6. Brie

CHAPTER 6

Brie

I wake with a start, my body tangled in soft sheets that feel suffocating. The desert is glowing outside the window, suggesting a late morning hour. For a moment, I'm a blank slate, no memory of past or present.

I love it here. Time seems to rely not on a clock but on the changing tones of the desert: cold blues at dawn when the earth seems to merge with the sky, blinding whites and yellow in the brightest hours, deep purples and pinks under a setting sun, and in the night an inky blackness broken only by the stars above—or by the lights of Vegas in the distance.

This place was one of my conditions for marriage to Terry. I needed somewhere where I could get away, be myself. No one knows about this place, not even Holden. It was a secret project that Terry and I contracted out through various shell companies, and despite my exasperation, Terry saw to it that it was constructed with as many security features as he could think of: bulletproof glass, 24/7 cameras inside and out, even a safe room.

Just in case.

I stretch in the bed, my mind wandering. I went out last night, didn't I?

Nik .

Staring at me across the bar. Buying me a drink. Following me out. Wrapping me up in her arms to keep me safe from?—

A bullet. Fuck.

That's the important thing here: the fact that someone took a shot at me last night. A Novak Consortium member's body pressing up against mine is not the detail I need to be focusing on. I press my face into the pillow, willing away the memory of her strong arms going around me.

It was probably a setup, anyway. A play from Eva Novak to make me feel grateful toward the Consortium, soften me up for that ridiculous lowball offer she tried to throw. Or a warning: sign the contract, or else.

It was pure instinct that made me have Nik drive to Solara. This is my safe place, but it got less safe the moment she knew about it. I bet she's already told Eva Novak all about last night. All about this place, and the Secret Garden, too.

With a sigh, I get up and fish out my burner phone from the underwear drawer, the one with VPN that hides my direct location, and turn it on. Predictably, a flood of texts from Holden show up, dated late into last night.

Where are you?

Bitch where are you???

Seriously Brie

Text me back or I swear to God I'll set Frank on you

You're getting laid aren't you

Seriously I'm getting worried

Where are you

I'll come to you

I don't want to tell him that he has a reason to be worried, so I text back a brief lie.

I'm fine . With someone rn. Catch up later.

And then I call Frank, because I definitely have to tell him about last night.

I won't tell him about Nik, obviously.

Just the shooter.

Frank reacts as I expected him to, demanding to know where I am. I tell him I'm staying with a friend for the night, sounding frosty enough to forestall further questions. And then he tells me to sit tight wherever I am and let him handle things.

I'm fucking delighted to let him, especially rescheduling that meeting with the Consortium. The last thing I need today is to face off with Nik Kusek again after last night. I need a little distance between us. So I spend the day down at Clubhouse Solara, where a famous chef is giving a demonstration, and the poolside is inviting enough that I feel happy to lie out there for a while and improve my vitamin D levels.

There's only one point where I contemplate returning to my house. And that's when an "Oh, Mrs. Diamond!" exclamation reaches my ears. I pull back the sunhat I've had resting over my face to look into the eager smile of the cleaning manager of the community.

"Hi, Katy," I say, and try not to sigh.

Katy is something of an institution around Solara. She can't be more than my age, but she seems older somehow, one of those women who bustles rather than walks. She has cropped dark hair, inquisitive pale blue eyes, and I've never seen her in anything other than her uniform, a white zip-front dress, white socks, and white sneakers.

She only has one obsession: the cleaning schedule.

"I didn't realize you were onsite today," she says. She's holding fresh towels to restock the pool house. "It's just that the schedule said you wouldn't be in, so I'd organized for cleaners to?—"

"I'm sorry," I say quickly, before she can fully launch. "I'm here unexpectedly and I forgot to update central office."

Terry had several conditions about my living here. One was that I couldn't use my real name—hence I'm "Mrs. Diamond," after my favorite rock. Another rule was that internal cameras should be installed in each room as well as the perimeter, and yet another was that none of the Solara staff would be allowed inside my home while I was there, which I thought was weird, until I realized he thought someone might try to hurt me.

