It had been another long day, and the young owner of the PaLargio Hotel and Casino was feeling the effects.  But as Reno Gabrini showered and dressed and left his penthouse apartment to make his way downstairs, to his office on the thirtieth floor, he was determined to drop off the contract and get the hell out.  He was a busy man, and every time he went anywhere near his office a million problems seemed to require his attention, but he was not going to let anything stop him from picking up Katrina Hathaway and taking her out on the town.  Because of his busy schedule, he already had to cancel two other dates he had planned with her.   He wasn’t canceling this one too.

He leaned against the side wall as the elevator doors closed around him and carried him downstairs.  He had the contract in his right hand as he glanced at the Rolex on his left wrist.  It was already five-to-eight, when he’d told her he would be there by eight.  Which meant he was going to be late again, he thought to himself, shaking his head.  What kind of boyfriend was he?  He wished he could forget the contract drop-off and just head on out.  Or leave it at the front desk.

But he dismissed such thoughts.  He was a hands-on owner.  He wasn’t leaving anything anywhere.  He was late.  It couldn’t be helped.  “Fuck it,” he said defiantly.  She was just going to have to wait.

But that wasn’t how he truly felt.  He wanted this to work for a change.  Although their relationship was spanking-brand-new, and she had just accepted a job as his employee, which complicated matters, she was the best thing he had going in his life.  When he was with her, he could forget the hell he had to deal with.  He could forget that his old man, mob boss Paulo Gabrini, had just survived yet another assassination attempt from a rival family, and that he was expected to track those fuckers down and handle it.  He could forget that his business was popping, but it was popping too fast.  A-list celebs were lining up like rats in a cheese factory to get a gig at the PaLargio, which meant he had to turn down most of them.  And their sensitive-ass egos didn’t like it.  They often told him so in such berating language that he was always forced to defend himself and cuss their asses out too.  He had lawsuits pending against him because of the level he had to stoop with some of them.  His plate was overfull.

But as he leaned against the back wall of his private elevator and thought about Trina, he could actually smile.  He liked that kid.  He liked her spunk and her sincerity.  He liked the fact that she wasn’t blown away by his riches or his power or the fact that he commanded the Strip.  She was a woman who knew what she wanted and what she didn’t want, and there was no razzle-dazzling her.  She was the first woman he’d ever known that made him work for her affection.

But when Reno stepped off of the elevator and made his way into his suite of offices, where, even at that time of night, twenty-plus aides were roaming around and trying to put out fires in his casino and hotel, he had to forget Trina and deal with the bombardment.  And it came as soon as he walked in.

“We need a decision on Curry, sir.”

“I have Petrocelli on the phone, Boss.  He says they won’t take a one-night only.  They want a two-weeks guaranteed or no deal.”

“What about Minnie Rourke, Boss?  Her agent says she’ll go to Caesars if they don’t get an answer tonight.”

“Arnisted the Great is drunk as a skunk and his show is in two hours.  Two hours, Reno!  Do we cancel again?”

And Reno answered every question without breaking his stride.  He was looking for one man: his Talent Director Mike Witherspoon.  He found another one: his kid brother Joey.

“Get up,” he said to his brother as he headed behind his desk.

Joey, who was seated behind Reno’s desk with his shoes propped up, rose to his feet.  “What up, Reno?”

“Don’t what up me.  What are you doing here?” Reno plopped down in the seat his brother had vacated.

“I came to see you, that’s what I’m doing here,” Joey responded.  He was a young Italian who perfected the Brooklyn accent, although he never lived a day in Brooklyn.  He wore an oversized black leather jacket and finger-out gloves the way, he felt, the Brooklyn wise guys dressed.  He wanted to look like a gangster, Reno thought.  He was a gangster; he worked for their father.  But he felt he had to look the part.  Which was ridiculous and irresponsible to Reno.

“Who got your panties in a twist?” Joey asked.  “Can’t I come see my brother all of a sudden?”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t come see me,” Reno responded.  “Did I say you couldn’t come?  I asked what you were doing here, that’s all I asked.  What’s your problem?”

Joey knew about Reno’s temper.  He knew to back off.

Then another aide came up to Reno’s desk. Only this aide was a senior manager.  “They want a run-of-show contract, Reno.  And yes, I told them that wasn’t going to fly, but that’s what they say they want.”

“Who are they?” Reno asked.

“That Filipino circus act.  The Amazing whatevers.”

“That’s their name?” Joey asked.

“No, Joey,” the manager said.  “I just can’t remember it.”  Then he looked at Reno. “What you say, Boss?  They have a deep following.  They’re supposed to be brilliant.”

“They’re all supposed to be brilliant, until they get to the PaLargio,” Reno said.  “What are we offering?”

“One Night Only,” the manager said.  “What else?  If they prove they belong here, and they can get butts in the seats, then we’ll look at expanding.  But they say no dice to that.”

“Then no dice,” Reno said.  “Fuck’em!  I have to turn down A-listers all day long and some men in fucking tights think they’re going to dictate to me?  Tell them no.  We changed our minds.  We don’t want their asses after all.”

The manager smiled.  “With pleasure, Boss,” he said, and hurried out of the chaotic office.

“Where’s Mikey?” Reno said, looking around.  “I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Where you going?” Joey asked.

Reno’s desk intercom buzzed.  Reno pressed the button.  “What?”

“Mariah’s publicist is on line seven, sir.”

“Not tonight.  I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” the secretary said.

