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And that face…it could launch a thousand ships, as they say.

Or sink them.

Her eyes meet mine. They’re jade green, made up artfully, cold as stone. I give a respectful nod, which she makes no reaction to. But she keeps looking at me a little longer than seems polite.

I sit up a little straighter in my chair as Eva rises from the table. The widow has only one other person with her, and this must be Frank Colombo, the dead man’s cousin. He favors the old Don in the face, so far as I can tell from the briefs we were provided, but according to gossip he lacks the drive, the intellect, and the forceful personality.

The Consortium is in a strong position for negotiation. Eva will beverypleased with me when this over-priced deal goes through. Might even offer me a seat on her plane back to Europe.

Eva’s voice drips with false sympathy as she offers condolences for Don Colombo’s death. “Mrs. Colombo,” Eva laments, “I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you. To lose your husband so suddenly, and now to be thrust into such an unfamiliar setting over petty business concerns.”

I watch the widow carefully, but her mask of polite grief never slips. She’s good. “You’re very kind, Ms. Novak. I’m doing my best to honor Terry’s memory by keeping things running smoothly.” She looks around the room and frowns. “But what a ridiculous table. We’ll barely be able to hear each other, shouting down from opposite ends. Please, come and sit up here.” She gestures to her end of the table and, after a moment, Eva follows her back down the room and takes a seat to the side of Brie Colombo, opposite Frank.

The rest of us follow, shuffling quickly to find new seats. The widow turns to Eva. “Isn’t this much better?” she asks. “I feel as though we can reallytalknow.”

Eva knows a power play when she sees one. “Indeed,” she says coolly. “But I don’t want to take up your time, Mrs. Colombo. Let’s deal with this business quickly.”

“Call me Brie, please,” Brie says.

Eva does not return the request for familiarity, offering only a chilly smile. But the real show begins when Markov leans forward to present the paperwork with our inflated offer. It’s well above our standard rate, and I can see Frank Colombo recognizes that from the surprise on his face. But what can he do?

The Colombos need arms, need weapons, need ammunition—especially at a time like this.

So with a sigh, he leans in to murmur in Brie’s ear.

Brie doesn’t seem to hear him as she closely studies the paperwork. Her brow furrows slightly as she pores over the numbers. I feel a twinge of sympathy; she’s clearly out of herdepth, trying to make sense of figures that would confuse most people, let alone an ex-showgirl.

That’s all I know about her, from the dossier the Consortium provided on her. She was born in West Virginia, disappeared for a while, and reappeared in Vegas, where she worked her way into the chorus lines—and then found a wealthy man to pay her bills. She used her beauty and her charm to great effect, it must be acknowledged. And she really is something, that golden-hued skin practically glowing?—

And then Brie looks up, flashing a dazzling smile that rivals the Vegas Strip. “I’m afraid I don’t havemuchof a head for numbers,” she says, her voice honey-sweet. “But this seems awfully expensive.” Frank tries to intervene, but Brie shrugs off his hand on her arm. “Ms. Novak,” she says to Eva. She’s still smiling warmly, but there’s a glint of steel there, too. “Terry always spoke highly of your fairness. So I can’t help but wonder if some papers might have gotten mixed up?”

The room goes dead silent.

And I find myself oddly impressed by the Widow Colombo.

“May I see that paper myself?” Eva asks, her tone carefully neutral. “I must confess I did not have a chance to proof the final copy.”

Brie slides it back across the table. Eva glances at it, then turns to berate Markov in rapid-fire Russian. Russian is thelingua franca, so to speak, within the Consortium, and the threats Eva levels at Markov now sound even worse than they would in English. The man is pale as death as he stammers out apologies to Brie, in English now.

“As you say, Mrs. Colombo—a few numbers not carried over as they should have been—entirely my fault—I will correct it at once?—”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” Brie assures him, flicking back a lock of her hair with a perfectly manicured hand. The diamonds on her fingers glitter. “I’m happy for you to correct it.”

Gold digger. That’s the accusation that stuck to this woman, and it’s something Eva—no, somethingI—should have considered.

Gold diggers know money.

“That’s very good of you, Mrs. Colombo. Let us look at the figures again and we’ll get back to you.” Eva switches back to Russian, muttering to her bodyguard, Leon, “This is no sweet little widow. I want you to keep an eye on her.” When she turns back to Brie, she’s all smiles once more. “Mrs. Colombo—Brie—as a gesture of apology for this mix-up, and as a token of my goodwill, I’d like to offer you a gift: my personal bodyguard, to ensure your safety during this time of upheaval. I know the Colombo ranks have thinned in recent times, and I’d like to relieve some of the stress on your resources.”

Frank immediately starts spluttering, but Brie cuts him off smoothly.

“Now, Frank,” she chides gently, “Ms. Novak is making a very generous offer.” She turns back to Eva, her green eyes sparkling with something that might be amusement—or warning. “Thank youso much, Ms. Novak. It makes me feel much safer to know another woman has my back. But of course, we Colombos still have our own security measures. I appreciate the thought, though.”

Eva glances at me, raising an eyebrow. “Anything to add, little prodigy?” she asks in Russian. “Given that it’s your overreaching that has put me in this mess.”

Shit.

But practice allows me to maintain a neutral demeanor, and I reply in Russian as well. “No need to worry, boss. This—” I pause, trying to find the right way to phrase it “—this wannabe gangster girl will be replaced soon enough, and we can deal with whomever really holds the power in their Family.” The words leave a bad taste in my mouth, but it’s the cold calculus of our world that people, particularly women, are pawns to be moved around the board.