The Wedding Gamble Read online

  Desperate, she scanned the restroom for anything that might help her rescue David. Where was the fire alarm? Or a big pipe wrench left behind by a plumber? The hand dryers and soap dispensers offered no solution. The only other item of interest was a vending machine.

  A dollar later, resisting the urge to giggle, she channeled her mounting hysteria into her role as David’s ditzy bride. Waving a condom package above her head, she burst from the ladies room. “Darling, I hope you haven’t started without me!”

  Charlie and Victor whirled to face her and for one horrifying moment, Charlie’s gun was pointed straight at her. She screamed, no acting required to convey her terror.

  Charlie eyed the package of neon green condoms and slipped the gun back into his coat. “What are you doing here?” he growled.

  “I’m not lurking in hallways, pointing guns at people,” she snapped. “I was in the ladies room.”

  Not satisfied with the answer, he stepped forward menacingly, “What are you doing here?” Charlie repeated.

  “None of your business.”

  “Maybe I’ll make it my business.” Charlie took another step toward her.

  “You just can’t stay away from my wife, can you?”

  David’s voice was overly loud in the stillness. All the breath left Laura as he emerged from the darkened restaurant, hands at his sides, posture relaxed. Was she the only one who recognized the hard edge to his voice?

  “Abruzzo.” Charlie had his gun out again, this time directed at David.

  “I got the condoms!” Laura waved the neon green packet like a semaphore flag. She giggled, trusting the goons would confuse hysteria with excitement and the effects of alcohol.

  Once more her words, or her bizarre behavior, distracted the thugs. “This is so embarrassing,” she said, hugging her arms across her stomach. Which had the effect, she knew, of forcing her breasts up and almost out of the low-cut dress she wore. Victor’s gaze shifted to her cleavage as if drawn by a magnet, though Charlie remained focused on her face.

  “David and I got a little carried away, so we slipped up here for a little alone time, then we realized we didn’t have any protection and well, we’re not ready to start a family just yet. So I said ‘Surely we can find a condom somewhere. I mean, this is Vegas,’ and sure enough, there’s a machine in the ladies room. But it’s a good thing I had change, because it only takes quarters and—”

  “Laura, honey, I think they get the picture.” David moved to her side and slipped his arm around her.

  “I talk too much when I’m embarrassed,” she said. True, but she also figured as long as she kept talking, no one was shooting.

  “What are you doing making out up here when you have a hotel room to go to?” Victor asked.

  Why indeed? “The tables at the Pancake Palace are the exact right height,” she blurted.

  All three men stared at her.

  “I was noticing at breakfast this morning,” she said. She assumed a scolding tone. “Honestly, you men underestimate the importance of the proper angle. Studies have shown that in order to stimulate a woman’s G-spot—”

  “I think they get the idea.” David squeezed her again.

  “I thought the G-spot was a myth,” Victor said.

  For all she knew, it was. She hadn’t had any personal experience with it, in any case. Not yet. “If a man knows what he’s doing, it isn’t,” she said. She beamed at David. To her delight, a red flush crept up his neck.

  Movement near the top of the stairs behind the two thugs caught her attention. David saw it, too—his eyes flicked in that direction, then back to Charlie’s face. She watched out of the corner of her eye as the big-nosed young man she’d seen with David at the craps tables earlier stopped on the top step, took in the scene in front of the restaurant, and retreated.

  “Maybe we can try those tables later,” David said. He took her hand and led her to the elevator. Ignoring the other two men, and the gun trained on them, he pressed up.

  “Stop.” Laura froze at Charlie’s order. “You two aren’t going anywhere but with us.”

  David turned to face him. He still looked as cool as a businessman at a cocktail party. How many years had he had to practice to learn how not to show fear? “Why should we come with you?”

  “Mr. Zacolli wants to see you.” He grabbed David’s arm and shoved the gun into his back. “Now move.”

  …

  Mr. Zacolli? As in the Frank Zacolli? The head of the largest organized crime family in the Midwest?

