8. Brie

CHAPTER 8

Brie

My time as a showgirl was a while ago now and didn't last long, but it taught me never to falter. Ankle twists mid-routine? You suck it up or you get your butt offstage as discreetly as possible, make it look like part of the act. Can't find your headdress because one of those bitches has stolen it just to fuck with you? You damn well steal someone else's.

Every woman for herself, all while kicking and dancing in perfect time together. No problem was ever insurmountable, so long as you could think fast and keep that smile in place.

So today, as I walk into the funeral home and prepare myself for a day in the public eye, I choose a muted half-smile of appreciation as I nod to the funeral home staff and take my place to greet attendees. The scent of lilies and roses is overpowering; flower arrangements line the walls, a pale wash of white against dark wood paneling. Hushed voices and muffled sniffs fill the air. I catch sight of the next room, where Terry's open casket waits. Holden is standing there, looking down at him, caught in an unguarded moment. I see his shoulders shaking.

My heart breaks for him. He loved Terry so much, and I'm the only person who can really understand how he feels—and vice versa. Holden used to call us the Three Musketeers sometimes, and Terry always laughed that we were more like the Three Stooges, only two of us were much prettier than those old funnymen.

I never felt like the third wheel when we were hanging out. I was happy for them both—happy that they'd found love, found each other, because I had what I wanted, too.

I had safety, and I had money to continue ensuring that safety. These days, though, I'm not feeling so safe.

Holden straightens his shoulders and I see him subtly wiping his face with a handkerchief. When he turns from the casket, he looks every inch the professional again, greeting new viewers as they approach. He stays in the viewing room while I greet people as they enter the funeral home, accepting condolences and memories alike. And my mind drifts back to the day I met the old bastard, God love him. I was all legs and tits and not much talent. But I had something else. Something more important than talent.

I had ambition .

And Terry? He had power. I was sent to wine and dine him one night, the show producers hoping I could squeeze an extra hundred thousand out of casino owner Terry Colombo, who'd already invested as much as any reasonable man could be expected to put into a dying art and an underperforming show. But I'd built a reputation for getting my way.

Legs, tits, and charm . Those were my weapons.

I'd been secretly pissed off when his private secretary was right there with him—harder to seduce when a man is around other men—but I played my part perfectly that night, laughing at Terry's jokes, touching his arm, leaning in close. The scent of his expensive cigars and whiskey clung to my hair when I sniffed at it in the ladies', a heady mix of wealth and influence. I was intoxicated by it, desperate for more.

And when I came back from powdering my nose, I decided to duck into the kitchen, ask for a special bottle of champagne to be served—but instead, I stumbled upon a scene I wasn't meant to see. I took a wrong turn into a back hallway, and there was Terry leaning up against the wall, pants around his ankles, with Holden on his knees before him.

Our eyes met, and for one long moment, I thought I was done for. But the fear in his eyes mirrored my own, and then Holden stood up, wiping his mouth, and leaned in to murmur in Terry's ear.

"Is that right?" Terry asked me. "You prefer the ladies, huh?"

I stared at both of them until Holden's eye twitched, a tiny warning, and then I shrugged. "Yeah. Your buddy there, he clocked me."

"I thought she might be useful," Holden said. "For what we talked about."

The silence stretched for an eternity before Terry's face broke into a grin as he buttoned himself up, then stepped forward to extend a hand. "Well, sweetheart, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

I had no idea what he meant. But I shook that hand. And three months of "dating" was followed by a quick engagement, followed by the most expensive wedding the city had seen for a decade. A marriage of convenience, he called it. Protection for him, and for Holden, too, who fully sanctioned the marriage.

I'd said yes because it was what I'd always wanted, the reason I'd come to Vegas in the first place: a golden ticket out of poverty.

Vince Sabatelli is making his way toward me, oozing false sympathy.

"Brie, sweetheart ," he coos, his breath an off-putting combination of mint and whiskey. "Terry was like a father to me. I hope you know you can count on me during this difficult time. And I hope I can count on yours during the…transition period."

