Then I put a duster on over my dress to look less conspicuous and put on slides.
I brought nothing except the heels dangling from my fingers and the phone shoved in the secure pocket of the navy dress.
When I made my way onto the street, I saw Remo’s little brother fall into step a few dozen yards behind me.
His presence eased some of the anxiety as I walked down the familiar streets and let myself into the casino through the front doors.
I got to the lounge with just five minutes to spare.
I slipped off my slides near the side of the bar, strapped on my heels, and then shrugged out of the duster.
The bartender’s gaze slid right to my arm.
In an act that felt like complete defiance, I hadn’t even tried to cover up the bruises. In the past, I never would have gone on stage without makeup covering imperfections. It was the fantasy of old times I was selling to my audience. But just this once, I wasn’t going to do that. They, and especially Frank, were going to see the bitter reality.
I got through all but my last set before the door opened and he finally showed his face.
A wicked smile tugged at my lips at how bad he looked.
I guess the drug cocktail Remo had stabbed into him, and the subsequent visit to the hospital, had really done a number on him.
He looked pale, almost gray, with bloodshot eyes and a sunken look to his cheeks.
Every movement seemed to pain him.
Good.
I hoped he was in agony.
I saw the way his gaze zeroed in on my arm.
It wasn’t regret I saw there, though.
It was confusion.
Maybe even a hint of… concern?
God, did he really not remember it at all?
I held my final note, then smiled at the crowd, blowing my kisses, and watching most of them get to their feet and head out.
I knew he was coming. He had to.
I pulled my shoulders back and reminded myself Archie and the bartender were still around, that there were hundreds of guests just a few yards away. He wasn’t going to hurt me here.
“Jesus, Monroe, what happened to your arm?”
Maybe Frank was a good liar.
But that confusion felt genuine to me.
“Frank, you don’t remember?” I asked, my voice small and guarded. Because me? I was a damn good liar. I’d lied to him ever since the first time we talked since I started working for him.
“Last night is… fuzzy.”
“Frank, youattackedme.” My voice went soft, hurt.
“I… no…”
