Dominic took me to a private lounge I had never known existed.
That should have told me something.
I had worked at the Echelon Casino for fourteen months.
I knew which elevator doors stuck in humid weather, which bartenders over-poured for regulars, which celebrities tipped badly, and which high rollers preferred their drinks before they even sat down.
But Dominic opened an unmarked door behind the VIP gaming room, pressed his thumb against a security panel, and revealed a silent hallway lined with dark wood and framed black-and-white photographs.
No casino noise.
No flashing lights.
No drunk businessmen.
Only quiet.
Expensive quiet.
The kind rich people apparently purchased when they became tired of ordinary sound.
A man was waiting inside the lounge.
Late thirties, broad shoulders, gray suit, buzzed dark hair.
He looked at me once, then at Dominic.
“This her?”
Dominic removed his jacket.
“Yes.”
The man frowned.
“You brought her here?”
“She asked me to pretend I loved her.”
The man blinked.
I covered my face.
“Please don’t say it like that.”
To my surprise, Dominic looked amused.
The other man looked between us.
“I was gone twelve minutes.”
“Antonio,” Dominic said, “this is Emma Carter.”
Antonio nodded.
“Antonio Vitale.”
I waited.
He added, “Security.”
I looked at his build.
“For the casino?”
He and Dominic exchanged glances.
Antonio said, “Something like that.”
Great.
I sat at the edge of a leather chair.
Dominic poured water from a glass bottle and handed it to me.
“No alcohol?”
“I don’t drink when I’m frightened.”
“That’s sensible.”
“I learned from dating Mason.”
That removed the faint amusement from Dominic’s expression.
He sat across from me.
Antonio remained standing.
Dominic placed a thin folder on the table.
Inside was a photograph of Mason.
Not a social-media photo.
A surveillance image.
Mason leaving a building at night.
“What is this?”
“Three months ago,” Dominic said, “Mason borrowed money.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
I almost dropped the glass.
“He doesn’t have two hundred thousand dollars.”
“That’s why people borrow money.”
“Who gave it to him?”
Dominic looked at Antonio.
Antonio answered.
“A gambling operation connected to Victor Salerno.”
I knew another whispered name.
Everyone who worked nights around casinos eventually heard names they weren’t supposed to repeat.
“Salerno.”
Dominic nodded.
“You’ve heard of him.”
“Only rumors.”
“Keep it that way.”
I looked back at the photograph.
“Mason gambles, but two hundred thousand?”
“He lost more afterward.”
My stomach sank.
“How much?”
“At least four hundred thousand total.”
I stared at Dominic.
“There’s no way.”
“There is.”
“He makes sixty-five thousand a year.”
“He also lies for free.”
That sounded exactly like Mason.
Dominic opened another page.
Transfers.
Dates.
Amounts.
One transaction made me stop breathing.
$27,846.
The exact amount missing from our account.
I pointed.
“That’s mine.”
“We know.”
“How?”
Antonio answered.
“The money moved from your joint account to one registered to Mason. Less than forty minutes later, it went to another account.”
“Salerno?”
“Not directly.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“Mason has been trying to hide his debt by moving money through other people.”
I looked at him.
“What other people?”
“You.”
“No.”
“He still had access to your information.”
My stomach turned.
“When we lived together, he handled taxes.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“Social Security number?”
“Yes.”
“Copies of identification?”
“Probably.”
Antonio muttered something under his breath.
I wrapped both hands around the water glass.
“What did he do?”
Dominic hesitated.
I hated that hesitation.
“Tell me.”
“There’s a business registered in Nevada four months ago.”
“So?”
“It lists you as an officer.”
I stared at him.
“I don’t own a business.”
“We know.”
“What business?”
“Carter Hospitality Consulting.”
“That doesn’t even sound real.”
“It isn’t. But accounts attached to it have moved nearly nine hundred thousand dollars.”
The room tilted.
I put the glass down.
“No.”
“Emma—”
“No. I would know.”
“You didn’t sign anything?”
“Of course I didn’t.”
Antonio asked, “Did Mason ever ask you to electronically sign blank documents?”
Memories struck like flashes.
A laptop on our kitchen counter.
Mason saying the lease company needed updated signatures.
A tax form he told me not to bother reading.
A tablet turned toward me.
Just sign here, Em.
I stood abruptly.
“I’m going to be sick.”
Dominic was beside me before I made it two steps.
He didn’t touch me until I swayed.
Then his hand steadied my arm.