I can see the hunger in his eyes, the barely concealed ambition—and this isn't about the casino. This is about the Family. Vince wants the top job, badly, and he thinks I'm his path to it. I fix him with an icy stare, channeling every ounce of the power I've observed Terry wielding over the years.

"Today is about remembering my late husband, Vince. Let's focus on that, shall we?"

He retreats, properly chastised, but Larry Caruso approaches next, his gruff exterior softened by genuine sadness. Unlike Vince, Larry's grief seems real. He's older, around Terry's age, with iron-gray hair and hands that speak of a lifetime of dirty work.

"Terry was a good man," he says, his voice gruff with emotion. "He loved you somethin' fierce, Breezy, you know that?"

To my surprise, tears prick at my eyes, because he's right. Despite our arrangement, despite the secrets, Terry had been kind, funny, respectful. He'd taught me about the business, confided in me. In his own way, I think he did love me, just like I loved him. He always said I was the greatest showgirl in Vegas, because I dazzled everyone, and that was what he needed. A dazzling distraction.

I hope I'm still putting on a good show for him. I hope he's proud of me, wherever he is.

"Frankie says you had a scare the other night," Larry goes on.

I turn my smile up another few watts and shake my head. "Oh, it was nothing, Larry. An attempted mugging, but they didn't get anything they wanted."

He's not convinced, but I'm not in the mood to spend any more time discussing it, so I excuse myself, hoping to make a break for it, say goodbye to Terry. But before I make it to the viewing room, I'm cornered by Phil Reynolds. He takes my hand, his grip firm but not overbearing.

"Mrs. Colombo, I hope the arrangements are to your liking."

"Oh, it's very…respectful," I say vaguely.

"Terry was—well, he was more than just a boss to me. He saw potential where others didn't. I owe him everything. I hope…" He hesitates. "I hope I can be of help in this difficult time as we all adjust." Ah. He's worried about his job, and he thinks I'm the new owner of the Golden Sands.

Wait.

I am the new owner. Terry made sure I would inherit his majority shares in the place. So I nod, squeezing his hand. "He always spoke highly of you, Phil. And I know how hard you work at the Golden Sands—even if you make it look easy."

A flash of pleased surprise crosses Phil's face. People do like being recognized. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Ma'am, I know this isn't the time or place, but I need to speak with you about something as soon as you have a moment. There are some matters that require immediate attention."

I meet his eyes, seeing the urgency there. "Well, perhaps Frank might be the better?—"

"No," he says insistently. "I need to speak with you , Mrs. Colombo."

"Of course, Phil. We'll set something up."

He nods, relief evident in the slight relaxation of his shoulders. And as he steps back, Sophie Johnson takes his place, her small frame made even tinier by her grief. Her brown eyes are red-rimmed behind her glasses, and she clutches a handkerchief tightly in one hand. Her voice wavers as she speaks.

"Mrs. Colombo, I…I'm so sorry. Mr. Colombo was…" she pauses, swallowing hard. "He gave me a chance when no one else would. He trusted me with the finances, with everything. I don't know what we're going to do without him."

I take both of Sophie's hands in mine, touched by her genuine sorrow. God knows there are few enough people here who are really upset by Terry's death. "We're going to do exactly what he would want us to do, Sophie. We're going to keep moving forward, keep growing stronger. He believed in you, and so do I."

Sophie nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Thank you, Mrs. Colombo. If you need anything—anything at all—just say the word."

And finally, I have a chance to enter the viewing room. The few people in there give me respectful nods and then Holden shepherds them out, allowing me time alone with Terry. I approach the casket, fearful at first, but then relaxing as he comes into view.

It's not so bad. He doesn't look entirely like himself, but he doesn't look unfamiliar, either.

A drop splashes onto his lapel, and I realize that I'm crying. With a sniffle, I rub the drop into the cloth. "Can't have you mussed up at your last appearance, huh?" All those times he asked me to help him with his tie, or adjust the handkerchief in his top pocket before he had dinner with Holden, or a meeting with other important Family heads. I do it one last time for him now, my heart swelling as I remember, with gratitude, all the things Terry did for me in the time we had together.

