Page 14 of Guarding her Gangster Girl

“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.

Iamthe 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 withyou, 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 formein the time we had together.

“Iwasa 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,isstaring. Staringdaggers, 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.

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