Chapter 7
Vegas doesn’t run on time. It runs on energy. Surges of it. From one moment to the next, like a heart that refuses to rest. March brought MLB Opening Day, April brought WrestleMania, and May promises the Kentucky Derby, every weekend louder than the last, every crowd more desperate to feel something real.
And beneath the lights, the players circle. Watching. Betting. Planning. Knowing that in this city, survival isn’t about winning, it’s about knowing when to go all in.
Opening Day: The First Spark
March 28. Sunlight, chlorinated air, and the chorus of a hundred baseball games playing in stereo. At the biggest poolside sportsbook downtown, the sharks showed up early. Sunglasses, speedos, cigars. Everything about it was too much, which made it perfect.
Roman DeLuca remembers the sound – not the games – but the crowd betting them. The younger execs were glued to their apps, chasing prop bets between innings. Roman, barefoot at the edge of a private cabana, sipped bourbon and watched them.
He used to be that hungry. Back when Opening Day meant scrambling for scraps and taking meetings at 2 a.m. in the back of off-Strip lounges. Before clubs. Before power. Before her.
He spots Alessia Cruz at the bar, dressed like restraint, eyes like fire. She’s not watching the games. She’s watching him.
She always sees the long game.
Ethan’s Downward Spiral
Ethan Blake didn’t even like baseball. But Nix did. Nix loved the opening-day vibe, the illusion of rebirth, of clean slates. They started the day with brunch cocktails by the pool and ended it in a rooftop suite paid for by a man they couldn’t trust.
The night blurred: a crypto investor from London, a girl in a Phillies jersey who cried when she lost her phone, Nix pitching a Derby weekend “insider bet” like he was selling oxygen.
Ethan remembers the suite smelled like tequila and burned sage. He remembers watching a game rerun while someone argued over payout percentages. He remembers Savannah, walking through the door hours later, asking no questions, just taking a drink then a seat.
That was the beginning of something they didn’t name. A line crossed in silence. And now, it won’t be uncrossed.
WrestleMania: The Shockwave
Last weekend, it happened.
Vegas hosted its first WrestleMania, and it was a spectacle that transformed Allegiant Stadium into a supernova of pyrotechnics, body slams, and billion-dollar branding. 61,000 fans packed the arena. Another hundred thousand poured into the city just to be near it. For two days, Vegas wasn’t a gambling town, it was a gladiator coliseum.
Savannah worked a high-end afterparty thrown by one of the wrestling moguls. Nothing about it was subtle. LED suits. Championship belt bottle presentations. VIPs calling for “one more entrance” like the club was a ring.
She made ten grand in tips and walked out alone.
Roman took meetings that weekend. Quiet ones. There’s talk of long-term partnerships, of integrating the sports entertainment boom into the nightlife model. He’s skeptical, but not stupid. WrestleMania proved something: there’s a new kind of fan with money to burn, and Vegas knows how to burn it for them.
Alessia’s been silent on it. Which means she’s listening to someone with deeper pockets.
The Derby on the Horizon
Now the buzz shifts to May.
Kentucky Derby weekend, the next crescendo. Old money meets new flash. Mint juleps in monogrammed tumblers, cigars flown in from Miami, derby hats over BBLs and poker faces. It’s tradition and reinvention rolled into one high-risk, high-fashion weekend.
And for Ethan, it’s the deadline. Nix’s “Derby scheme” was always the plan to fix everything. But Nix is still missing, and Ethan’s too deep to pull back. He needs the Derby to hit like salvation.
For Savannah, the Derby is one last play. She’s heard whispers – someone’s throwing a private betting lounge party with six-figure buy-ins and hush-hush clientele. She might take the job. Might not.
Alessia already knows what’s coming. The Derby will be the reset or the reckoning. And Roman? He’s making a list. Who owes. Who lies. Who survives.
Where the Odds Settle
Roman stands on a balcony overlooking the Strip, flipping a well-worn bet slip between his fingers. He hasn’t placed a wager in ten years. But this one… this one might be worth the risk.
Ethan stares at a message from an unknown number. Just a time. A room number. No name. He doesn’t hesitate. He’s past hesitation.
Savannah buys a hat. Ivory silk. Wide-brimmed. It’s not for the Derby. It’s armor.
Alessia opens an email with a subject line that just says: After the Derby, we talk.
Vegas doesn’t slow down.
Vegas accelerates.
And somewhere in the distance, the starting bell rings.
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