“Breathe.”
“He stole my identity.”
“Yes.”
“And moved criminal money under my name.”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly?”
“We don’t know where all the money came from.”
“Oh, that’s comforting.”
I pulled away.
Panic became anger.
Anger was better.
Anger could stand upright.
“You knew all of this before tonight?”
“I knew the company existed. I didn’t know whether you were involved willingly.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t think you are.”
“You don’t think?”
Dominic accepted the accusation without reacting.
“People lie to me every day.”
“I’m not one of your people.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“You’re not.”
That should not have affected me.
It did.
I walked toward the window.
The Strip glittered below.
Millions of lights.
Thousands of tourists having the best night of their lives.
And somewhere in the same city, my name was apparently attached to almost a million dollars I had never seen.
“What happens now?”
Dominic answered.
“You need a lawyer.”
“I can’t afford one.”
“You have one.”
I turned.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I told you, I don’t want charity.”
“This isn’t charity.”
“Then what is it?”
His gaze held mine.
“Self-interest.”
I crossed my arms.
“Explain.”
“If Salerno used Mason to move money through your identity, I need to know why.”
“You’re investigating him?”
“I’m protecting my businesses.”
There it was.
The careful language.
Mafia language.
“I don’t want to be involved in whatever war you have with him.”
Dominic’s expression hardened.
“You already are.”
“Because Mason dragged me into it.”
“Yes.”
“And you expect me to trust you?”
“No.”
The answer stopped me.
Dominic leaned against the table.
“I expect you to use good judgment.”
“You’re a mafia boss.”
Antonio coughed.
Dominic looked almost entertained.
“I prefer businessman.”
“I’m sure the IRS does too.”
Antonio turned his face away, definitely hiding a smile.
Dominic stared at me.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
Not loudly.
But genuinely.
The sound transformed him.
For one second, he looked younger.
Human.
Then it disappeared.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said.
“Neither are you.”
“What did you expect?”
“More gold jewelry.”
Antonio actually laughed.
Dominic gave him a look.
He stopped immediately.
A phone buzzed.
Antonio checked it.
His expression changed.
“Dominic.”
One word.
That was enough.
Dominic took the phone.
He read the screen.
Then looked at me.
“What?”
“Your apartment.”
My blood went cold.
“What about it?”
“Someone broke in.”
I grabbed my bag.
Dominic blocked me.
“I have to go.”
“No.”
“That’s my home.”
“Which is exactly why you’re not going.”
“My things are there.”
“Things can be replaced.”
I stepped around him.
He moved again.
“Get out of my way.”
“No.”
I stared up at him.
“You do not get to order me around.”
“You’re right.”
“Good.”
“You’re still not going.”
I nearly screamed.
“Dominic!”
His expression turned serious.
“If they wanted your television, they’d take your television. If they wanted jewelry, they’d wait until you were at work. Someone entered your apartment less than twenty minutes after Mason left the casino.”
I stopped.
Antonio added, “Nothing appears stolen.”
That was worse.
“What were they looking for?”
“We don’t know.”
I thought about papers.
Old mail.
Mason’s remaining belongings.
Then I remembered something.
A storage box.
I had packed it after moving out.
Tax documents.
Bank statements.
Copies of old lease agreements.
And Mason’s notebook.
A black leather notebook he had left behind.
At the time I thought it contained sports bets.
I had thrown it into the box without looking closely.
My face must have changed.
Dominic noticed.
“What?”
“There’s something.”
“What?”
“A notebook.”
Antonio stepped closer.
“Whose?”
“Mason’s.”
Dominic’s eyes sharpened.
“What’s in it?”
“I don’t know. Numbers. Names. I glanced at it once.”
“Where is it?”
“My apartment.”
Antonio cursed.
Dominic reached for his phone.
I grabbed his wrist.
“I need to go.”
He looked at my hand on him.
This was becoming a habit.
“You’re not going inside.”
“I can show you where it is.”
He considered.
“Fine.”
Antonio shook his head.
“Boss—”
“She stays in the car.”
“I’m standing right here.”
Dominic looked at me.
“You stay in the car.”
I opened my mouth.
He leaned closer.
“Emma.”
Something in his tone silenced me.
Not domination.
Fear.
For me.
That realization unsettled me more than an order would have.
Twenty minutes later, I sat in the back of a black SUV between Dominic and a tinted window.
Antonio drove.
Another vehicle followed.
I stared at Dominic.
“Is this normal?”
“What?”
