client, and I'll make this short,” I tell him.
I'm not gonna waste Mark's time. He's had my back since I showed up in this town with one hundred million dollars—I drained what was left in my Pop's accounts after he was killed. I fled the city and came here, started over with a new name and a new game.
And the need for some investors. Mark Denzel got me appointments with the right men, and believed in me since the day we fucking met.
Because of the sappy ass mood I’ve been in today, I can’t help think of what he’s done to help my casino grow. He’s been like a father to me.
And fuck, sappy or not, it's the truth. He is a rock-solid man who saw beyond the place my cash came from and helped me line up what I needed to become the owner of the Spades Royalle.
His belief has paid off—at least it’s beginning to. My vision for the Spades Royalle was never one of those low-end establishment. We are a boutique hotel, serving high-end clients for a reason. So what if the casino took more of an initial investment than I'd originally anticipated? After three years in business, we’re beginning to see the numbers we'd hoped for when we started.
But those investors don't know my share of the initial capital came from dirty money. Came from the Genova family—or what’s left of them. I'm the only one left standing, but I don't claim that name. Now I go by Ace Royalle. Nothing less, nothing more.
“We have a problem,” I say. “Grotto's back. He's been gone, what? Six weeks, eight weeks tops?”
“Grotto?” Mark asks, his eyebrows knit in concern. “What's he want?”
“He showed up at Spades last night, blazing. Says he has shit on me and my family.”
Mark leans in, eyes narrowed. “What sort of shit?”
“I have no fucking clue. I made a clean break, Mark, I swear it. I changed my name and never looked back. Haven't set foot in New York for five years. But Grotto knows something. I can gain thirty pounds of muscle but that isn't gonna fix my fucking face. He knows who I am.”
“So what, Ace? Even if he does know, the money has been redistributed a hundred times over. Spades is a clean establishment, unless there’s something you're doing there you aren't telling me about?”
“Fuck no, I tell you everything.”
“Then what's this about?” Mark asks. “Why is he coming after you?”
“He says he's gonna get that property off the strip. The property on the South end, you know the one I’ve had my eye on forever? Spades is legit, sure, but I want another piece of real estate, and you know as well as I do that property around here doesn't come around every year. I've already talked to the conglomerates at all the big hotels. They aren't bidding.”
“Why not?” Mark asks.
“They don't think it's a good investment. It's in old town Vegas. They want property on the strip, or nothing at all.”
“But you think this is a viable venture?” Mark asks. “For another hotel?”
“Not a hotel,” I say.
“Then what?”
“I don't want to talk about my next business. I want to talk about how we can get Grotto off my fucking nut sack.”
Mark rubs his jaw, thinking. “Look, I don't know what I can do. If you want to move forward with this property, I guess I should go out there and look at it, see what sort of investors you'll need in order to purchase it. I don't think our other guys will want back in until there’s more profit on the table with the Spades.”
“Fine, but not today,” I tell him.
“Why not?”
I shrug, not wanting to talk money right now—even though I know that is exactly what I’m going to need. I came here to deal with Grotto. Not talk shop.
“That stuff can wait. Right now I need a plan to get Grotto the fuck out of this town before he tries to ruin me.”
“Ace, you're over your head. I feel it. All the media lately, and you were on the cover of Vegas Weekly. You're the person everyone is talking about right now. That attention is good for the Spades, but
I'm not gonna waste Mark's time. He's had my back since I showed up in this town with one hundred million dollars—I drained what was left in my Pop's accounts after he was killed. I fled the city and came here, started over with a new name and a new game.
And the need for some investors. Mark Denzel got me appointments with the right men, and believed in me since the day we fucking met.
Because of the sappy ass mood I’ve been in today, I can’t help think of what he’s done to help my casino grow. He’s been like a father to me.
And fuck, sappy or not, it's the truth. He is a rock-solid man who saw beyond the place my cash came from and helped me line up what I needed to become the owner of the Spades Royalle.
His belief has paid off—at least it’s beginning to. My vision for the Spades Royalle was never one of those low-end establishment. We are a boutique hotel, serving high-end clients for a reason. So what if the casino took more of an initial investment than I'd originally anticipated? After three years in business, we’re beginning to see the numbers we'd hoped for when we started.
But those investors don't know my share of the initial capital came from dirty money. Came from the Genova family—or what’s left of them. I'm the only one left standing, but I don't claim that name. Now I go by Ace Royalle. Nothing less, nothing more.
“We have a problem,” I say. “Grotto's back. He's been gone, what? Six weeks, eight weeks tops?”
“Grotto?” Mark asks, his eyebrows knit in concern. “What's he want?”
“He showed up at Spades last night, blazing. Says he has shit on me and my family.”
Mark leans in, eyes narrowed. “What sort of shit?”
“I have no fucking clue. I made a clean break, Mark, I swear it. I changed my name and never looked back. Haven't set foot in New York for five years. But Grotto knows something. I can gain thirty pounds of muscle but that isn't gonna fix my fucking face. He knows who I am.”
“So what, Ace? Even if he does know, the money has been redistributed a hundred times over. Spades is a clean establishment, unless there’s something you're doing there you aren't telling me about?”
“Fuck no, I tell you everything.”
“Then what's this about?” Mark asks. “Why is he coming after you?”
“He says he's gonna get that property off the strip. The property on the South end, you know the one I’ve had my eye on forever? Spades is legit, sure, but I want another piece of real estate, and you know as well as I do that property around here doesn't come around every year. I've already talked to the conglomerates at all the big hotels. They aren't bidding.”
“Why not?” Mark asks.
“They don't think it's a good investment. It's in old town Vegas. They want property on the strip, or nothing at all.”
“But you think this is a viable venture?” Mark asks. “For another hotel?”
“Not a hotel,” I say.
“Then what?”
“I don't want to talk about my next business. I want to talk about how we can get Grotto off my fucking nut sack.”
Mark rubs his jaw, thinking. “Look, I don't know what I can do. If you want to move forward with this property, I guess I should go out there and look at it, see what sort of investors you'll need in order to purchase it. I don't think our other guys will want back in until there’s more profit on the table with the Spades.”
“Fine, but not today,” I tell him.
“Why not?”
I shrug, not wanting to talk money right now—even though I know that is exactly what I’m going to need. I came here to deal with Grotto. Not talk shop.
“That stuff can wait. Right now I need a plan to get Grotto the fuck out of this town before he tries to ruin me.”
“Ace, you're over your head. I feel it. All the media lately, and you were on the cover of Vegas Weekly. You're the person everyone is talking about right now. That attention is good for the Spades, but
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