“When are we leaving?” Domenico asked as we all got to our feet.
“As soon as you can get your bags packed,” Luca said. “Take individual cars. I have no idea what kind of jobs he will be sending you two on.”
“Sounds good. How are we making contact?” I asked as we walked through the restaurant.
“Remo has your hotel room information. I expect him to make contact when you both check in. Bring your own burners in case he doesn’t provide them. Your actual phones stay in your hotel rooms. You’re just tourists enjoying the Boardwalk and some legal gambling.”
“That sounds like we got a slush fund,” Dom said, shooting Luca a smirk.
Luca shook his head but reached out to one of his guards that was nearby. He placed two black zippered pouches into his hand. Luca handed them to us.
“Whenever possible, establish alibis. Get chips from various casinos. Get drinks. Do some gambling. Be seen on cameras far away from wherever Remo wants you to be working.”
“Got it,” I said. “Be in touch,” I said before making my way to my car.
There was a sizzling in my veins, something I always got at the beginning of a new (possibly really profitable) job.
And, yeah, it would be nice to get out of town and have some fun on Luca’s dime too.
It had been all work for me for a solid year. I needed a night or two out. And Dom was decent company. After years locked in a cage, he was usually up for drinks or hitting a bar, finding women, the usual.
I just had one unpleasant thing to handle before I got home and got packing.
I stuck my phone in the holder and dialed before pulling out of my parking space.
“Ma, I got some bad news about Sunday dinner…”
CHAPTER TWO
Roe
I dropped the mascara wand into my pink makeup case and exhaled. My gaze flicked up to the corner of the light-studded vanity mirror.
“You made this sound a whole lot more fun than it is,” I said to the picture of the woman taped there.
My grandmother stood there in all her showgirl glory—legs for days, perfectly coiffed bleach-blonde hair, red lips, and blue eyes, and a headdress with feathers standing two feet off her crown that looked like it weighed ten pounds.
Her body? Killer in her bikini that acted as her uniform.
She was beaming.
My gaze flicked back to my own reflection.
I looked a lot like her: the same high cheekbones, dainty chin, delicate nose, blue eyes. The only real difference was that I stopped bleaching my dark brown hair years back after an unfortunate salon visit that had all my hair breaking off until I had no choice but to give myself a bob and slowly regrow the length.
To give myself the elegant, vintage look the casino required, I had learned to set my hair so I managed “Old Hollywood Curls”that curved toward my face and managed to give me an old-school glam look even when I was shuffling into work in my sweats to get ready for the day.
I wasn’t a showgirl. Not the way my grandmother had been in her prime. Mostly because there simply weren’t many of those jobs available anymore. And even when there was an opening, the competition was so fierce that I had next to no chance to make it.
I wasn’t the best dancer anyway.
So I leaned into my strengths.
I was a lounge singer.
Same sort of glamour with slightly more clothing most of the time.
My dress was hanging in a garment bag behind me, fresh from the dry cleaner with that warm starch scent that I always found oddly comforting.