  David gave Laura a “let me handle this” look. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel after my visit with Mr. Zacolli,” he said.

  “She comes, too,” Charlie said. “Mr. Zacolli wants to meet your new bride.”

  Which was how Laura Nichols, teacher of toddlers, came to be escorted into the presence of one of the biggest crime bosses in the states.

  All the way to Zacolli’s hotel, riding in the back of a limo with Charlie and Victor seated across from them, Laura held on to David’s hand so tightly her fingers went numb. She didn’t say anything or even look at him, afraid her nervousness might give her away. When the limo pulled up in front of Planet Hollywood, she choked back a laugh. “What’s so funny?” Victor asked.

  “Nothing.” But as they followed Charlie up the red carpet to the door, she leaned in close to David and whispered, “Do you think he requested the Godfather suite?”

  David squeezed her hand in warning and she tried to compose herself. What were you supposed to say when you met the head of a crime family? ‘I’ve heard so much about you,’ didn’t seem appropriate, but pretending she’d never heard of him at all might be taken as an insult.

  The people crowding the lobby gave Charlie and Victor plenty of room as they hustled David and Laura toward the elevators. Something about scowling men in dark suits naturally made a person want to move away. She wanted to move away, but that wasn’t an option. She tried to pretend this was just another social visit, and made a point of admiring the movie posters and other memorabilia that lined the walls. “Oh, look. There’s a poster for Scarface. Did you ever see that one?”

  “I don’t like movies,” Charlie said, and herded them into the elevator.

  How could a person not like movies? she wanted to ask, but swallowed the words. Charlie clearly had no imagination and no sense of humor, either. They rode the elevator all the way to the top floor. Charlie knocked on a door, spoke to someone on the other side, then the door opened, and a wooden-faced man with an eye patch ushered them in.

  The room was not the Godfather suite, but a large apartment with plush modern furniture in shades of charcoal and burnt orange. The masculine scents of cigar smoke and musky aftershave permeated the chilly air. She shivered and wished she was wearing a suit coat like the men around her.

  Except they probably weren’t wearing jackets because of the air conditioning, but in order to conceal the weapons they were hiding. The thought sent another shiver through her.

  “Good evening.”

  She hadn’t been sure what a mafia don would look like, but instead of Marlon Brando, Frank Zacolli was closer to Wilfred Brimley. He was plump and wrinkled, with a surprisingly pleasant face.

  “David.” He held out both hands, and David walked forward and kissed the old man on both cheeks.

  David pulled her up beside him. “This is my wife, Laura. Laura, this is Mr. Zacolli.”

  She resisted the urge to curtsy and offered her hand instead. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Zacolli.”

  With a surprisingly strong grip, Zacolli pulled her close and embraced her. He kissed both cheeks then pinched her bottom.

  Face burning, she pulled away. He laughed. “Forgive an old man his weaknesses,” he said. “You remind me of my second wife. I always used to say she was like a cannoli—plump and sweet and more than a little bit flaky.” The men around him laughed, though she and David remained silent.

  Zacolli patted the space on the sofa beside him
. “Sit here, cara, and tell me about yourself. Where are you from?”

  “Davenport, Iowa.” As soon as she said the words, she wished she could take them back. Maybe telling the mob where you lived wasn’t such a great idea.

  “And what do you do in Davenport?”

  “I teach school.”

  He nodded, as if digesting important information. “So why do you want to hook up with a small-time hood like this guy?” He jerked his thumb toward David, who’d taken a chair across from them.

  David, a hood? She’d never imagined him that way, but when they’d crossed the threshold into this room, his whole demeanor had changed. He slumped in his chair, his expression sullen, body tensed. Every other man in the room wore a similar expression and attitude.

  “I married him because I love him,” she said. The words felt awkward on her tongue, and she couldn’t look at David when she said them, but she couldn’t think of any other reason for entering into a marriage—a real marriage and not their pretend one.