Well, now someone has tried to hurt me, and Solara is my safe place precisely because of all those "annoying" precautions he wanted me to take.

"Can you give me an idea about when—" Katy starts again.

"Well, I'll be down here a few more hours," I break in. "Maybe you could send someone now?"

She hems and haws but eventually agrees that she can do that. And I can go back to relaxing.

For now.

I swap pleasantries with a few neighbors I recognize, watch their kids play Marco Polo in the pool, and ignore the loud-talkers on phones who like to make Very Important Business Decisions while they take in the sun.

And every time I think about a certain pair of strong arms wrapping me up, I turn my mind decisively away.

But by the evening, even surrounded by all these happy families and bragging billionaires, I have to admit…I'm a little lonely.

I'm an extrovert at heart. I don't do so good sitting around on my own. And frankly, I don't like to think I'm in hiding . I'm getting more and more embarrassed about the fact that some fucker took a shot at me, and my first reaction was to flee the city.

That ain't me.

Not anymore.

So when I call Frank from one of the co-working rooms at the clubhouse, and he tells me he hasn't made much progress on who attacked me, my heart sinks. I think he's going to advise me to stay away again tomorrow, and I don't know if I can do that. But then he surprises me.

"I'm sorry to ask this, Breezy," he sighs. "But we got to get this business with the Consortium settled. Can you come in tomorrow to sign off on the deal?"

I haven't looked forward so much to signing my own name in a long time.

But as soon as I set foot in the Golden Sands the next morning, I feel an undercurrent of nervous energy that sets my teeth on edge. Something's different. The floor staff move with an extra urgency, whispered conversations cutting off as I pass. I keep my face impassive, but internally, I'm all jumbled up. Do they know about the attempt on my life? I told Frank to keep it quiet.

Phil Reynolds, the casino manager, hurries over as I head to the corporate offices on a mission to find Frank, his usually immaculate appearance slightly disheveled. His hair isn't as perfectly smoothed down as usual, and his tie is slightly loose. It's so out of character that alarm bells immediately start ringing in my head.

"Mrs. Colombo," he says, lowering his voice and leaning in close. "Juno Bianchi arrived an hour ago. She's requesting to see you as soon as possible."

My first response is to curse, even though I adore Juno, I really do. But friend or not, her presence complicates things. The Bianchi Family's support here in Vegas could be crucial in the coming days. But Juno Bianchi is a fucking apex predator.

She'll see an opportunity for herself, too.

"Has Frank seen her yet?" I ask.

"No, ma'am; she arrived just a half hour ago with no advance warning, but Mr. Brooks came down to meet her." Holden. Thank God for Holden. "Mr. Brooks put Ms. Bianchi and her party in the usual suites," Phil goes on, his eyes darting around nervously. He hesitates for a moment before adding, "There were also two women from Chicago who arrived with them. They were vouched for by Ms. Bianchi, so Mr. Brooks gave them a separate suite on the same floor."

Two unknown variables in an already volatile situation.

Wonderful.

"Does Holden know them?"

Holden was Terry's personal assistant in name, but his real job in the casino was to act as a special liaison for VIPs. The kind of VIPs who help make Family business run smooth. He's kind of the Shadow Phil, working to keep our underworld guests happy the way Phil keeps the legitimate casino-hotel business running. So if these women are anyone important to the Family, Holden will know them.

But Phil shakes his head. "He didn't know their faces. I think…I think Frank might wanna get eyes on them, if you know what I mean."

I do know what he means. Whoever these two women are, they're not innocent little lambs, not if Juno is associating with them. "Anything else?" I prompt, sensing Phil has more to say.

His expression softens slightly, sympathy creeping into his eyes. It makes me want to scream. I don't need pity; I need strength. "I've finalized the funeral arrangements for Mr. Colombo. Everything's set for the day after tomorrow."

The walls seem to close in, the noise of the slot machines becoming a deafening roar in my ears. I have to swallow before I manage to find my voice. "Thank you, Phil. Send some coffee up to my suite, will you? And let Juno Bianchi know I'm available."