Ike wasn’t sure if any woman would ever measure up to the one who’d left him behind. The one who hadn’t kept her promise. It would take a lot more to save him than paying off debts to the Russians. He hoped one day he’d be able to tell her. But until he could find his parents’ remains and bring them back to the island to be buried properly, Ike refused to let himself think about … Ava.
“Yana Brazhensky …” Rocco said the name with awe, no doubt thinking about the brutality the woman exacted as the heir apparent to her father’s empire. “Not asking for much, are you?”
“Only if it’s easy … don’t get a target put on your back for this,” Ike said.
The door burst open.
A whirling dervish of a little girl wearing a pale green Disney Princess Tiana dress raced in, jumped onto the bed, and flung herself into Ike’s arms.
“Hi, Ike,” Paloma said, beaming as she gripped his neck and kissed his cheek. “You’re looking very handsome today.”
“And you, my dove, are as pretty as ever,” Ike said, kissing her back on the cheek. Lachlan’s five-year-old daughter was the only person who could lift his spirits in any situation.
“Guess that’s my cue to leave,” Rocco said, tugging on one of Paloma’s ponytails.
“Yes, get out of here,” Paloma said, flicking her hand dismissively.
“Paloma! Apologize to Dr. Forrester now,” Lachlan reprimanded as he entered the room.
Paloma mumbled a half-hearted apology that made Rocco laugh, then turned back to Ike.
“And what did I tell you about jumping on Ike? He’s recovering from some serious injuries,” Lachlan said, trying to sound stern. “You could hurt him.”
“Did I hurt you, Ike?” Paloma asked, her eyes growing wide with concern.
“You could never hurt me, dove,” Ike reassured her, ignoring the sharp, stabbing pain in his chest from the pressure on his cracked ribs.
“Daddy, you’re wrong again,” Paloma taunted, with a sassy swivel of her head, then nestled herself in the crook of Ike’s arm.
“This is your fault.” Lachlan shook his head. “Ready to go?” He asked Rocco.
Rocco nodded and stood, then turned back to Ike. “I’ll find a way to do what you asked.”
Ike nodded. “I’m racking up debts to you, doc. One day, you’ll come calling.”
“And you’ll deliver,” Rocco said.
Once Lachlan and Rocco were gone, Paloma turned to Ike. “I couldn’t wait for them to leave.” She huffed, then pulled out two chocolate bars from the pocket of her dress and handed him one. “What book are we reading today?”
Ike grabbed the book from the bedside table and thrust it in front of her. “This is one of my favorites, Trumpet of the Swan.”
Chapter 20
A dust cloud raged around the Maybach as it sped along the road, weaving through the Sierra de Bahoruco mountain range in the southwestern region of the Dominican Republic. Rocco shifted uncomfortably against the Italian leather seats. The car pulled to a stop precisely forty-five minutes after he’d been ordered at gunpoint outside of his lakeside bungalow into the luxury sedan.
Without a word, the driver unlocked the doors as a valet opened the back door and beckoned for Rocco to step out into the stifling heat. He inhaled the steamy air and took in his surroundings. It was an understated compound for a notorious leader of a cartel. A gateless entry onto a single dirt road that ended in front of a two-story stucco-style mansion with few frills. But Dominican drug lords stayed off the radar because they weren’t seduced by brand names and rarely exhibited flashy behavior. The location was perfect to avoid ambush. Rocco counted at least a dozen men in the jungle surrounding the property, armed with AR-15s and ready to take out any threat.
Footsteps crunching on the gravel walkway, he approached thedouble doors that led into the house, flanked by two more armed guards.
The doors swung open. Dante Ellington frowned at him as he stalked forward. Behind him, a chandelier glittered from the golden rays of the sun, projecting sparkling lights across a marble floor.
“Where the hell have you been?” Dante asked, blocking Rocco’s entry into the house. As head of enforcers for El Sombro, Dante led a contingent of over a hundred bodyguards and hitmen, ready and willing to do whatever it took to protect the drug lord and his organization.
“Treating a patient,” Rocco responded, not fazed by the man’s brusque tone. He was the one person Rocco shared parts of his authentic self with, at least as much as he could without sacrificing his undercover operation. The man had become a surprisingly good confidant, disseminating sound advice and balanced perspectives on all aspects of life. Despite himself, Rocco had grown close to Dante and considered him a friend.
A friend he’d betray one day, likely putting the guy in prison for the rest of his life, which didn’t sit well with him. He reconciled that truth with another cold one—Dante wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in his head if he learned Rocco’s real motives for taking the job at the clinic in Dajabon three years ago, friend or not.
Dante scoffed. “What patient? Where? On the other side of the fucking moon? We’ve been waiting for hours.”