  “So you loved him and you just decided to run off to Vegas and get married? You don’t have family in Davenport? A mother and father who’d like to see you walk down the aisle in a church?”

  “My sister is getting married this month.” When in doubt, tell the truth. “She’s been engaged a long time and my parents spent all their money paying for her wedding. I couldn’t upstage her with even a small wedding at home, and David and I didn’t want to wait, so I thought eloping to Las Vegas would be fun.”

  Zacolli turned once more to David. “If you needed money for a wedding, you could have come to me.”

  “I like to pay my own way, sir.”

  The old man nodded. “You learned from your father’s mistakes.”

  At the mention of his father, David went rigid. “I came to Vegas not knowing you’d be here this weekend as well,” he said.

  “I don’t believe in coincidence,” Zacolli said. “Everything that happens in life happens for a reason. Take your father, for instance. Another man in his position would have used the opportunity to make something of himself. But that wasn’t in Jackie’s character.”

  David’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the arms of the chair, but he said nothing.

  Zacolli turned back to her. “Have you met my son, Tommy?”

  “No, sir.”

  “My son and your husband are great friends.”

  “Are they?” She glanced at David—his face betrayed nothing.

  “They have been seen spending time together, or so I am told.”

  She had no idea what to say to this, so she followed David’s example and said nothing. “I’ve cautioned Tommy to take care whom he chooses to be close to,” Zacolli said. “Men in our position should trust no one.”

  “I have the same philosophy,” David said.

  The two men stared at each other, silence heavy around them. She thought of two dogs circling each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move to start a fight. Where was a water hose when she needed one? David and Zacolli needed cooling off as much as those dogs.

  She adopted the pleasant smile she assumed with difficult parents. “Are you enjoying your stay in Vegas, Mr. Zacolli?” she asked.

  The V between his eyes deepened, and she half expected him to tell her women should be seen and not heard. If he had any women in his life, they stayed in the background—she’d spotted six men stationed around the apartment, and not a single woman.

  “I come to Vegas often,” he said. “For business and pleasure.”

  “This is my first time,” she said. “We’re having a lot of fun.”

  The look in the old man’s eyes was more chilling than the air conditioning. He no longer resembled a harmless senior citizen, but a wary predator. He addressed David. “Since we’ve both ended up in Vegas at the same time—for whatever reason—I want you to do something for me.”

  “What is that?” David sat up straighter.

  “Nothing too difficult.”

  “I’m on my honeymoon. That keeps me pretty busy.”

  “I’m sure. But this won’t take long. I just want you to make a delivery for me.” He gave the slightest nod, and the man with the eye patch stepped from the shadows and handed David a gift-wrapped package. “Give this to a friend of mine,” Zacolli said.

  David turned the package in his hand. A cube twelve inches to a side, it was wrapped in silver foil, topped with a large purple bow. “When?”

  “Tonight. You can take your lovely bride with you if you like.”

  “I don’t want to involve Laura in business.”

  “Who said anything about business? You’re delivering a gift to a friend of mine at Circus Circus.” To Laura he said, “Have you seen it—a circus and amusement park all indoors? You’ll enjoy it.”

  She nodded.

  “If I do you this favor, I need you to do something for me also,” David said.

  The room went still again. She had a feeling people didn’t make a habit of asking Mr. Zacolli for favors.

  “What is that?” the old man asked.

  “Tell Charlie and Victor to leave us alone.”

  Zacolli shook his head. “If you aren’t doing anything wrong, why try to hide?” He rose. “I’ve taken enough of your time.” He patted Laura’s shoulder. “It was a pleasure meeting you, dear.”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, I enjoyed meeting you, too.” Though it was the same feeling that came from watching a grisly horror movie—most of the pleasure came when the show was over.

  One of Zacolli’s minions escorted them back to the elevator and rode with them all the way to the ground floor. Outside, David hailed a taxi and ordered the driver to take them to a hotel five doors down from their own. Wearily, she followed David up the street to their hotel. They rode in silence up the elevator to their room.

