Concealment (The Cassano Series Book 1)
Read Concealment (The Cassano Series Book 1) Online
Authors: Scarlet Wolfe
Concealment
Scarlet Wolfe
Copyright © 2015 Scarlet Wolfe Books
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Contents
Concealment
is the first novel in
The Cassano Series
. It is told from the points of view of Victoria, Adrian and Theo.
It ends in a cliffhanger and is for a mature audience due to harsh language and descriptive sexual scenes.
Cover Photography by Ron Reagan Photography
Cover Design by Kim Black at TOJ Publishing Services
Cover Model Ivan Gabriel
Belinda Dabney, I never would’ve believed when you were a young girl that one day you would be helping me publish a book. It’s surreal. You’re a good friend and invaluable. Thank you.
Victoria
Reaching down, I zip up my black thigh high boot. I’d never tell my detective partner, Reggie, but I feel badass and sexy as the zipper tightens the shiny, black patent leather against my toned leg.
“It appears his mother, Denise, has been in and out of mental facilities his entire life,” I say. “His father, Alvin Cassano, died in the Twin Towers during 9/11.
“Adrian, his three brothers, and one sister were left with a hefty insurance policy, and he enlisted in the Marines after.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed Adrian Cassano to be ex-military,” Reggie says.
“Once discharged, he and his brothers moved to Vegas and built the hotel and casino.”
“Be careful, Victoria.” Reggie is leaning back against my bedroom door, conveying a stern look.
“Seriously? What is your deal over this job?” I ask as I zip up my second boot.
“Have you forgotten we’re partners? I can’t be in there with you, and it’s making me crazy.”
“I’m a cop. I earned this detective job because of my ability since they sure as hell don’t give it to women otherwise. I can take care of myself.”
He slides his hand through his curly, dark hair. “That’s what worries me. You think you’re invincible.”
Why did we have to share one drunken night together last year? We solved a five-year-old case and went out to celebrate. We had been partners for three months, so our friendship wasn’t solid yet.
A few too many shots later, and we were fucking, breaking a critical rule. He’s been more protective since, and it sucks ass.
After rising from the bed in my cramped, one bedroom apartment downtown, I smooth out my red, leather miniskirt.
Next, I place a platinum blonde wig, cut as a bob, on my head and situate it until none of my long, dark hair is showing beneath it.
Peering at myself in the mirror above my dresser, I hardly recognize the person staring back. My cleavage is spilling out of the tight, black top that dips into a deep V.
Shifting my eyes to Reg through the glass, I watch as his possessive gaze scans my overly exposed body.
“Stop checking out my ass. I’m putting in for a new partner if you don’t cut that shit out.” I expect a smirk, but instead his forehead creases tightly.
“You look hot. Adrian Cassano is blind if he doesn’t notice you, but you heard the informant; she said women fall at his feet. Don’t let it happen.”
He’s pointing at me in the mirror, and I’m not going to acknowledge his comment.
Like I’m going to get all giddy over some Vegas tycoon. I see attractive men every day, so he’s just another swimming in the sea of arrogance.
“I’ll text you at break and when my shift is over.” Turning away from the mirror to face him, I hold my hand out toward the door.
“Now, out of my apartment. I need to pee, and I can’t be late for my first day on the job.”
***
Taking the bus sucks. I have a car, but most of the time it stays parked in my mother’s garage. My pride and joy is a black 1957 Ford Thunderbird.
I have a slight addiction to classic cars, having worked on them with my dad since a young age. He always said I was to have that vehicle, so I claimed it two years ago when he died.
My older sister, Nicole, is girly like my mother, so getting her nails dirty with grease is appalling to her. My youngest sister, Sadie, is a bookworm and uninterested in cars, too, so she didn’t mind when I inherited it.
Making my way to Hotel Submission and Casino, my diaphragm takes in air and hugs it.
Breathe. You’ve got this.
I walk to Human Resources. It’s on the opposite side from the casino in this enormous building.
A young woman sitting behind a receptionist desk smiles warmly at me after I enter. I’ve been here before, when I was brought in to interview and once again to pick up my slutty uniforms.
“Hi, I’m Vicky Stuart. It’s my first day as a server.”
“Yes, let me call someone to take you onto the floor,” the brunette says.
I wait in a chair and attempt to cross my legs, sitting as ladylike as possible. After ten minutes, a middle aged woman strolls in and gives me a faint smile.
“Hi, I guess you’re Vicky,” she says, her statement sounding more like a question.
Standing, I reach my hand out to her, but instead of shaking it, she surveys me from head to toe.
