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I move through the room, falling easily into the role of gracious hostess, and showing respect by speaking with each VIP in their preferred language. I trade jokes in Mandarin with the Triad enforcer, commiserate in Spanish with a cartel lieutenant over shifts in territory, and trade veiled barbs in Italian with the Gatto Family Underboss. I even test my Japanese—a newer acquisition—with a polite Yakuza in Vegas for the first time, who smilingly corrects my grammar when I plead for help.
“All that and you know Russian, too,” Nik says when we have a moment alone.
I allow myself a half-smile at her ironic tone. “Terry was awful with everything except English and Italian,” she says. “This way, he had someone in the room who could keep an ear out for him.”
“It’s an impressive skill.”
“I’ve always been able to pick up the basics in most languages I’ve come across,” I say. “But that’s all it is—basic. Nothing special.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m starting to see how useful you must have been to your husband.”
I give a one-shouldered shrug, embarrassed by the compliment. It’s second nature to me now, all this schmoozing. But tonight feels different without Terry here. I feel on edge, hyper-aware of eyes following my every move. And every moment I expect to feel that horrible hatred again, directed my way.
I’m used to being looked at, so it’s not just the staring. But something unexpected occurs to me as I move around the room. They’re judging me, these men, yes—but there’s also genuine respect in their faces. And then they seem to expect that I’lljoin in the poker game, treating me as an equal rather than a placeholder. It’s a heady feeling, this respect. Thispower.
Is this how Terry felt all those years?
Holden offers to seat me at one of the tables when the game starts, and the group I’ve been chatting with all agree, loudly, that I need to play. But before I can dwell on this shift toward me, Vince Sabatelli strolls up to the group, all charm in his expensive suit, but I know better than to be fooled by appearances.
“Breezy,” he says, voice dripping with false warmth. “You’re looking radiant tonight.” He leans in, but he doesn’t lower his voice. “I hope I can count on your support in the coming days. With me at the helm, the Family would thrive. And you…well, you’d benefit greatly from the protection I can offer.”
His message is not for me. It’s for the men around him, making sure they know he’s coming up in the world. I feel Nik tense behind me, and I remember her reaction at the funeral.
But I can handle a snake like Vince Sabatelli.
“That’s very kind,” I tell him, allowing the old accent to peek through a little. “But as you can see, Vince, I already have protection.” I gesture to Nik. “So I don’t need yours.” I enjoy the flash of annoyance that goes through his eyes.
“Yeah, Frankie mentioned you had some Consortium lapdog running around after you. But she ain’t a friend, Breezy. Not likeIcould be your friend.” His gaze wanders slowly down from my face to my tits. “I can offer status.Power. You could be what you were before, Breezy. A wife, rather than a widow. What do you say?”
CHAPTER 15
Nik
The implicationin this asshole’s words makes my temper rise sharply, but before I can step in, Brie is already responding to him in a hard, venomous voice.
“Listen carefully, Vince,” she says, loud enough for those around to hear, just as he made sure they heard his offer. “If you think for one second that I need you or anyone else to give me status or power, you’re mistaken. I take what I want. And I definitelydon’twant you.”
His face darkens. “You wanna watch that mouth, Breezy. It’s a pretty mouth, but one day some guy might take offense at what’s coming out of it.”
That’s a direct threat. I’m not the only one who thinks so, either, judging by the sudden quiet in our immediate vicinity as people listen in.
“I’m sorry if I hurt yourfeelings, Vince,” Brie spits. “But hear me loud and clear: you have nothing I want or need. Now go nurse your bruised ego. I have a poker hand with therealplayers in this town.”
She stalks off before he can respond, and I hurry after her.
But I’m proud of her. God, I’msoproud of her that I can’t stifle the grin on my face.
Brie takes her place at one of the poker tables and I stand behind her, watching the other players, watching the room, watching Vince Sabatelli as he mutters and scowls with his cronies in a corner.
And she’s good at poker, too. Brie Colombo isverygood player; her face is a mask, giving nothing away as she raises, calls, or folds with practiced ease.
The game intensifies, and Brie goes head-to-head with a burly man I recognize as the head of a bratva group. Her hand is strong—I can see it in the way she shakes back her hair, a tell so subtle I doubt anyone else notices. She could take him for everything he’s worth.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she folds gracefully, allowing him to win. She gives a rueful laugh as the bratva boss grins over his winnings, and leaves the table for a break. As she stands at the bar, I lean in close.
“Why’d you let him win? You had him.”