  Once inside, David locked the door behind him and set the package on the table. When he took off his suit coat, the back of his shirt was damp with sweat.

  Laura studied the package. “What are we going to do with it?” she asked.

  “I’m going to take it to Circus Circus. You can stay here.”

  “Oh, no. I’m going to go with you. I think Zacolli wanted me to go.”

  David looked as if he wanted to argue, but he clamped his mouth shut and turned away.

  “I wonder what’s in it.” She stroked the purple ribbon. The bow was one of those pre-made, stick-on types that resembled a chrysanthemum blossom.

  “Drugs. Money. Nothing legal, I’m sure.” He slumped into a chair and glared at the box.

  “We should open it and find out,” she said. “We could take pictures. They might come in handy later, as evidence.”

  “He’ll know if we open it. This is some kind of test. He doesn’t trust me.”

  “He doesn’t trust anyone. He said so.” She picked up the box. “I can open this and no one will ever know. I used to unwrap all my presents before Christmas and rewrap them. My mother never suspected a thing.” She hadn’t thought of that bit of deviousness in a long time. When had she turned into such an obedient, conventional child instead?

  David rubbed his chin. “You have to put everything back exactly as it was.”

  “Of course.”

  “What do you need to do it?”

  “Just a knife.” She retrieved the knife from the cake plate. “This will work.”

  She went into the bathroom to wash the knife and when she returned, David handed her a pair of latex gloves. “Wear these.”

  “Why? Do you think Zacolli is going to dust for fingerprints?”

  “This could turn up as evidence later and I don’t want anyone knowing you handled it.”

  “All right.” She pulled on the gloves. Did he travel with some kind of a crime scene kit, complete with latex gloves? It seemed like the kind of thing an FBI agent—or a criminal—might do.

  She turned the package over. David, hands in his pockets, stood beside her. This was never going to work. “Don�
��t hover.” She pointed to the bed. “Sit over there.”

  He sat on the end of the bed. “Try to hurry. Zacolli knows how long it should take to get to Circus Circus.”

  “If he asks about the delay, tell him we stopped to have sex.”

  The smoldering look he sent her made her want to toss the box out the window and launch herself at him, but she was only that bold in her imagination. And maybe the box was more important, at least for the moment. She slid the knife blade under the edge of the tape that held the ribbon in place.

  Moments later, the box sat open on the table. A stuffed orange cat, the kind you could buy at any toy store, looked up at them.

  “A stuffed cat?” David, who’d left the bed as soon as she popped the lid off the box, plucked the toy from the box and glared at it.

  “An expensive stuffed cat.” Laura pointed to the Steiff button in the cat’s ear.

  “More expensive than you know.” He’d turned the cat over, and now he pointed to the slit in the bottom, through which protruded one corner of a hundred dollar bill. He squeezed the toy. “It’s stuffed with money.”

  “Nice gift.” She dug the digital camera from her purse. “I’ll take some pictures, then rewrap it.” She took several shots of the cat, including one showing the money protruding from the slit in the bottom. Then she focused the camera on David. “Smile.”

  “What are you—? No. I really don’t like having my picture taken.”

  But she’d already snapped two shots. “I want to have them to remember you by,” she said.

  “By the time this is over, you’ll wish you’d never seen me. You’ll think of me as the man who ruined your Vegas vacation.”

  “I wasn’t having any fun before you came along.” She replaced the camera in her purse. “You’ve made this the most memorable vacation of my life.” She’d never again think of herself as timid, unadventurous, or unworthy of the notice of a man like him. That was a better souvenir to take home than a T-shirt or drink glasses.

  “I’ll agree it’s memorable,” he said. “Let’s hope your next honeymoon is a little less dangerous.”

  Next honeymoon. The words left a hollow place in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want a next honeymoon. She hadn’t wanted this first one, but the thought of it ending—of saying good-bye to David and never seeing him again—hurt too much for words.