quickly with anger.

Rocco laced his fingers with hers and she was genuinely not sure if he was reading her mind or feeling the same thing and seeking her own reassurance. In case it was the latter, Alessa gave his hand a squeeze.

One of the men in a labeled security vest stepped up and inclined his head. “Everything’s in order, sir.”

Rocco nodded. “Good.”

The security man spun on his heel and strode swiftly back toward his post.

Rocco tilted his head. “Marzio, Ignazio, keep watch on the hall. We want to show confidence when we reopen, and this will only take a minute.”

The brothers stepped back without argument.

Rocco looked over at her and lowered his voice. “Would you rather wait inside?”

Alessa shook her head. She hadn’t figured out what they were yet, or what she wanted long-term, but she knew in the short-term, she wanted to stay close to him.

He didn’t question her decision before striding forward, keeping her at his side. They stepped through the main doors with Emanuele’s presence like a cloak over their backs.

Alessa had a lot of mixed emotions about the crowd of people holding recording devices that had gathered just beyond the sidewalk.

She knew Cavallo’s Casino & Hotel had announced their intended re-opening previously, and even promised to hold a small press conference for the occasion.

So she knew the crowd was expected. She just was not used to being seen in these situations.

And there was not a single doubt she was going to be seen, noticed, and probably made an issue of .

Rocco Cavallo II was not a nobody in Las Vegas, after all. And he was not known for making random public appearances with a woman on his arm.

Rocco held her beside him as he walked up to the pre-arranged podium.

He lifted his free hand to quiet down the tide of voices, and instead of taking questions to start, he launched into a speech.

It was a pre-planned narrative designed to reassure everyone they had taken all possible precautions and had no reason to believe it was not safe to re-open.

He made a point of declaring that he had been cooperating with LVPD from the beginning—which was only half true—and that they had not made him aware of any more recent threats, if such threats had come in.

It was provocative phrasing, but not inaccurate phrasing.

He also took the liberty of assuring the attentive crowd that his father’s recovery was going as well as could be expected, but he did not elaborate on the depth of Senior’s injuries.

While Rocco spoke, and as he opened to questions, Alessa held still at his side.

She kept a calm smile on her face and a tight grip of his hand.

She did not allow herself to lean into him or to let her gaze wander around in any obvious manner, because the less attention she drew to herself, the better.

Of course, inevitably, someone asked about her, anyway. “Mr. Cavallo, can you tell us who is this woman standing next to you? Is she your girlfriend?”

Heat rushed to Alessa’s cheeks that had nothing to do with the still-rising morning temperature, because she knew exactly how he would answer that .

“Yes,” Rocco said without a moment’s hesitation. He released her hand and lifted his arm to drape it around her shoulders, tugging her a fraction closer. “But we’re not here today to talk about my personal life, please. Let’s keep the rest of the questions a little more relevant.”

If her mother happened to be watching this, she was never hearing the end of it.

Rocco entertained three more questions before calling the press conference done and declaring the casino open for business once more. He turned her as he moved, keeping himself between her and the crowd as if she were the higher-value target.

As they stepped away from the podium and back toward the casino’s main entrance just feet away, Crazy Clarisa made her own grand re-entrance.

Alessa watched, as if in slow-motion, as the woman she barely even recognized shoved her way through the crowd to run up to them.

Clarisa wore another unflattering muumuu, this one ivory with what appeared to be chunky, hand-embroidered crosses unevenly stitched up both sides.

An image of Jesus Christ, complete with thorn crown and bleeding face, had been ironed onto the breast of the fabric.

Probably years earlier, judging from the tattered edges.

Emanuele stepped around them, coming around on Rocco’s side and briefly obscuring Alessa’s line-of-sight. But not before Alessa spotted the painter’s bucket Clarisa was hauling.

“I am the herald of the end!” Clarisa exclaimed. “You heathens have corrupted too many souls! Down with you! ”

“I’m going to need you to leave,” Emanuele said, trying to speak over her.

Alessa leaned closer to Rocco. “Seriously, why do you put up with her?”

He dropped his arm to her waist. “Never my idea.”

“Down with the Devil!” Clarisa shrieked. Or it might have been one of the YouTube reporters who shrieked.

All Alessa was sure of was that someone let out a shrill yell, Emanuele tensed, and in the next moment bright red liquid splashed over him. There was so much of it, in fact, that it sprayed wide and splattered around him on all sides.

Including them.

Rocco muttered a curse. “What the fuck is this?”

Alessa looked over, seeing dark red rolling down his outer sleeve, splattered across his formerly white shirt, and dripping down the side of his pantleg.

Then she looked down, belatedly realizing she felt messier than she should, and the movement of her head caused droplets of red to fall from her hair.

Sporadic splotches, none individually large, dotted her dress.

Her lower legs and shoes, however, were another story.

She looked like she’d jumped feet-first into a puddle of red paint, or cranberry juice, and it had splashed up all over her. That bitch.

Dark figures rushed past them in her peripheral vision.

Clarisa shrieked, and this time it was definitely Clarisa. “I am the Lord’s hands! I do His work! Don’t touch me, sinners!”

“Em?” Rocco asked, his voice tight and low.

“It’s paint, sir.” Emanuele reached up in an attempt to wipe at his face. “A shit-ton of paint. ”

Paint. Alessa dragged in a breath. If she could reach her gun easily, she would be liable to shoot the bitch.