4. Carlito

Chapter 4

Carlito

The gilded entrance of Caesars Palace feels almost ostentatious against the clean, precise lines I favor, but I have to admit it fits the stakes of this gala. The ballroom, with its grand columns and sprawling ceiling painted like a fresco, radiates opulence.

Mia walks beside me, clutching her notebook and glancing around with a sharp eye. She looks calm on the surface, but I notice the subtle way her fingers tighten around her pen. Nervous energy. She’s keeping it contained, but it’s there.

“This space has potential,” she says, her voice steady but thoughtful.

I nod, gesturing toward the high windows lining the far wall. “The natural light is a strength. But it also highlights flaws.”

She follows my gaze, her brow furrowing as she studies the space. “Strategic lighting can balance that, especially during the evening hours. It’s about emphasizing the grandeur while masking imperfections.”

Her response is quick, deliberate. It’s a good answer.

“And the acoustics?” I ask, my tone sharper, testing.

She pauses, taking a moment to step further into the room. Her heels click softly against the polished floor as she tilts her head, almost as if she’s listening.

“It’s a challenge,” she admits, her gaze sweeping the space. “But with the right placement of speakers and sound dampeners, it can be managed. I’d recommend subtle live music during dinner and something more dynamic for the later hours.”

Her confidence surprises me. Most would falter under this kind of scrutiny, but she meets my gaze steadily when she turns back to me.

“I’ll refine the details once we finalize the venue,” she adds.

I step closer, narrowing the distance between us. “Do you always adapt this quickly?”

Her lips twitch, almost a smile. “It’s part of the job.”

Her answer is neutral, professional. Yet there’s a spark of something else—pride, maybe? Determination? It’s enough to make me linger for a second longer than I should before stepping back.

Leo waits near the far corner of the room, discreet but alert. His presence is a reminder of the stakes, though I doubt Mia sees it that way. To her, this is a gala for my legitimate business ventures, nothing more.

And it needs to stay that way—for now.

I gesture toward the center of the room. “Sketch out a rough layout. I want to see how you’d organize the space.”

She nods, immediately flipping open her notebook and scribbling notes. As she moves, I observe her closely—not just her process but the way she carries herself. There’s a calm precision to her actions, a quiet confidence that stands in stark contrast to the loud desperation I’ve seen in others trying to impress me.

“You’re thorough,” I say after a moment.

She glances up, surprised by the comment. “Isn’t that the expectation?”

“It is,” I reply, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. “But not everyone meets it.”

Her shoulders straighten slightly, as if bolstered by the remark.

I let her work in silence for a moment, watching as her pen glides over the page. There’s a certain efficiency to the way she moves, like she’s done this a hundred times before. But there’s also a spark of creativity—a willingness to think beyond the obvious.

“Do you always work this fast?” I ask, my tone deliberately neutral.

She glances up briefly, her expression calm but alert. “Deadlines don’t wait, and neither do clients.”

I let out a low hum of approval. “True enough.”

As she continues sketching, I step away, taking a slow walk around the ballroom. The sheer scale of the space reminds me why this venue is a contender. It’s a statement—a place meant to command attention and respect.

But even the most impressive setting can falter under poor execution.

My gaze drifts back to Mia. She’s leaning over her notebook now, studying her design with a focused intensity. There’s no hesitation in her movements, no sign of the nervousness I spotted earlier.

Interesting.

“You seem confident,” I say, coming to stand beside her again. “But confidence can be dangerous if it isn’t earned.”

She straightens, meeting my gaze without flinching. “I don’t take anything for granted, Mr. Marcelli. Confidence is just preparation in disguise.”

The corner of my mouth twitches, almost a smile. “And are you prepared for this?”

Her answer is immediate. “Yes.”

The certainty in her voice catches me off guard. Most people stammer under pressure, scrambling to justify themselves. But not her.

I glance down at the notebook she’s holding out toward me. Her layout is clean, practical, but with just enough flair to elevate the design.

“This could work,” I say, flipping through her notes.

Her lips part slightly, as if she wants to ask something, but she hesitates.

“Speak your mind,” I say, my voice dropping lower.

She exhales slowly. “What are you most concerned about for this event? Logistics? Atmosphere? Or something else entirely?”

Her question is bold, but it’s the right one. I like that she’s not afraid to ask.

“Perception,” I reply, my tone measured. “This isn’t just a gala. It’s a declaration. Every detail—every decision—needs to send a message.”

She nods, her expression thoughtful. “Understood. I’ll make sure the message is clear.”

For a moment, we simply look at each other. There’s something about the way she carries herself—confident yet grounded—that intrigues me.

Leo approaches quietly, his steps barely audible on the polished floor. “The staff is ready for a final walkthrough whenever you are,” he says.

I nod, gesturing for Mia to follow. “Let’s see how this space performs in motion.”

As we walk, I fall into step beside her. Our arms brush slightly, a small, unintentional contact that sends a flicker of awareness through me. She doesn’t react, but I catch the faintest tension in her posture.

She’s composed. But she feels it too.

We enter the far side of the ballroom, where several staff members stand waiting. Their polished uniforms and clipped professionalism mirror the space’s grandiosity. Leo gives a brief nod to signal everything is in place, but my focus remains on Mia.

“Walk me through your vision,” I say, stepping aside to give her the floor.

She glances around, taking a steadying breath before speaking. “The entrance should set the tone immediately—luxurious but welcoming. I’d suggest draped lighting across the columns to draw attention upward and add a sense of height. Guests should feel enveloped by the grandeur as soon as they step inside.”

She gestures toward the stage at the far end of the room. “The focal point will be here, with an elevated design that’s functional but doesn’t overshadow the rest of the space. Floral arrangements, minimalist but bold, can complement the architecture without competing with it.”

Her voice is calm, deliberate, and filled with a quiet conviction that commands attention. Even the staff are watching her now, their expressions subtly impressed.

“Good,” I say, cutting through the silence once she finishes. “But what about transitions? Guests will move between areas throughout the evening. How do you maintain cohesion?”

Her gaze sharpens as she meets my question head-on. “I’d use lighting and texture to create subtle pathways—soft carpet runners leading to key areas, uplighting to guide focus. The transitions will feel seamless, almost invisible, but intentional.”

She answers without hesitation, her confidence unwavering. I glance at Leo, who arches a brow ever so slightly. Even he seems impressed.

Turning back to Mia, I cross my arms. “You’ve thought this through.”

“I have,” she replies simply.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the faint hum of the air conditioning. I let the pause stretch, watching her carefully.

“Very well,” I say finally. “We’ll move forward with this layout—provisionally.”

Her lips curve into a faint smile, a hint of relief softening her features. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” I warn, stepping closer. “This is just the first step. There’s still a long way to go.”

She nods, her expression turning serious again. “I understand.”

I glance around the room once more, taking in the way her vision aligns with the space. It’s ambitious, but it fits.

Leo steps forward, clipboard in hand. “The next venue is ready whenever you are.”

“Not yet,” I say, holding up a hand. My gaze shifts back to Mia. “We’ll reconvene at The Venetian tomorrow. Be prepared to refine this concept further.”

“I will be,” she replies, her voice steady.

As we exit the ballroom, I fall into step beside her again. The faintest brush of her shoulder against mine sparks that same flicker of awareness.

“She’s stronger than I thought,” I murmur under my breath, my gaze fixed ahead.