1. Brie

CHAPTER 1

Brie

I'm having a bad hair day. And this cat-eye is not going to cut it, so I wipe off the jagged line and start again. I've gotta get this handled.

I need my face on to face off with what's coming.

Looking back at me in the mirror with unfocused eyes is a pale ghost with irises that are startlingly green only because the whites are so red. My usually-bouncy blonde hair hangs limp around my face, enhancing the lifeless impression.

I'm a goddamn mess.

I dab concealer under my eyes, then reach for a sponge to blend. It helps a little. I need to look perfect, put-together. It's what's expected of me, especially now. But as I reach for the false lashes, I pause. Too much for a grieving widow?

The irony, of course, is that no one actually expects real grief from me. I know what they all thought about me. Gold-digger.

But I really am heartbroken.

Terry gave me security, safety , a life I never dreamed could be possible, not growing up where I did.

I'm never going back to that. Never. My fingers tighten around the sponge and I set it down, reminding myself that I'm strong. I'm smart. And I clawed my way up from nothing once before.

I'll do it again if I have to.

"Ooh." A suck of breath from behind me makes me look up into the reflected eyes of Holden Brooks. He's wincing. "Girl, you might need a little extra time."

Despite everything, I let out a small laugh. He smiles and leans over me, wrapping his arms around me as we regard ourselves in the mirror, his chin resting on the top of my head. His sandy-blonde hair is perfectly styled, and his blue eyes are sad despite the smile.

He gives a slow sigh as the smile dies. "I miss him."

"Me, too."

A sharp knock at the bedroom door makes us both jump like we're guilty of something and Holden straightens up at once. I don't have time to even call out before the door swings open, revealing Frank Colombo's bulky frame.

"Jesus," he says, frowning as he steps into the room. "I walked right in here, Breezy."

"Yes, you did," I say coolly. Lucky for me I'm already dressed.

"Where are the guards?" he goes on, and only then does he notice there's someone in here with me, and he gets that look that he always gets when he sees Holden. "No offense, kid, but you ain't exactly the tough kind."

Holden gives his practiced smile, the one he reserves for difficult people. "Hello, Mr. Colombo."

"Yeah. Give us the room." Holden leaves at once, though he pauses at the doorway to roll his eyes behind Frank Colombo's back. But Frank has already forgotten about him. "I'm serious, Breezy. You can't be alone right now. It's not safe."

Breezy. The nickname Terry bestowed on me the minute he learned my name. Hearing Frank say it now, his voice so similar to Terry's—first cousins, but they could've been brothers—makes my throat tighten up. "Not safe? Those bastards already got their target. It's not me they wanted."

Frank's face softens with genuine sorrow. "I know, sweetheart. I know." He hesitates, then adds, "Listen, we need to talk. Do you have a minute?"

"I have all the minutes you need." I push aside my makeup and follow him out to the sofa in my sitting area. Frank has switched to his "fatherly" attitude. It's almost amusing how most men only ever see me in one of two ways: as an object of lust, or as some helpless little girl who needs protection. Sometimes both at the same time, which is its own special brand of creepy.

But at thirty-two, I'm getting tired of making myself small just so these Family men feel big.

"Is this about who killed Terry?" I ask, as Frank huffs and sighs and tries to find his words.

"Oh, no, honey. No."

"But do you have an idea who?—"

"Now, Breezy, you shouldn't be worrying yourself about that. You leave that to the Family. We'll find the bastard who did this, and he'll get what's coming to him." I've gotten the same response every time I've asked, and it's going to make me snap one of these days. And now Frank takes my hand as we sit, patting it in what I'm sure he thinks is a comforting gesture. "Brie, honey…do you know what happened to Big Joe?"

I blink at him, widening my eyes in a perfect picture of confusion. "Well, I haven't seen him around lately. Is something wrong?"

Of course I know what happened to Big Joe Buccino, former Underboss of the Colombos. The entire state knows he's cooling his heels in federal prison, waiting on his trial for several murders. But Frank doesn't need to know that I pay close attention to the business. No one does.

Safer that way.

Frank sighs heavily. "Well, he's, uh, he's taking some time out. The thing is, Terry hadn't appointed someone to take Big Joe's place yet. And now with Big Joe unavailable and Terry…" he trails off, then clears his throat. "Well, we've got a bit of a succession problem on our hands."

I nod slowly, keeping my expression slightly curious but very, very innocent. Because I know exactly what the problem is. Vince Sabatelli and Larry Caruso are both gunning for the top spot, and neither one is likely to back down without a fight. But I just blink at Frank, waiting for him to continue.

"Thing is, Brie," Frank says, squeezing my hand. "The thing is, while we sort all this out, we need you to carry on as usual. You were always such a great face for the casino, and the Family, too, and we need you to keep on doing that, if you can. We need you to be a…a figurehead for the Colombos. Can you do that for us, sweetheart?"

A figurehead? What they want is a puppet, someone to smile and wave and distract while the men decide who gets to be king. But I paste on a bright smile and nod. "Of course, Frank. Whatever the Family needs."

"Thank you, sweetheart. I knew we could count on you." He pauses, a flicker of concern crossing his face. "There is one thing, though. Your first duty…well, it might be difficult. Of course, I'll be right there with you. You can let me do the talking."

The Feds, I wonder? I can't imagine so. The first call Frank made after finding his cousin's body was to a lawyer. Frank's no genius, but he knew enough to do that.

I lean forward. "What is it, Frank? What do you need me to do?"

"Terry was due to have a meeting tonight. We need you to attend for him. I'll tell you what to say, of course?—"

"Of course," I echo, then keep going, fast, when I sound more sarcastic than I meant to. "Of course I can do that for you, Frank. Anything for the Family." I bat my lashes, as much as I can, anyway.

Should've gone for the falsies.