Epilogue
GRAYSON
This turn of events was hard to believe.
Sitting down to lunch across from a man who, at one time, was closer to me than a brother but was now a stranger.
The best friend I ever had when we were kids.
“Dominic needs help,” Mom had told me during our most recent phone call.
“He asked about you. Said he knows you help people for a living.”
He knew I never could say no to her. The years had passed, but some things did not change.
Looking at Dominic Garibaldi now, I could hardly believe he was ever the kid I remembered.
There was a hardness to him, something in his eyes and the tight set of his mouth that hinted at a life spent doing the sort of shit we tried so hard to understand back in the day.
He had lived the way our fathers had. Years of being exposed to the life of a mob captain had formed sort of a shell around him.
Then again, there was a shell around me too.
Nobody stayed as innocent as they were when they were kids, no matter what line of work they happened to get into.
I made my living wrangling freelance security professionals, digging up intel for Las Vegas movers and shakers, protecting businesses and people who needed help.
He made his living, ensuring people needed protection.
With a sigh, he began. “See, there’s a woman.”
“There always is,” I pointed out with a smirk, which he returned, chuckling softly.
“Yes, and there are always problems, aren’t there?” he asked. “In this case, though, she’s in trouble. It’s my fault.”
“What do you mean?”
“She ran off after receiving threats,” he explained, releasing a deep breath that seemed to deflate him somewhat.
“I have reason to believe members of another family would use her to get to me. She heard something she shouldn’t have.
They always tell you they’ll keep their nose out of your business until curiosity gets the better of them. Then they end up regretting it.”
He had a way of making everything sound so official, above board, when we both knew it was anything but.
I wondered if he would be more forthcoming if we were alone rather than seated in a restaurant and decided he would not.
Silence was golden, always. The less someone revealed, the better for everyone involved.
“Scarlet Bowers. Blackjack dealer.” I made a note of this, along with getting a physical description of her—medium height, sandy blonde hair, hazel eyes that leaned more toward green than brown.
“Here, I do have a photo of her.” He pulled it up on his phone and placed it on the table for me to see.
She was cute with a peaches-and-cream complexion and an ear-to-ear smile.
She looked carefree, young, innocent. “I need you to find her for me. From what I understand, you’re the man for the job.
And you’re the only one I trust with something this important.
She means a lot, and she’s a great girl. She doesn’t deserve to live in fear.”
I continued studying the photo. Scarlet Bowers. A woman who could very well end up roping me back into a world I swore I would never return to.