With This Ring (35 page)

Victor had been heartbroken.

Unfortunately, Rosalie's death came just as Michael had made a decision. He wanted out. From the day he'd graduated from the Wharton School of Business, Michael had worked for his father. His role had gradually evolved to that of a troubleshooter. When Victor, who made a habit of buying businesses in trouble, acquired a company, Michael went in, did a thorough investigation, and gradually uncovered the problems. Then the problems were fixed.

And that usually meant heads rolled. People were fired. Lives were turned upside down.

For years Michael told himself it was part of the job. He told himself it wasn't his fault these people had made such stupid decisions. He told himself it was a dog-eat-dog world out there, that if you couldn't handle the heat, you shouldn't be in the kitchen.

But nothing he told himself made him feel any better about what he did.

He was a hatchet man.

He hated being a hatchet man.

From the time he'd worked as a waiter to earn his own spending money while in college, Michael had loved the restaurant business.

For years he'd saved part of his generous salary with the goal of starting his own restaurant someday. And right before his mother died, he'd been planning to tell his father he was leaving Vellini, Incorporated.

Gently, of course.

But then Rosalie died.

And Victor was devastated.

And Michael couldn't add to his devastation. He knew he'd have to wait awhile longer, so he put his plans and dreams on hold.

Now here he was, three years later, still doing hatchet jobs. Still trying to be the perfect son. He sighed deeply. "Dad, you know I love and respect you..."

Victor said nothing.

"For nine years I've done everything you've asked of me. No matter how I felt about the jobs I was sent to do, I did them. But I'm tired—"

"You're tired! What do
you
have to be tired about?
I'm
the one who slaved to build the Vellini fortunes, and
you're
the one who's going to benefit, you and your sister!" Victor's face was red by the time he finished.

Michael stared at Victor. "Are you finished?" he said softly.

Father and son locked gazes. Michael refused to be the first one to look away. Finally Victor, in a rare instance of capitulation, said, "What is this nonsense, you're tired? Tired of what?"

Michael knew Victor well enough to know that he always tried intimidation first. Since it hadn't worked, he had moved into his show-him-how-reasonable-I-can-be mode. "It isn't nonsense. I'm tired of what I do. You know that. You've just refused to face it. I'm not you. I don't like my job, and I want out."

"Michael, my son, you're talking foolishness."

Michael sat up straight. "Stop that. I'm thirty-two years old. A grown man. I know my own mind, and I'm telling you, I don't like what I do, and I no longer want to do it."

"How can you say you don't like what you do?" Victor gestured at the lavish office. "All this will be yours someday. Whether you like it or not, you must be prepared to take over. I won't live forever, you know." He gave Michael a calculating look. "Your mother didn't," he added softly.

Michael couldn't sit a moment longer. He stood, jammed his hands into his pockets. "That was a low blow."

"I'm sorry if you think so, Michael, but nevertheless, it's the truth. I
won't
live forever."

"Quit trying to lay that guilt trip on me. It's not going to work this time."

"Michael, Michael, you disappoint me. You act as if I'm manipulating you."

Michael smiled cynically. "Aren't you?"

The two men stared at each other.

An Italian standoff, Michael thought. If this hadn't been such a serious subject, he might have been amused.

"Look . . ." he finally said. "I'll tell you what I'm willing to do. I'll compromise. I'll go out to Vegas and infiltrate the employees at The Glass Slipper. I'll try to find out who's been stealing from the casino."

Victor smiled triumphantly. "I knew—"

"But," Michael interrupted, "in return, we'll dispense with the games. You'll agree that this will be my last job for Vellini, Incorporated. When I've solved your problem at the casino, you won't give me any more crap about striking out on my own."

Victor's smile faded. "To do what?"

"To open my own restaurant."

The office became very quiet. Long seconds later, Victor sighed heavily. "I thought you'd forgotten that ridiculous notion by now."

"I've never forgotten it, and it's not ridiculous."

"Why would you want to open a restaurant when you—"

"I've given you all my reasons before."

"Your reasons don't make sense."

"Maybe they don't make sense to you. But as I said before, I'm not you. You did what you wanted to do. At least allow me the same consideration."

"Michael ..."

"I've made up my mind this time. Nothing is going to change it."

"All right, Michael," Victor said, a long-suffering look crossing his face. "You win. But only because I know this whim of yours won't last."

Michael sighed.

"You're too intelligent to spend your days running a restaurant!" Victor insisted. "I predict that before a year is up, you'll be bored and ready for something different." He smiled confidently. "You'll be back."

Don't be too sure of that,
Michael thought.

Still smiling, Victor reached for his intercom. "Now I'm going to call Dominic in. We'd better get started on planning our strategy if we're going to catch our crook."

Ten minutes later, Michael and his father were joined by Dominic Cassione, Michael's godfather and Victor's right-hand man and friend of sixty-three years.

"So ... it begins," Dominic said, smiling. He rubbed his hands together.

Michael grinned. His godfather loved a challenge.

"Michael," Victor said. "Perhaps you should fill us in on your research."

Michael opened his notebook. "Our primary suspect is Philip Brownlee, the head pit boss." He consulted his notes. "Brownlee's been at The Glass Slipper twenty-four years, and he's been the head pit boss for three years." He looked up, meeting first his father's, then Dominic's gaze. "And it was just about three years ago that the blackjack revenues began to fall."

"Could be a coincidence," Dominic said.

"I don't believe in coincidence," Michael countered.

"Go on," said Victor impatiently.

"The other suspects are the three pit bosses, the head cashier, and various floormen and dealers. None of these employees could be stealing on their own, though. Not with the safeguards that are in place. No, this is a team effort. The trick will be to identify the players."

They talked about casino procedures for a while, with Michael explaining what he'd learned.

"Where do you plan to begin your investigation?" Dominic asked.

"Well ..." Michael rubbed his chin. "The best place to start seems to be with one of the dealers—Shawn MacInnes."

Dominic raised his eyebrows. "I thought you said Brownlee—''

"I did, but Shawn MacInnes is Philip Brownlee's niece." Michael sighed. "Getting to know her looks like the quickest way to get close to Brownlee."

Victor nodded. "The weakest link..."

"Do you think she's involved, too?" Dominic asked.

"It's possible," Michael said, thinking it was a strong possibility.

They talked for another hour, deciding that Dominic would be named the new general manager of The Glass Slipper, and in the process of assuming management, he would order the hiring of additional personnel.

Michael would be one of those hired.

"We'll make sure you're assigned to the same shift as the MacInnes woman, of course," Dominic said. "After that, it'll be up to you."

"I really hate this," Michael said.

"This is business," Victor said coldly. "There's no place for feelings in business."

Michael nodded. He knew that.

He knew that all too well.

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