V.L. Jensen
LAS VEGAS . . . from a remote, mob-controlled playground for only the rich . . . to a city of lights and twenty-four-hour excitement for the masses . . . to a legitimate and diversified metropolitan area . . .
But what of its residents, during this period of astonishing evolution . . . how do they live within a maze of lifestyles hidden beneath the glitz and glamour of Las Vegas?
Life inside the gaming industry . . . the mob . . . cheating scams . . . murder . . . love, won and lost.
JENNIFER McCORMICK THURSTEN . . . haunted by the scars of an unhappy childhood and a bad marriage. She flees to Las Vegas, where she is unwittingly lured into the NEON PRISON of the mafia.
FRANK DAVANTI . . . the New York mob’s overseer in Las Vegas. Davanti is the mobster with a heart . . . a heart beating relentlessly beneath his façade of cold, calculating ruthlessness.
SANDRA BENNINGTON STOCKTON . . . Jennifer’s dearest friend, who stands by her through all her trials.
NICHOLAS BENNINGTON . . . Sandra’s older brother, who discovers, too late, he is in love with Jennifer.
V.L.
Jensen was born and raised on a family farm/ranch operation in
Montana and survived the culture shock of an 18-year
career in the
Las Vegas
gaming industry by writing this novel.
That is where the
author’s involvement in the story ends.
Through many hours of research and interviews with knowledgeable people,
this fictional story unfolded, replete with factual, historical tidbits of the
evolution of
Las Vegas.
LAS VEGAS,
NEVADA, 1974
Jennifer
McCormick Thursten felt the strange sensation of being watched.
As if drawn by a magnet, she turned her gaze
from glimmering lights and glistening fountains to scan the gridlock in which
she sat with her Aunt Margaret McCormick.
The tinted window of a stretch limousine next to them glided down, and a
man’s dark, hooked eyes locked onto hers.
Dark eyes possessing a sinister quality, yet softened by lines of
kindness and perhaps merriment radiating from the corners.
Eyes that turned her cold, yet lured her
in.
Unable to make out the rest of his
features behind the partially-opened window, Jennifer smiled her confusion and embarrassment
then turned away.
* * *
From the
back seat of his limo, Frank Davanti studied the gorgeous woman who stared with
a look of wonder at the Costa Brava Hotel and Casino.
His hotel.
To his
surprise, she turned and looked his way.
Her clear, emerald eyes captivated him, and he partially lowered the
tinted window to get a better look.
Davanti’s stomach knotted when she smiled briefly before
lowering the curtain of her dark lashes and turning away.
Frank
Davanti, toughest of the tough guys, who cast women aside like so many empty
bottles of Scotch, felt the seed of a foreign emotion taking root within.
* * *
Traffic
began to move through the intersection at Tropicana and the Strip, and Jennifer
lost sight of the man in the limousine.
Intrigued by the odd jumble of emotions coursing through her, she
strained to locate his vehicle.
She felt
a mixture of relief to be free from the pull of those dark eyes, yet an odd
sense of disappointment from a potential opportunity lost.
* * *
Having spent little time in casinos
since her arrival, a month earlier, Jennifer found their strange and
intimidating atmosphere rather intriguing.
This twenty-four-hour town with its varied lifestyles did fascinate
Jennifer.
Its promise of wealth and
power and intrigue beckoned to her “dark side” – that part of the human
condition most strive never to acknowledge.
As she and Margaret stood watching
through the glass partition, Jennifer again felt the sensation of being
watched.
She turned to find a tall,
attractive man studying her.
His full
head of wavy salt-and-pepper hair set off a flawless bronze complexion.
Leaning nonchalantly against a pillar at the
far end of the room he followed her every movement with familiar, dark eyes.
Where had she seen those eyes?
