Page 72 of Maximum Bet

Jonathon grunts in understanding.

“Cassandra’s bodyguard got hit protecting her.”

“Which wouldn’t have happened if he got her to the safe room in the first place,” he grits out.

I huff. “Trust me. I know. But he’s going to be okay, just out of commission for a while. We were worried about my driver, but he just got grazed. He took cover and was able to hold off a couple of gunmen until my father’s snipers took them out.”

“It could have been much worse.” Jonathon’s words are more of a warning than a statement.

“I’m doing everything I can to keep Cassandra safe,” I argue. “If you haven’t noticed, she’s not great at following directions.”

Jonathon laughs, and for a moment the mood lightens. “You should have seen her as a teenager.”

“God, I can’t even imagine.”

“I want to say one thing.” His voice drops low. “I gave you my blessing to marry my daughter because I saw that you’ll go to the end of the Earth for her. But, so help me God, if anything happens to her, I will butcher you, cut you into little pieces, and feed you to sharks in the Pacific Ocean. Are we clear?”

“Sir, if anything happens to her, you have my permission to kill me however you see fit.”

“Glad we’ve got that cleared up.” Jonathon clears his throat. “Keep me posted if you find out more about Kozlova and Perez, and I’ll do the same. Otherwise, I’ll see you next week.”

“I’ll be the one waiting at the altar,” I say with a grin.

The call ends, and I turn to my spreadsheets.

One week until Cassandra is mine forever.

Chapter 25

Cassandra

Makeup—natural and flawless.

Hair—waves accented with a real diamond tiara.

Dress—getting final touch-ups from Jaqueline as she circles me.

In the bridal suite’s full-length mirror, I scrutinize my reflection.

Although there’s little to scrutinize.

I’ve never felt more like Mafia royalty than I do at this moment.

My pure-white dress is princess-cut with a full skirt and a sweetheart neckline. The bodice is covered in lace, with delicate cap sleeves and floral appliqués that drop from the waist at varying lengths onto the top of the skirt.

“Oh, Cas,” my mother coos from where she sits, sipping champagne. “You’re going to make me cry.” She wipes a finger under her watering eyes.

“Christy, don’t you dare,” my makeup artist calls from the wet bar, her products scattered on the marble countertop. Sadie waits patiently on a stool as the artist applies her eye shadow.

“I know, I know.” My mother stands and crosses to me, gently placing her hand on my shoulder and squeezing. “Even considering all the gorgeous ballet costumes you’ve worn, you’ve never looked more beautiful.”

“So do you.” I turn and place a kiss on her cheek, earning a scolding from our makeup artist.

My mother’s hazelnut-colored eyes lock with mine as she gives me a wide smile. She has the same high cheekbones and full lips as I do, but her hair is a dirty blonde, highlighted to cover the few grays. She’s only forty-nine, so her skin has yet to show much aging other than smile lines. I’ve always believed she’s the perfect example of natural beauty.

“I feel like this all happened so fast.” Backing up, she waves her hand in the air, warding off the heaviness. “Last time I saw you, you were recovering from a breakup.”

“And surgery,” I remind her. “Mom, that was a few years ago.”