"I was a lucky bitch," I murmur, reciting the phrase he fondly used for me all the time. It's true that lady luck seems to follow me around—on the casino floor, slot machines tended to jackpot as I walked by, and I'd taken to wearing only gold when I wandered around the place. The Golden Lady of the Sands, people started calling me, and an appearance from me tended to fill up the floors as people flocked in to try their luck.

It never hurts to cultivate a personal mythology.

But my soft smile dies as a chill runs down my back. I turn quickly, looking back out the open door. No one seems to be staring at me. And yet…I get the feeling that someone, somewhere, is staring. Staring daggers , as the saying goes.

But I can't find those murderous eyes in the crowd, if they even exist.

When I go back into the main room, Eva Novak has arrived—and Nik Kusek is with her again, her watchful gaze sweeping the crowd. Our eyes meet for a brief moment, and I feel a pull low in my belly.

I turn away quickly and see Juno Bianchi gliding over, every inch the powerful Mob Queen. Her designer black dress and subtle jewelry speak not only of wealth and influence, but class, too. She always carries herself with an air of authority that commands respect.

I envy her, sometimes. People do what I want them to, but only after I've convinced them into thinking they want it, too. No one is scared of Breezy Colombo, the ex-showgirl, the gold-digger.

"You're holding up beautifully," Juno murmurs as she embraces me. "Don Colombo would be proud."

Terry always spoke of Juno with respect, never once mentioning her gender as a weakness. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if he ever thought of me leading the Colombo Family, like Juno does the Bianchis.

I bet he'd just chuckle at my sheer audacity.

"By the way," Juno goes on quietly, "Johnny's background checks came back in. All clear, including Eva's new pet. Background is well documented. She does not appear to be the assassin that the Styx Syndicate is looking for."

I can't help glancing back over my shoulder, my eyes landing on Nik where she stands behind Eva Novak. She stares straight back at me, challenging. She might not be some sneaky trained assassin, but there's still a dangerous allure to her, a blend of strength and reserve that…

Well, it's like catnip to me. I'll have to watch myself.

Lyssa and Scarlett are passing by, and stop to give me a nod. "You told her about the background checks?" Lyssa asks Juno softly. Then she grins. "Did you tell her about Nik Kusek tracking down her father's killer and killing him right back?"

"She did that?" I ask.

"Hell yeah she did. Badass." Lyssa glances across at her. "She'd be a good candidate for the Styx Syndicate if she's ever looking for a new job. And we have way more fun than any arms dealer could possibly have. You tell her that from me." She winks, takes Scarlett's hand, and wanders off to the buffet.

Eva chooses that moment to approach. After appropriately-restrained greetings between the two of them, Juno leaves us tactfully alone.

"I hear you had a little difficulty the other night," Eva says, after the niceties are out of the way. I shoot a look at Nik, standing there next to the big hulking guy who is always Eva's shadow, but she looks blankly back at me. I suppose I couldn't expect her to keep something like that from her boss, but—"Frank told us when he called to reschedule the contract signing again," Eva goes on softly. "Please know that we are very happy to wait a few more days if need be."

Frank told her?

So Nik actually did keep her mouth shut. Or it seems that way…

I find myself remembering the way Nik wrapped herself around me, shielded me, even making sure that I didn't faceplant into the concrete as she did it. She made me feel safe , in the same way Terry did. Strange to think that in a city full of so-called friends, a stranger may be the only person I can trust.

And then I think about the fact that she tracked down her father's killer.

"Thank you for your understanding," I say, looking back to Eva. "And…if your offer of an extra bodyguard is still open, I'd appreciate it."

Her face lights up. "But of course! Leon can be at your disposal?—"

"I'd prefer Ms. Kusek, here, if you can spare her."

"Well, I…" Eva, to her credit, recovers quickly. "Yes. Yes, of course I can spare her. Dominika, you will watch over Mrs. Colombo and you will obey her as you obey me."

Nik's lips have parted, but that's the only sign of surprise. She's tall and imposing in a close-cut black suit, her frame a stark contrast to the soft curves of Eva Novak. Yes. There's a quiet strength about Dominika Kusek that I like. Still, I can't resist poking the bear.

"Well, Nik?" I ask, raising one eyebrow. "Are you willing to obey me?"