3. Brie

CHAPTER 3

Brie

The drive back to the Golden Sands feels endless, each mile stretching out like a lifetime. My hands don’t shake—I wouldn’t give these assholes the satisfaction—but I can feel Larry’s hateful gaze burning into me whenever he thinks I’m not looking. Dirt clings to my clothes, and there’s a dark patch on my knee that I think is drying blood. Mine? Or someone else’s?

I have no idea.

“What happened back there?” Frank asks me at one point. “Who was that woman all tied up?”

So they don’t know everything. Either Eva Novak didn’t tell them—or didn’t know herself. “Just another person looking to kill me,” I tell him.

“How come those Syndicate ladies are your pals all of a sudden?”

I wonder how Lyssa would react to being called a “lady” and let myself enjoy a small smile. “Well, Frank, you know how this business works. Enemy of my enemy, and all that.”

He’s quiet after that. I stare out the window and think about Nik, the memory of her face as the car drove away—that carefully blank expression I’ve learned means she’s hiding pain.

God, I hope she’s safe. If Eva Novak hurts her because of me…

It’s a long drive, but it passes before I almost realize it, the familiar lights of the Strip blurring past our windows soon enough. How many nights have I stood in my suite at the Golden Sands, looking down at all this glitter, and congratulating myself on climbing so far from that West Virginia trailer park?

Now I know better. The higher you climb, the harder they try to pry your fingers off the damn ladder.

When we finally pull up to the casino’s grand entrance, the golden glow of the facade washes over me, but this place that I once thought of as my fortress now feels more like a tomb. The waterfall lights sparkle with the same thousand points of light that used to make me feel like I’d finally made it. Now they just remind me of the glint in Nik’s eyes when she laughs—something I might never see again, if I can’t talk my way out of this.

Because that’s my plan. Charm, talk, distract, use every trick I’ve learned over the years to get these men to listen to me, instead of kill me.

One of the doormen, who’s worked here for years, rushes to open the car door for me, his eyes widening as he recognizes me, and then give me a puzzled once-over as he takes in my appearance. I give him my most dazzling smile as I step out. A lifetime ago I practiced this smile in the mirror until it was perfect, while I reminded myself, over and over: Never let them see you sweat .

The late-night crowd mills around us, the usual mix of tourists and high rollers. A group of drunk bachelor party boys stumbles past, giving me a leer even though I’m bare-faced and bedraggled.

Larry’s hand clamps around my upper arm like a vise, yanking me forward. “Move it.”

I plant my feet, my tone at a temperature that would freeze hell. “Take your hands off me.”

Not only does Larry let me go, he actually takes a step back. Confusion flickers across his face—the fearsome enforcer, rattled by a woman half his size, is puzzled by his own reaction. For a second, I see myself through his eyes: bruised and bloodied, but far less cowed than he expected.

I lift my chin even higher and let my contempt for him shine clear in my eyes.

Frank steps in before Larry can recover. “Back off, Larry. There’s three of us and she’s just one little girl. No need for the rough stuff.”

I think Frank means well, but if I never again hear him calling me—a taller-than-average woman in her thirties—a “little girl,” it’ll be too soon.

They flank me as we enter the casino, Frank and Vince hovering close at my sides and Larry leading. The late-night-bleeding-into-early-morning crowd parts before us, and stares follow in our wake.

Let them stare. Let them wonder. I’ll?—

“Brie!”

The joyful shout makes all four of us stop dead. And suddenly I’m engulfed in a whirlwind of leather jacket and wild red curls as Caitlin O’Sullivan throws her arms around my neck. Larry and Frank just watch her with open mouths, not moving to stop her.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Caitlin says loudly. She steps back, completely ignoring the three men surrounding me, her hands stuck casually in her jacket pockets. “Juno had a missed call from you, but you never answered when we tried to call back.”

Juno Bianchi doesn’t do anything by accident, and her wife is often her softer-touch surrogate. There’s no reason at all that Caitlin O’Sullivan would be hanging around in the lobby at this time of night—morning?—if this wasn’t planned. And I did call Juno, right after Nik pushed Holden and me into the panic room at the Solara house. Got her voicemail.

Left no message.

But now here is a lifeline, wrapped in carefully projected innocence. More than just a lifeline, if the new weight in my pocket is anything to go by.

“I’m so sorry,” I say quickly, jumping into the role Caitlin is offering. “I’ve had one of those nights, you know how it is.” And I slide my fingers over the object she just slipped into my pocket during our embrace. A gun. Small—tiny, even. But effective at close range, which is where all three Colombo men seem determined to be right now.

Caitlin grins and nods. “Oh, I get it, believe me. We had a wild one. And it made us realize it’s been a long time since we had some fun. So we’ve decided to have a second honeymoon here. The first one was so much fun! Remember how you hooked us up with the desert racing crowd last time? We’d love to do that again, and so much more besides. So we need your recommendations on what to do while we’re in town.”

“Of course! I’d be delighted.”

“Can you come with me right now?” Caitlin asks. “Juno’s free, so we thought maybe we could look at a few?—”

“Nope.” Larry’s interruption is curt. “Mrs. Colombo is busy right now.”

Caitlin turns to Larry, eyes sharp despite her casual stance. “You must be Mr. Caruso. My wife, Juno Bianchi, mentioned you.” She drops Juno’s name casually, but none of us miss the way Larry’s ears prick up at the idea that the Bianchi Boss has been talking about him. “Juno would be very appreciative if you could make sure Brie reaches our suite safely after your meeting. Juno would be appalled if anything happened to Brie—and she’s worried about any further assassination attempts.”

I watch Larry’s chest puff up. Of course—he thinks Juno’s reaching out because she sees him as the next Don. “Yeah, I can do that,” he says. “You tell Ms. Bianchi I can do that as a personal favor to her.”

“How long do you think you’ll be?” Caitlin presses. “Juno doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Larry glances at me, then back at Caitlin. “Won’t take long at all.”

I’m not sure how I feel about Juno’s play, getting her wife to butter up Larry Caruso, but I can’t argue with the results. I can be moderately certain that my death won’t come within the next hour. Juno has given me a buffer zone, if nothing else.

“Wonderful!” Caitlin backs away. “We’ll be waiting.” The threat in those three words is crystal clear.

When we reach the elevator, Larry points and me and barks, “She needs a pat-down.” He doesn’t miss much, unfortunately for me. Frank is about to object, but Vince has already stepped up. At least Larry is learning to keep his hands to himself when it comes to me.

So Vince pats me down, his touch apologetic. When he finds the gun Caitlin slipped into my pocket, his eyes widen slightly.

I just smile playfully. “A girl needs to be careful these days. But if it makes you feel safer to face an unarmed woman, be my guest.”

Frank shifts uncomfortably beside me. “Vince, Larry—let’s just give her some space, eh?”

Space, but not a gun. Vince pockets it, though he gives me a wink. We get into the elevator and Frank swipes his card, then hits the button to go up. That’s a good thing. Down would indicate the interrogation room, and I definitely don’t want to end up there.

The elevator ride up is silent. I catch my reflection in the mirrored walls—torn and bloody, hair disheveled, but I look as cool, calm and collected as Juno Bianchi herself. And when Larry glances my reflection’s way, he looks away again fast.

The doors slide open with a soft chime, and we walk down the corridor that leads to the conference room where the Family likes to gather for their most important decisions. My heart rattles away in my ribcage, but I keep my expression serene and let my thoughts drift to Nik.

She’s probably planning something stupidly heroic. And I adore that about her—but if I can’t pull this off alone?

Then I don’t deserve to win the prize I’m after.