Page 25 of Guarding her Gangster Girl

This guy iscareful. I’m starting to see why he’s lasted so long in this place despite not being a Family man.

Phil leans against his desk, his voice low, and gets straight to it. “I’ve noticed somethingoffabout the casino’s books.”

Brie’s eyebrows draw together. “Off how?”

“Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to cover it up, but they’re skimming off the top. I only caught it because I was cross-checking some specific numbers from the VIP expenses with the restaurant.”

Skimming from a Mob-run casino? That’s a death wish if ever I heard one.

“How long has this been going on?” Brie asks.

Phil shakes his head. “A couple of months, maybe. Not long.”

“And who else knows about this?”

“That’s the thing,” Phil says, leaning in closer. “Sophiemusthave known something was going on. She’s too sharp to miss this. Hell, if she didn’t…then she’s no good at her job. But that’s why I wanted to talk to you, Mrs. Colombo. I’m worried that Frank and some of his buddies—they might act first and look at the facts later, if you see what I mean.”

He doesn’t want Sophie Johnson whacked if he’s wrong, is what he means. And the Colombo Family isn’t exactly in a calm place right now.

“I’ll look into it,” Brie says decisively. “Keep this to yourself for now, Phil. We don’t want to spook anyone.”

Phil nods, relief evident in his eyes. He’s glad to pass this hot potato to someone else. Can’t say I blame him.

As we exit the office, I guide Brie toward the elevators, away from the prying eyes on the casino floor. Her steps are a little unsteady, and I have the urge to put an arm around her, but she slows for a moment, then seems to regain her poise.

“I’m not sure if that was casino business or Family business. A little of both, I guess. Is it worth asking you to keep it to yourself?”

“I will.” For now. “So, who do you think it is?”

“Not here,” she murmurs. “Let’s go to my dressing room; it’s close.” I follow her to the room in the back corridors where she keeps her evening gowns and makeup supplies. It smells like powder and flowers and her, and I have to make sure I stay focused. “No cameras or bugs in here,” she says as she shuts the door, but just like Reynolds, Brie is cautious. She pulls me into the half-bathroom that comes off the room, turns on the shower as hard as it’ll go, and then leans in to whisper to me.

“The Styx Syndicate sent those representatives to Vegas specifically to track down a female assassin. What if it’s Sophie?”

I blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift from theft to murder. “Slow down. What are you talking about?”

“Scarlett and Lyssa,” Brie explains hurriedly. “They’re hunting an assassin. Terry’s name was on some list—” She breaks off impatiently. “We should talk to them, tell them about Sophie.”

“Hold on. Before we go accusing anyone of anything, I want to know exactly what went down on the day of your husband’s murder.”

Brie takes a deep breath and then launches into a recap. She was out at the Secret Garden that night, too, she tells me, so she has limited information about what went on. She got back to the casino and was taken aside by Phil Reynolds, who broke the news to her. “No one in the Family thought to do it,” she adds bitterly. Frank Colombo had already called in a lawyer, who wasgetting together a strategy for calling the cops, and then Frank declared that he was going to find the killer himself.

“Has he got any investigatory experience?” I ask, a little bewildered. Frank Colombo didn’t seem like a modern-day Sherlock Holmes during the few times I’ve been around him.

“No, but he was the one who found Terry. And Frank was his cousin, they grew up together—really close. And Frank is Terry’s executor, for the will. So it seemed natural at the time…” She trails off.

“But now?” I prompt.

“Now…I don’t know.”

Nine times out of ten, the person who finds a victim is also the one whomadethem a victim. But I don’t say that. “So what, the cops were never informed?”

“Oh, of course they were,” Brie says vaguely. “But the lawyer kept them on a leash. And we have a few key allies in the right places,” she adds delicately. “So a little greasing of palms made them back off pretty fast. But since then, Frank will barely tell me anything. I can’t even get a sense of who he’s questioned, of who was evenherethat night…” She trails off.

“He was shot, wasn’t he?” I ask gently. She nods. “Do you know where he was shot?”

“H-his heart. With…with his own gun. He kept one in the top drawer of his desk, for personal protection.”

“And no one heard the shot?” I ask in disbelief.

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