“Convoying around Las Vegas because a waitress has her ex-boyfriend’s notebook.”
“No.”
“What’s normal?”
“Usually people are smart enough not to steal from Victor Salerno.”
“And Mason isn’t?”
“No.”
“On that, we agree.”
Dominic looked out the window.
Then asked, “Why did you stay with him?”
I stiffened.
“You don’t get to ask that.”
“You’re right.”
He looked back at me.
“I’m sorry.”
Again, not what I expected.
Silence stretched.
I finally spoke.
“He wasn’t cruel in the beginning.”
Dominic waited.
“He was funny. Charming. He remembered little things. The coffee I liked. My mother’s birthday. He’d leave notes in my lunch.”
My throat tightened.
“Then slowly everything became my fault. If he screamed, I had provoked him. If he lost money, I stressed him out. If he flirted with someone, I had become boring.”
Dominic’s face darkened.
“The first time he grabbed me hard enough to bruise, he cried afterward.”
I laughed bitterly.
“I spent the whole night comforting him.”
Dominic’s fingers tightened against his knee.
“He never hit me with a closed fist.”
I hated myself for saying it.
For still measuring violence in degrees.
Dominic said quietly, “You don’t need to make it sound smaller.”
I looked at him.
Those words landed somewhere painful.
I turned toward the window before he could see my eyes fill.
We reached my apartment building.
Police were outside.
So were two of Dominic’s men.
One walked to the SUV.
“Back window forced. Bedroom searched. Kitchen cabinets emptied. No obvious theft.”
Dominic asked, “Anyone seen leaving?”
“Neighbor saw a man in a baseball cap.”
“What time?”
“Seven minutes before we got here.”
I opened the door.
Dominic caught my arm.
“You promised.”
“I promised nothing.”
“Emma.”
“The notebook is inside.”
“We’ll get it.”
“I know where it is.”
Dominic sighed.
Then looked at Antonio.
“Stay beside her.”
I glared.
“I don’t need babysitting.”
Antonio shrugged.
“He pays well.”
Inside, my apartment looked violated.
Drawers dumped.
Mattress flipped.
Clothes scattered.
A framed photograph of my mother lay broken near the dresser.
I stopped.
Someone had stepped on it.
Glass covered her face.
My chest tightened.
Dominic bent and carefully picked it up.
“Your mother?”
“She died five years ago.”
He brushed a piece of glass away.
“I’m sorry.”
“Cancer.”
He nodded once.
Then handed me the photograph.
Gently.
I swallowed the sudden ache and moved toward my closet.
The storage box was behind several old coats.
Or it should have been.
I froze.
“It’s gone.”
Dominic’s gaze sharpened.
“The whole box?”
“Yes.”
Antonio checked the closet.
“What was inside?”
“Financial papers. Old tax documents. Mason’s notebook.”
Dominic swore quietly.
A sound came from the hallway.
One of Dominic’s men appeared.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found this taped beneath the kitchen table.”
He held a small black object.
Antonio went still.
“Tracker?”
“Audio recorder.”
My skin crawled.
“How long has that been there?”
“Hard to know.”
I looked around my apartment.
The place where I changed clothes.
Cried.
Talked to my sister.
Slept.
Someone had been listening.
Dominic’s entire demeanor changed.
He handed the device to Antonio.
“Sweep everything.”
Then he turned to me.
“You’re not staying here.”
“I can get a hotel.”
“No.”
“I am not moving into some mafia safe house.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Then where?”
He held my gaze.
“My house.”
I laughed because the alternative was panic.
“Absolutely not.”
“Emma.”
“No. I asked you to pretend for thirty seconds. Somehow that became identity theft, gambling debts, surveillance equipment, and now you want me living in your house.”
“Until we know who broke in.”
“I barely know you.”
“That’s true.”
“You could be more dangerous than Mason.”
Something flickered through his eyes.
Pain?
Regret?
“I am.”
The honesty silenced me.
Dominic stepped closer.
“But not to you.”
Before I could answer, Antonio’s phone rang.
He picked up.
Listened.
Then his eyes met Dominic’s.
“We found Mason.”
“Where?”
Antonio slowly lowered the phone.
“At Salerno’s warehouse.”
My stomach dropped.
“Doing what?”
Antonio looked at me.
“Trying to sell him information.”
Dominic became motionless.
“What information?”
Antonio hesitated.
Then answered.
“About Emma.”
And for the first time that night, I saw Dominic Costantini lose his calm.