His to Break

(Allison) The last time my father told me he loved me, I laughed. Not because I didn’t believe him, but because I thought I had forever to hear him say it again. Looking back, I think that’s the cruelest thing about losing someone. You never recognize the last ordinary moment while you’re living it. You don’t realize the last hug is the last hug. The last conversation feels like every conversation before it. You walk away believing there will always be another tomorrow. I was wrong. The Romano Royale Casino glittered beneath towering crystal chandeliers, every polished surface reflecting gold and silver light. Roulette wheels spun lazily while cards snapped against green felt tables. Waitresses drifted through the crowd balancing silver trays filled with champagne, bourbon, and cocktails that cost more than my first car payment. Laughter rose above the music pouring from the jazz quartet near the lounge, blending with the constant chorus of slot machines. It looked perfect. It always did. My father had built the Romano Royale long before I was born. He used to joke that I had learned to walk on marble floors instead of hardwood because I’d spent more time at the casino than I had at home. He wasn’t wrong. Some children grew up on playgrounds. I grew up watching poker tournaments from my father’s office while sneaking cookies from the kitchen staff. I knew every hidden hallway, every private elevator, and every employee by name. The casino wasn’t just a business. It was home. “You’re thinking again,” my father said. I turned at the sound of his voice and smiled. “I always think,” I replied. “That’s your problem,” he said. I laughed as he stepped beside me, straightening the cuff of his charcoal suit jacket. At fifty-eight, Vincent Romano carried himself with effortless authority. His shoulders were broad, his posture straight, and the silver beginning to creep into his dark hair somehow made him look even more distinguished. People crossed the room just to shake his hand. Others crossed the room to avoid him. My father had that effect on people. “I’m thinking about leaving,” I admitted. “Already?” he asked. “I’ve smiled at politicians, listened to a judge tell me about his golf score, and survived Senator Hale’s wife showing me three hundred pictures of her poodle.” “It was only two hundred,” he said. “You counted?” “I stopped after one hundred and fifty.” I laughed again. “There it is,” he said, smiling. “What?” “Your real smile.” I looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “You worry too much,” he said. “So do you.” “I learned from the best.” His smile softened. “I suppose you did.” For a moment, we stood together in comfortable silence, watching guests celebrate another successful year of the Romano Royale. It amazed me how easily people forgot the outside world when they walked through these doors. Money had a way of making problems feel smaller. My father leaned against the blackjack table beside me. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “your mother hated casinos.” I looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t know that.” “She said they were too loud.” I smiled. “She married the man who owned one.” “She claimed I was her one bad decision.” “I seriously doubt that.” His eyes drifted toward the enormous portrait hanging above the grand staircase. My mother smiled down at us from the painting, forever thirty-eight, forever beautiful. The artist had captured her laugh perfectly. Some days I still expected to hear it. “I miss her,” I said quietly. “So do I,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I still talk to her sometimes.” I looked at him. “You do?” “Every morning.” “What do you tell her?” He smiled without taking his eyes off the portrait. “I tell her you’re still stubborn.” “I prefer determined.” “I tell her you work too much.” “I definitely learned that from you.” He paused, taking a slow breath. “And I tell her I think she’d be proud of the woman you’ve become.” A lump formed in my throat. “You really think so?” “I know so.” I slipped my arm through his. “I wish she were here.” “So do I.” The words hung between us as the music continued, guests laughed, and glasses clinked together in celebration. Life carried on, unaware that everything was about to change. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” I said. He looked at me. “When are you finally going to retire?” He laughed. “And do what?” “Travel.” “I travel.” “You travel between your office and the casino.” “Very exciting destinations.” “I’m serious.” “So am I.” I sighed dramatically. “You are impossible.” “Successful,” he corrected. “Stubborn.” “Also successful.” I rolled my eyes. “One of these days, I’m going to convince you there’s more to life than this place.” He looked around the casino with quiet affection. “This place gave us everything.” “It also took a lot.” His smile faded. “You’ve noticed.” “I’ve always noticed.” He looked at me for several long seconds before nodding. “I know.” His answer surprised me. Usually, he changed the subject whenever I hinted at the darker side of his business. Tonight, he looked tired—older somehow. His gaze drifted toward the entrance, and the warmth disappeared from his face so quickly that anyone else would have missed it. I didn’t. “What is it?” I asked. “What is what?” “You looked worried.” “I did?” “You know you can’t lie to me.” He chuckled softly. “I suppose not.” “So…” He hesitated. “Go home early tonight.” I frowned. “What?” “You heard me.” “Since when do you tell me to leave the party?” “Since tonight.” “Why?” He looked toward the entrance again before answering. “Humor an old man.” “You’re fifty-eight.” “I’m ancient.” “You don’t believe that.” “No.” “Then tell me what’s wrong.” He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, just like he had when I was a little girl. “I’ll explain tomorrow.” “You keep saying tomorrow.” “Because tomorrow,” he replied quietly, “everything will make sense.” A chill crept down my spine. “What does that mean?” “It means I need you to trust me.” “I do trust you.” “Then go home.” I searched his face. Something was wrong—not business wrong, not stressful day wrong. This was different. His eyes kept returning to the front entrance. Following his gaze, I noticed two men standing near the revolving doors. Dark suits. No drinks. No conversation. Just watching. “Who are they?” I asked. “Guests.” “They don’t look like guests.” “They’re probably waiting for someone.” “They’ve been standing there for ten minutes.” He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked toward one of the security guards. “Find Marco,” he said. The guard nodded immediately before disappearing into the crowd. My pulse quickened. “Why are you looking for Marco?” “I want him to take you home.” “Dad…” He turned back to me. For the first time in my life, I saw fear in his eyes. Not panic. Not uncertainty. Fear. It vanished almost instantly, replaced by the calm expression he wore for the rest of the world. But I had seen it. “What aren’t you telling me?” I whispered. He stepped closer. “I should have protected you better.” The words caught me completely off guard. “You’ve always protected me.” “Not enough.” I reached for his hand. “Dad…” He squeezed my fingers tightly. “I love you, Allison.” I smiled. “I love you too.” He didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled me into a hug. It was tighter than usual, longer, almost desperate. “You okay?” I asked quietly. He nodded against my hair. “I just needed to hear your voice.” “You’ll hear it tomorrow.” He closed his eyes. “I hope so.” I leaned back just enough to look at him. “That’s a strange thing to say.” “I’m tired.” “Then let’s both go home.” He smiled sadly. “Soon.” A low vibration rolled beneath my feet. The champagne glasses on a nearby tray rattled. The chandelier above us trembled. I frowned. “Did you feel that?” My father looked toward the east wing of the casino. His face turned deathly pale. Then he looked at me with an expression I will never forget—pure terror. “Get down!” he shouted. Before I could move, the first explosion ripped through the Romano Royale.