4. Brie

CHAPTER 4

Brie

I have a strange sense of time warping around me as I enter the conference room. Same mahogany table, same leather chairs, same scent of cigars and whiskey… It’s all exactly where it always is, but something about it feels different.

Ah. Of course. It’s not the room that’s different.

It’s me.

My feet are aching, my neck stiff from the long drive back in, and I’m going to sleep for days once this is done, but I keep my posture perfect as I take a seat at the head of the table before Larry can say anything. Vince settles into the chair on my right and Larry takes the left, boxing me in. Behind me, Frank’s loafers tap a nervous rhythm as he paces.

I remind myself I’ve spent a lifetime practicing for this moment. Back when I was dancing in the chorus line of a second-rate show, dreaming of something better, I’d already learned how to get through anything. How to survive. And I’ll survive this. I just need to find the words, the right words.

The crystal decanter of bourbon on the sideboard catches the light, and I think of Terry, who always kept that decanter full. Who taught me about how to be a high roller in a world full of opportunists. Who showed me that power isn’t just about strength—it’s about making them think you’re exactly what they expect, right up until the moment you’re not.

“Time to lay your cards on the table.” Larry leans forward in his chair. “Tell us why you killed the old man.”

“I did not kill my husband. And let’s be real, Larry, you don’t think I did, either.”

He just sneers. “You think you’re gonna wiggle your way out of this? There’s video of you there in the corridors, right around the time he got done. And after I take you to say your goodbyes to the Bianchi boss, I’ll end you myself.”

“Hey,” Frank says sharply. “That’s enough of that, Larry. We all agreed, we’d let Breezy have her chance at a defense.”

“You seem to be under the impression that I’m hiding something, Larry. But I’m not. And I have no intention of going anywhere.” I lean in, mimicking his position. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but you ran before.”

“My bodyguard insisted I leave in the face of an immediate threat to my life.” Nik. I can almost feel her presence, close to me. She always comes for me. Always protects me. In the short time I’ve known her, I learned that early and often. But this is something I have to do for myself. “And the threat she identified was you , Larry.”

“Baby, you ain’t seen a real threat from me yet.”

“Shut your mouth, Larry,” Frank says at once. He’s still pacing behind me, but I refuse to crane my neck to watch him. “If you’d just stayed, Breezy,” Frank mutters, “we could’ve worked things out.” His voice carries an edge that interests me.

Vince’s laugh is genuine this time. “Maybe you remember things different, Frank, but Larry here was ready to pop.” Larry chuckles along, enjoying the moment, but I don’t think he really sees the way Vince looks at him.

Vince Sabatelli might be acting like Larry’s buddy, but he’s decidedly not.

“Sit down before you wear a hole in the carpet, Frank,” I say lightly. “You wanted to talk. So let’s talk.”

Frank slows, then stops, and drops heavily into a chair a few spaces down. His eyes, when they meet mine, are troubled.

“Should’ve gone straight to the interrogation room,” Larry snarls, but I’m barely listening. There’s something off about Frank’s behavior. This isn’t just about questioning me—something else is eating at him.

Frank turns to me, his expression grave. “Alright, Breezy. Time to either come clean or give us an alibi.”

“I did not kill my husband, and the video evidence will prove my innocence in the end. It was faked . You just didn’t give Holden enough time to find who was really there.”

“That’s not an alibi,” Larry growls.

“Why would I even want to kill Terry?” I snap at him. “The only thing his death has done is endanger me. You’re forgetting—there have been two attempts against my own life, as well. Did you order them?”

Larry actually looks surprised for a second, like he forgot all about that, before he blusters, “Why the fuck would I want you dead?”

“You sure seem into the idea right now, Larry,” Vince interjects. Larry turns on him, but Vince is already moving on. “Look, Breezy has a point. She’s been a target, too. But all the same, I’d still like to hear her alibi, as you say, Larry.”

So Vince has returned to form and is playing both sides, waiting to see who’s coming out on top. He owes me for getting him out of that interrogation room, but he might decide not to pay up. And anyway, I don’t want to waste that particular get-out-of-jail-free card just yet.

So my mind races as I try to construct a plausible story. The truth—that I was alone at the Secret Garden that night, and came home alone, too—isn’t exactly air-tight. Better play for more time. “I still don’t understand what benefit Larry thinks I gained from my husband’s death.”

“You wanted the casino all to yourself,” Larry sneers. “Swanning around down there like you own the place. A party girl like you wanted to make sure the party continued.”

“I already had all the money I wanted thanks to Terry. Why would I kill him just to take on the stress of running a damn casino?” I arch an eyebrow at Larry. “You can’t have it both ways, Larry. Either I’m an airhead party girl, or I’m a scheming supervillain who decided she wanted to work her ass off managing a complex organization. Which is it?”

“Enough,” Frank says tiredly. “Where were you?” There’s something like hope in his eyes. He doesn’t want me to be guilty, I realize. That’s interesting.

“I was having a girl’s night out with Sophie Johnson.” The lie falls from my lips smooth as honey, just like I used to lie about my past when I first came to Vegas. Just like I lied about being madly in love with Terry. “I don’t remember which bars we went to. There were a few.”

Vince’s grin turns sharklike. “Perhaps Ms. Johnson will remember. Let’s call her in.”

My heart stutters, but I keep my expression neutral, bored even. “She won’t be here this late?—”

“It’s not late anymore,” Frank says firmly. “It’s early. And I happen to know Sophie Johnson planned to come in early today to get on top of the end-of-month finances. So we can clear this matter up right now.”

Shit.

I glance at the clock on the wall, and realize that Frank is right—it’s almost six-thirty. The night has passed over in a haze of action, terror and shock.

As he reaches for his phone, I fight to keep my breathing steady. The conversation is brief but clear: Sophie is definitely in the building, and Frank orders one of his men to find her and bring here to the conference room immediately.

We wait in silence as the clock on the wall ticks steadily forward, each second bringing me closer to either salvation or destruction.

And once more I think of Nik, of her face in the desert, fierce and loving and afraid for me. Of her hands, always so gentle, even when we play rough. Of the way she looks at me like I’m something precious, not for my beauty or my connections, but for who I really am. I just have to survive this, and I’ll see her again. Kiss her again. Tell her…tell her how I feel.

And survival is the one thing I’ve always been good at.