Page 84 of Maximum Bet

Walking along the perimeter, we take careful steps. While the walls of the ceremony room are transparent glass, the afternoon sun hits them at an unfortunate angle, nearly blinding us with its reflection.

“Get low,” Dominic instructs as we inch closer to the entrance. We pause, using a potted plant for cover. “I’m going in first, if something happens—”

My eyes slip closed as I push away the image ofsomethinghappening. “Run. I know.”

He gives a single nod before creeping past the plant and into the room. I wait with bated breath for the sound of an altercation. The silence that greets me gives beautiful relief.

“You can come out,” Dominic whispers. I follow his instruction and pad carefully past a shattered windowpane.

I gasp as I join Dominic’s side.

What was our elegant ceremony space less than an hour ago is now a war zone. Bodies riddled with bullet holes are littered throughout the room. Splatters of crimson cover the pale petals on my floral decor. Red liquid pools on the aisle runner that my father walked me down. From the ceiling, a chandelier hangs crooked, and shattered crystals congregate on the floor below.

“Oh, my God.” I clasp my gun to my chest with both hands as if the steel will bring me comfort.

“Jesus Christ,” Dominic mutters as he begins making his way around the sea of bodies. His face contorts as he recognizes one of his men. He takes a moment to lean down and close the soldier’s lifeless eyes.

I choke back tears as I pass the faces of the fallen. Yes, many were here to see to the demise of myself, my husband, and my family, but some gave their lives to defend us. I don’t know how to accept the concept of them trading their life for mine.

“Don’t look,” Dominic says, reaching under my chin and lifting so that my eyes make contact with the blood-splattered walls instead of blood-splattered faces.

He does his best to lead me around the massacre, but it’s impossible to protect my dress from the carnage. I can feel the fabric pulling as it catches on limbs and drags through thick puddles of blood. I hiss when the ball of my foot lands in liquid.Dominic curses and lifts me out of the offending substance. It doesn’t prevent me from leaving bloody footprints in my wake.

At the back entrance to the room, Dominic lifts me bridal style to carry me past and over the collection of bodies piled there.

I can’t help the laugh that bubbles from my chest. “What a fitting way to observe the tradition of carrying the bride over the threshold,” I snark.

Dominic blinks in shock at my dark humor before bursting into laughter.

“Welcome to the Mafia, Cassandra Tariello,” he whispers in my ear. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

When we’re finally free of the horror from the initial battle, Dominic places me on my feet.

We’re in the center of the top floor, near the elevator banks but away from both stairwells. Dominic looks from side to side, gun lowered.

“Where do we go now?” I ask, glancing down and scowling at the hem of my dress, which is soaked in blood.

“There’s a catering kitchen down the hall,” Dominic says. “We can probably find a spot there to hide until we have backup.”

“Let’s go.”

Hand in hand, we follow the hall toward nondescript double doors at the end. Dominic pushes through, leading us into a stark room lined with stainless steel counters and appliances, with an epoxy floor.

As the doors shut behind us, I halt mid-stride.

“Dominic,” I hiss, pushing into his side and pointing at the floor.

In front of us is a line of blood. It’s smeared across the floor as if someone was dragging an injured limb.

“Fuck.” With his weapon raised, Dominic steers me behind him as he takes measured steps farther into the kitchen.

At the end of an island, the blood trail makes a sharp left, indicating that whoever came through is likely still waiting on the other side.

Dominic points toward the ground by his side, ordering me to get low. I listen, gripping my weapon, ready to shoot. I situate myself so my gun is aimed over the counter, the top of my head barely visible.

Dominic peeks over the island, checking for more blood on the opposite side. He shakes his head. Whoever we’re dealing with is hunkered down at the end.

Aiming his gun, Dominic takes a defensive stance, ready to shoot. “Whoever is fucking there, give up your weapon. I might let you live if you’re willing to talk.”