The glistening white mega-yacht navigates the placid waters of the East River at dusk, against the backdrop of a jaw-dropping Manhattan skyline. It gently pulls into the Domino marina where it disgorges its impeccably GQ outfitted owner nursing a vodka martini—shaken, not stirred—in hand, and sporting a designer-label white dinner jacket. Accompanying him are assorted hangers-on and a phalanx of black-clad bodyguards wearing Armani shades. They will all take a short stroll to the VIP entrance of the new Domino Casino—the Big Apple’s Casino Royale.
The former Domino Sugar Factory is now the name of the casino, along with the convention center complex that extends all along the Williamsburg-Greenpoint waterfront, built over the rubble of non-historical industrial buildings and other non-descript structures. The name “domino” conjures up games of chance—a “sweetener” of a different kind, frequently the name of the femme fatale in countless action movies, particularly for 007. This siren’s name represents the seduction of the gullible and weak-willed to financial ruin at Domino dockside, where the House always wins.
The newly renovated historical structure boasts an endless variety of VIP rooms, including the ultra-exclusive Sugar Daddy Suites, where wealthy yet insecure middle aged men can “entertain” their younger wives or mistresses. If you’re going to sell your soul, why not go first-class?