Page 21 of Jackpot Joker

“It’s not a date!” she shouts to my back.

Oh, it’s definitely a date.

“Talk to me,” I bark into the wireless system as soon as I get in my car. The voice from my head of security booms throughout the small space.

“Her name is Ruby De Luca. She’s been seen around town on the arm of Matty Matarazzo.”

“And the device?”

“Standard tracker.”

“Fuck!” I slam my hands against the steering wheel as I curse, but I’m thankful I didn’t keep it in my pocket and lead them straight to Jasmine. “How the hell did someone involved with the Matarazzo crew get into my casino?”

“We’re looking into it, boss,” Leo assures me. “We’ve got her in the cage. You want us to alert Luca?”

I consider his offer. “I’ll tell him. Keep some men on her in the Doom Room. Try to get her to squeal on what those fuckers are up to. In the meantime, I need you to meet me at the house with that tracker.”

I hang up and race across the city, headed to my family’s estate. Throw in my necessary rendezvous with Leo, and I’m so fucking past late, even by fashionable standards. Family dinner is about to get interesting.

Entering my father’s home, my fingers grip the round tracking device Leo met me with. I walk into the dining room where my dad sits at the head, Gio and Luca to each side of him. I’m not surprised to see my dad’s disappointment when his eyes meet mine.

“Family dinner not important to you, boy?”

“Sorry, Papa,” I say, trying to avoid an argument.

He starts in on his typical soapbox speech, and I keep my head down. Like every dinner with my dad, I’m reminded how my brothers can do no wrong, and I can do no right.

“You act like some fucking joker when you’re supposed to be a prince,” he jabs.

Salvatore Caruso, everybody. Father of the fucking year.

Gio and Luca sit wordless, knowing better than to stand up for me. Dinner has been like this for thirty-three years, but it’s been worse since my mother passed. I imagine it will continue this way until my father’s in his own grave.

His vitriol finally ceases when a member of our staff places a blackened branzino on the table. I hate fish almost as much as I hate coffee, but I refuse to tell him that.

“Did you get that new warehouse?” he barks out.

“Yes, Papa,” Gio answers dutifully. “The new shipment arrives as the ink dries. We have everything squared away.”

“My boy. My heir,” my father coos, and I hold in the urge to roll my eyes in the same manner as the buxom blonde I just left.

Luca passes me the potatoes, knowing I’m foregoing the fish. He might not say much, but he’s always taken care of me.

“Luca,” my father snarls, and I hold in a breath, afraid he’ll be reprimanded for his kindness. “Did you take care of that bastard who leaked our whereabouts?”

My quiet brother nods.

“Speak up, boy.”

“Yes, Papa. He’s gone.”

Luca’s voice is quiet, but my father seems satisfied and goes back to his dinner, granting us the reprieve of having any further conversation.

When our plates have been cleared, and another round of liquor has been poured, my old man speaks again. “Next week, the family is coming in. Every one of you’d better be here, and you’d better make me look good.” I don’t need to look up to know he’s staring at me.

We mutter our agreement, and when the man goes into a coughing fit, he retires for the night, leaving me alone with my brothers.

“Better make him look good?” Gio mocks, “Guess we need some tips from you, pretty boy. You’re the best looking out of all of us.”