“What’s with all of these aides in your office all the time?” Joey asked him.  “I can’t hear myself think when I come in here.  This place looks like the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, it’s so crazy.  How you ever get any work done?”

“Spoken by a guy who never worked a day in his life.”  Then Reno saw who he was looking for walk through the door.  “Mikey!” he yelled.

Mike Witherspoon, one of Reno’s talent directors, was talking on his cellphone.  He looked over when Reno called his name.

Reno lifted up the contract he had in his hand.

“It’s signed?” Mike asked.

“What do you think?” Reno asked.

“Yes!” Mike responded with a fist pump, said something to the person on the other end of his phone call, and then made his way to Reno.  “Thanks, Boss.  They’ve been blowing up my phone all day!”

But as Mike reached for the contract, Reno pulled it back.  “Before she signs anything, you make it clear to that bitch that if she pulls that diva shit on me again, I’ll revoke this contract as fast as she can blink an eye.”

“I’ll let her know.”

“I had the lawyers add that diva clause for that very reason.  And make it clear to her that I’ll honor it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then Reno released the contract he had only minutes before signed, and Mike grabbed it and took off to tell the news.  “It’s a go!” he could be heard saying on his cellphone before he even left the office.

Reno then began roaming through his desk drawers looking for a particular item, until he found it: a small box with a diamond tennis bracelet inside.  He put it in his pocket and then rose from behind the desk.  Joey followed him as he began heading for the exit.

“You look fresh tonight,” Joey said as they walked.

Reno glanced at him.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you look fresh.  You look clean.”

“I’m always clean.  What kind of talk is that?”

“You know what I’m saying, come on, Reno!  Your Armani suit ain’t ruffled like it usually is.  Every strand of your hair is in place.  That ain’t you.  At least not normally.  Where are you headed that you got to look so elegant?”

“Out,” Reno said as he got on his private elevator.

Joey got on too.  “Out where?”

Reno looked at his kid brother as if he had some nerve.  “What are you asking me all of these questions for?”

“I can’t ask my brother a question?”

Reno just stared at him.

“I hear things, aw’ight?”

“You hear things?”  Reno asked.  “You’re supposed to hear things.  You aren’t deaf, are you?  What’s that supposed to mean, you hear things?”

“It means I hear things.  Like about you and the black girl.”

Reno should have known.  “Don’t start, Joey, or I’ll kick your ass.”

“I just don’t get it.  What do you need her for with all of these great looking Italian girls running around?  We’re Italians.  We stick together.”

Reno frowned.  “Then stick together.  What the fuck that got to do with me?”

“You always do your own thing, that’s what!  You always have to go your own way.  But I’m telling you I don’t like it, Reno.  I’m expected to marry an Italian girl, and so are you.”

But Reno wasn’t about to go along with that life plan.  “Marry?” he asked.  “Who the fuck’s talking about marrying?  I’m not marrying anybody.  Italian or otherwise.”

“What are you talking?” Joey asked.  “You have to get married!”

“Why?” Reno asked.

“Because you’re Italian!” Joey said as if that said it all.

Reno could only roll his eyes.  “Aye yai-yai,” he said as the elevator stopped and the doors opened.  He stepped off into the lobby of the PaLargio.  Joey stepped off too.

But they had only just stepped out of the lobby and under the portico outside, where Reno’s convertible was waiting, when a different car, a Cadillac, drove up.  Carmine Rossi and Richie, better known as Dirty, got out.  Both were Reno and Joey’s brothers-in-law, and both worked for Paulo Gabrini.

“What up, Dirty?” Joey asked.  “What up, Carmine?”

“We got problems to solve, Reno,” Carmine said.  “We got trouble.”

“What trouble?” Reno asked.

Carmine looked around, and saw where a couple of the valets were all-ears.  He moved a little further away.  Everybody followed him.  “We found out who tried to ice your old man.”

Reno and Joey both were interested in the news, but Joey was animated.  “Who?” he asked.  “Who are those fuckers so I can tear them apart limb by limb?”

“It was Pizzano,” Carmine said to Reno.

Reno was surprised.  “Pizzano?  Dellboy Pizzano?  You sure?”

“Positive.  We got a few of his guys to turn on him.  They told us the whole plot.  They knew details nobody but the hit men would have known.  It was him.  And check this out: we got a read on him as I’m speaking to you right now.  We know where his ass is.  We know where his ass is heading.”

Reno’s heart began hammering.  “Where?”

“According to one of his men, a very senior capo in his organization, he likes to go to this strip joint on Bellinger every Thursday night.”

Reno thought about Trina.  She used to work at a strip joint.  She wasn’t stripping, she was a waitress, but she worked there.  He met her there.  “And you’re certain he’ll be there tonight?”

“That’s what we’ve been told.  I already told him if he’s lying, he’s dead.  He ain’t lying.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Cut him off before he gets there.  Based on the route he takes, he’ll have to go through this side street that’s a perfect place for scum like him to take his last breath: dark and lonely and isolated.  I already got a crew in place.”

Reno nodded his approval.  Carmine and Dirty weren’t usually up for the job: that was the main reason he always had to intercede.  But they seemed up for it tonight.  “Let’s go,” Reno said, and they all hurried to Dirty’s Cadillac, and took off.

Reno wanted to think on good thoughts, like Trina Hathaway.  Like the look on her face when he gave her that diamond bracelet.  But he couldn’t allow his hard exterior to soften.  He couldn’t think on good thoughts.  Not at a time like this.