Chapter 17

Cas

With Lady Roma behind us, it is now time to play with Lady Luck.

In a hidden room behind the burlesque bar, there’s nothing, if not a sensory overload.

The bright lights of the slot machines…the loud music drowning out the conversation…the dealers snapping down their cards, calling twenty-one, groaning when a customer gets a bust.

It is all the sights, and sounds, and smells of Las Vegas, contained in less than a thousand square feet.

And here we are, Ana and I, smack-dab in the middle of it all, ready for action.

“So,” I say to her with a smirk on my face, “where to?”

Her eyes scan the room quickly, and she blinks rapidly as she tries to bring several different tables, machines, and people into focus.

Finally, she settles on one baccarat table, and her eyes are smiling before the rest of her face. “Baccarat, Cas-Bear.” She takes my hand and rushes to the table, the smile never leaving her face.

The card dealer is a familiar face—a bag man, I believe, for the Luccesse family—and he nods in my direction when he sees me sit with Ana.

I return the nod, and when I do, he deals the cards in my direction.

Baccarat is not a game that’s for the weak of heart, and neither is it a popular game amongst the younger Vegas crowd. There are three versions of the game—two European, one North American—but both are heavily in favor of the bank, especially in a mobbed-up casino like this.

Of course, this doesn’t matter when you, yourself, are a made man…and you, yourself, are the bank—if only as a silent partner.

It would make sense that Ana would be dangerous enough to play a dangerous game.

But I wouldn’t want my girl to be any other way.

“Cut me in,” she says to the dealer, who then looks at me as if to ask for permission.

When I nod at the dealer and toss my cards back to him, he shuffles the deck again and cuts her in.

Watching Ana play this game is turning me on beyond belief, so I decide to raise the stakes a little.

“Okay, Ana Baby,” I whisper in her ear, “there’s only three ways this can go: player, banker, and tie. So, let’s up the ante: if you win, you stay dressed. If the bank wins, you must lose an article of clothing. If there’s a tie, you have to give me a kiss.”

She shoots me a look of confusion. “This…this game is rigged in favor of the bank,” she says.

“I know,” I say, smiling lasciviously, “but I am the bank. So, I win either way.”

She smiles and shakes her head, as if to say, “I should have known.”

She plays her hand.

“Tie,” says the dealer.

Various men are walking past us, ogling her as they walk by.

But rather than be jealous by all these men staring at my girl, I take it as an opportunity to assert my dominance. This is mine… all mine. After all, I’m not just referring to the Ana—although, honestly, that’s the biggest score of all.

So as each man stops to take a look at the hand she’s won, I kiss her passionately, as promised.

“Cut me in,” she tells the dealer again.

He deals.

She plays.

“Banker,” he calls.

“Fuck,” she responds, and to my surprise, she reaches underneath her dress and pulls off her panties, placing them on the table triumphantly.

My eyes become as wide as saucers, but before I can protest, she kisses me passionately instead.

“Time to change the game a little bit,” she whispers before turning back to the dealer. “Cut me in.”

The dealer gives me a knowing nod and deals the cards.

She plays.

“Player,” he says, sighing.

He pushes the money towards her.

She smiles mischievously.

“Looks like I’m staying dressed,” she says, licking my nose.

She turns back to the dealer. “Cut me in,” she says.

He deals.

She plays.

“Player,” he says, sighing again.

And this scene repeats itself over and over for the next hour, until she wins more than $100,000 in cash.

We’re cultivating quite a crowd now, and as she plays each hand—and wins—more and more men gather around and begin cheering her on.

When she hits the $125,000 mark, I grab her and kiss her passionately.

“Now, now,” she says teasingly, “I haven’t lost. No kissing allowed.”

I fake—pout. “You can’t tell me no!”

She smirks triumphantly. “The hell I can’t.” Turning back to the dealer, she nods, “Cut me in.”

He deals the hand.

She plays.

The dealer looks around, creating tension.

Could it be? I think to myself. Has she finally lost a hand?

I smirk and look at her, knowing that she needs to lose a piece of clothing. Thus far, the only clothing she’s parted with is the G-string currently sitting on the table, but now, it’s all going to change.

Or so I think.

“Player,” the dealer announces and pushes another $50,000 her way.

It seems the entire casino has stopped playing, all to watch my girl win all the money in the bank, which, at my count, is at a cool $250,000.

I smile, kiss her passionately, and hold her hand up as though she were a boxing champion.

A man approaches her, clearly with the intent of hitting on her, but she quickly turns to me and kisses me passionately in response.

“Have you met my husband?” she asks her wannabe suitor, who then slinks away in defeat.

I’m all but floating on air, beaming with pride at everything that’s happening around me.

The money we’re winning…the people around us cheering…the sex in the air…and, most of all, my girl beside me.

If ever there was a gangster fairytale—a dream come true for a made man—this, right here, right now, would be the happy ending we all wish for.

The only thing that would make this complete is our wedding—long delayed by three years—and our baby.

I can’t make the former happen—not quite yet, as my baby deserves a lot more than a seedy 24-hour chapel, though it worked for us all those years ago—but I can work on the latter.

I grab her hand, and she senses the look in my eyes. She looks back at me with the same look of lust.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say.

“Your wish is my command,” she responds and kisses me passionately.

We run out of the casino, the money in hand, the sound of cheering behind us, and the sounds of Vegas in the air.