Page 29 of Secrets in the Dark

"Nova!" they exclaimed, immediately sensing the tension. Their eyes narrowed at the maintenance worker. "Everything okay?"

The man stepped back smoothly. "Just discussing the A/C issues in the dressing rooms." His voice transformed completely—casual, professional, unremarkable.

"Really?" Riley's skepticism was evident as they stepped aboard, deliberately positioning themselves between us. "Funny, I thought maintenance requests went through facilities management, not directly to performers."

He offered a bland smile. "Just being thorough." He nodded at me. "Remember what I said about the temperature settings." The thinly veiled threat hung in the air between us.

As he exited at the next floor, Riley subtly raised their phone, snapping a photo of his retreating form that captured the distinctive snake tattoo on his hand.

Once the doors closed, Riley turned to me. "Who the hell was that?"

"I don't know," I lied, voice shaking slightly. "But he wasn't maintenance."

"No shit." Riley examined the photo they'd taken. "That snake tattoo looks like Licata crew ink. My cousin did time with those guys." They glanced up sharply. "What's a Vegas mobster want with you?"

The name Licata triggered a vague memory. One of our bigger cases last year had involved organized crime, but I'd worked on so many files the details blurred together.

"I have no idea," I lied.

Riley's eyes narrowed. "This connected to the sabotaged lighting rig?"

I nodded, unable to deny the obvious connection.

"So much for my 'disgruntled employee' theory." Riley stuffed the costume pieces under one arm and thumbed through their phone. "I'm sending this to Val and security."

"No!" The word escaped before I could stop it. "I mean—I need to handle this myself. If that man is what you think he is, involving others could put them in danger."

Riley studied me for a long moment before their expression softened. "You're running from something serious, aren't you?"

I didn't answer, which was answer enough.

Riley sighed. "Fine. I'll hold off sending this around, but I'm keeping it. And you—" they pointed a finger at my chest, "—are not going anywhere alone until we figure this out. Whatever you're mixed up in, you've got people here now."

The fierce protectiveness in their voice nearly broke my composure. I'd spent so many days feeling isolated, hunted,alone. The idea that someone—even someone who barely knew me—would stand in harm's way for my sake was overwhelming.

"My dressing room, five minutes," Riley declared as the elevator reached their floor. "I've got flash powder leftover from last season's shows. If someone's gunning for you, we're upgrading your defensive capabilities."

Before I could refuse, they were gone, leaving me alone with the realization that my escape plan had evaporated. The stalker knew I was planning to run. He'd be watching exit routes, parking structures, taxi stands.

Worse, he'd be watching tomorrow's performance from the front row. Whatever he had planned for his "finale," it would happen in full view of an audience.

I couldn't run now. But I could prepare.

Licata Family Syndicate:

Vegas's Most Feared Crime Organization.

The headline glared from my laptop screen as I huddled in my dressing room, researching the crime family Riley had mentioned. They had departed after delivering a crash course in flash-powder usage and extracting my promise to stay put until showtime.

I scrolled through news articles, police reports, and court summaries about the Licata organization. The crime family had operated in Las Vegas for three generations, evolving from crude protection rackets into sophisticated financial operations. Vincent Licata, the current head, had diversified into money laundering through legitimate businesses—including, allegedly, several Strip casinos.

Vincent's conviction last year had been a major coup for law enforcement. The case hinged on financial evidence that proved he'd been using shell companies to funnel illegal cash through legitimate venues. The prosecution's star exhibit: a secondary accounting ledger showing the actual sources of funds.

My heart began to race as memories clicked into place. I'd worked on that case. I'd spent weeks reconstructing that ledger from digital fragments and paper records, correlating dates and amounts to establish the money trail. It had been meticulous work that had earned me a promotion at Bailey & Finch.

I found a mug shot of Vincent's younger brother, Thomas "Tommy Lace" Licata. The same cold eyes that had watched me in the elevator stared back from my screen. He'd been suspected of involvement in three witness intimidations, though charges were never filed. Witnesses had a habit of recanting or disappearing when Tommy Lace took an interest in their testimony.

Then I found it—the trial transcript Miles had mentioned. The prosecution had specifically credited the discovery of the financial evidence:

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