It’s uncomfortable and not the respectful introduction I’m used to receiving at my day job.
“The men are going to love you. You’re older but definitely one of the prettiest on the floor. Come with me. I’m Janice, by the way.”
Seriously? Thirty-two is not old. Maybe for a server in a slutty outfit, but I’m not old.
Nodding to the receptionist, Janice strides toward the door, so I follow her. I’m shown the locker room first and where to clock in and out before we’re soon entering the expansive lobby.
Men’s eyes fall on me after they wander astray from the women strolling next to them.
Feeling even more uncomfortable in this trampy get-up, I return my gaze to the back of Janice’s blonde hair … then brown hair … then the left over red on her split ends.
Thankfully, she’s not insulting the same risqué outfit by squeezing her generous frame into it. She’s wearing black slacks and a white button up blouse, tucked in with a belt in place.
The obtrusive dings from gambling machines signal me to survey my surroundings. A few more sets of male eyes catch sight of mine, but most patrons are too engrossed, feeding dollars into what they hope is their next meal ticket.
“Hazel, this is Vicky,” Janice states after we approach a young woman in one of the aisles between two rows of slot machines.
Hazel hands me a round, black tray and examines my frame, fortunately much quicker than Janice.
“Hi, Vicky. Do you know your cocktails?”
“Uh, yeah.” That is somewhat of a lie. I can only recognize the drinks I see served up at Stopper’s, a bar near our precinct, but that’s quite a few.
“Great, you can follow me around for a while, and then you’re on your own.”
“Hazel should be able to take care of you from here,” Janice says before she strolls away.
I follow the young server along the thin, red carpet that matches the color of our miniskirts. Her legs are long, and so is her blonde hair that is in a high ponytail with a bump at the crown.
I guess her to be in her mid-twenties. We approach the bar, and after Hazel speaks to the cute guy behind it, beer bottles slide across the wet surface.
“Hi, beautiful, first day?” the bartender asks.
“Yes, I’m Vicky.”
“Caine, and good luck, Vicky.” He gives a flirty smile with the assistance of his twinkling, blue eyes.
His light brown hair is a little long around the ears and a touch sweaty. Appearing hot, he pulls on a red tie that sits under a matching vest.
The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up his forearm, and from the look of his black dress pants and the shimmer on his vest, I imagine his sleeves don’t belong there.
In a flash, he’s moving on to another waitress standing several feet down from us.
“All the waiters are flirts, but Caine’s one of the good guys, especially for only being twenty-five,” Hazel says as she places mixed drinks on her tray and the beers on mine.
“I find most men his age are cocky assholes only looking for a piece of ass,” she adds.
Oh, yeah, we’re going to get along great. Her foul mouth and no-nonsense attitude tell me so.
Adrian
“I’m surprised you don’t have someone else handling this part of the job,” Mr. Glover says as he nervously smooths out his tie. My fingers are tented in front of me as I swivel lightly back and forth in my executive chair.
“It’s a critical aspect. I have to be sure I don’t let someone in who will fuck up my business.” There is something rubbing me wrong about this man.
He owns a successful tech company, but he hardly seems powerful. He’s either harmless, or he’s nervous because he’s scum. I’ll give him a chance but keep him close.
“Theo will go over the details with you. Remember that we can revoke your membership at any time, and there is normally another price to pay if it comes to that, so don’t let it happen.”
He taps his foot and glances away. “Of course, Mr. Cassano.”
I pick up the phone. “Theo, you can go over the terms with Mr. Glover now.”
Within seconds of ending the call, he’s entering the room and buttoning his suit jacket. He’s my younger brother, by two years, and I couldn’t manage this operation without him.
“Sir, right this way please.” Theo motions for Mr. Glover to follow him. After they leave, my desk phone rings.
“Yes,” I say.
“Ms. Stuart has arrived and is on the floor.”
“Thank you, Kruse, for informing me. Remember, this stays between us. I don’t care how close you are to Simon; I don’t want him knowing yet.”
“I understand.”
I end the call with the Head of Security, who is also the best friend of my youngest brother, Simon. I probably shouldn’t put him in a position to keep something from his friend, but it’s business.
Turning my attention to the camera screens, I click and click, changing to different views from my computer.
Having trouble picking her out, I zoom in on a few of the girls working the area. Pulling up the photograph I was emailed of Ms. Hart, who’s using “Stuart” as a last name alias, I take a long look at it.
I turn back to the screen, and there she is. The enemy. She’s obviously wearing a wig. Now, I need to find out how smart and persistent she is.
