Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Whereas Roman had catered to the wealthy and grand, my hotel and casino were more down-to-earth. The money was still there, but muted. Covered with the feel of nature and home.
I watched his response as he took it all in, his gaze never stopping, no doubt cataloguing all the changes.
Then he looked right at the concealed camera and nodded, knowing I was watching him. I had to chuckle. That was one thing I had kept. His security systems were second to none, and he knew it.
He started toward the private elevator, then seemed to recall that he no longer had access to it.
For the first time since I’d met him, I saw Roman Costas hesitate.
I picked up the phone. “Escort Mr. Costas upstairs right away. Send coffee.”
A moment later, my second was beside him, shaking his hand and indicating the elevator Roman had once considered his.
I stood and buttoned my jacket.
It was time to discover what this visit was about.
He strode in, his face impassive. He extended his hand. “O’Reilly.”
I shook his hand firmly. “Costas.”
“Hardly recognized the place.”
I offered him a smile. “Rather the point.”
“I like it.”
I indicated the chair, and he sat, unbuttoning his coat and crossing his legs. A moment later, coffee arrived and I offered him a cup. He accepted and we sipped in silence.
“Good,” he acknowledged. “Different.”
“Irish,” I said with a grin.
He laughed, shaking his head. “Of course.”
He leaned back, appearing relaxed. “What have you done to the casino?”
“Very little, actually—a refresh, really, carpets and such. We redid the main parts. The lobby, the restaurants, the guest rooms.”
He looked around. “The office as well.”
I ran my hand over the desk I was sitting at. “This was my grandfather’s. I had it brought over from Ireland.”
“Stunning piece,” he acknowledged. “Very different ambiance to the place now.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t want to compete with you, Roman. You run a very upscale casino. I’m appealing to the middle classes. Those who come for an evening to break the monotony of their run-of-the-mill lives. Staying in Toronto for a vacation and want to live it up a little. I still make millions, but in different ways.” I shrugged. “The high rollers come to you. I’m good with that.”
He finished his coffee, setting the empty cup on the desk. “I’m good with it too. I agree there are many types of gamblers and lots to go around.” He cleared his throat. “Which is the main reason I’m here.”
I rested my elbows on the desk. “Is there a problem?”
“Potentially.”
“Fill me in.”
He stood and paced, no doubt taking in other changes to his old office. “I assume you don’t allow your men to gamble at your casino.”
“No. I prefer them not to gamble at all, but if they do, not here. I want no whispers of favoritism or fixing games.”
He nodded. “I have much the same rule, and I know my staff on occasion indulge elsewhere.”
He sat down, meeting my curious gaze. “One of your men has been to the Maple twice in the past week. I’m concerned.”
“Why?”
“I overheard him talking about a debt he is trying to clear up.”
I withheld my groan. We both were aware that gambling more to pay off an existing debt rarely worked. It was an act of desperation that often led to negative consequences.
“Debt?” I asked. “Debt to whom?”
He sat back. “That’s the troublesome part. The racetrack. Pedro Lopez.”
I grimaced. “I’ve never met him, but I hate that lowlife. From what I’ve heard, he’s trouble.”
“As do I.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “He plays just within the rules. He’s not under anyone’s jurisdiction, but I have a feeling there’s more going on there than horse racing. I’ve heard the rumors.”
“As have I.” I frowned. “I don’t like the fact that one of mine owes him money. Or even that he frequents that place.” I met Roman’s gaze. “Name.”
“Brian Murphy.”
“Dammit,” I replied, somehow not surprised at hearing that name.
He lifted an eyebrow in a silent question.
“His father, Jim, was one of my men. Brian’s been a pain in my ass since he joined us.” I rubbed my eyes. “Always just this side of too much trouble. Looking for the easy way to do things. Lazy.”
“What I heard, he owed Lopez upwards of twenty. He was trying to win it to pay him. He did okay the other night and I imagine it was enough to buy himself a few days, but last night, he played poorly. I have a feeling, with the interest Lopez is charging, he’s getting frantic. We both know that leads to bad decisions.”
“How much does he owe you now?”
“Five.”
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“Not a huge amount, but enough that he can’t cover it. I stepped in and cut him off.” He shrugged. “He wasn’t happy and got fucking mouthy. I decided I needed to tell you.”