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I pick it up, open it.
Just to be sure you’ll be up to feel every inch of me tonight.
“Jerk.” It’s because the first night I’d drunk myself to the point of passing out. I guess he’s not taking any chances.
I only mean to eat a few bites of the food because I haven’t eaten all day but end up finishing the plate and the tiny bit of wine.
Then, I wait.
30
Cristiano
I need to make one stop before going to my wife.
Jacob De La Cruz has just been discharged from the hospital. When I arrive at his home, he seems surprised. I don’t think he realized I knew where he lived but he’s quick to check his expression and invite me into the plain, uncared for house.
“You rent it furnished?” I ask although I already know.
“Easier,” he says. “Whiskey?” he seems chastened. At least a little. His arm is in a sling, but it’s not broken. He’s got a soft bandage around it.
“How is it?” I gesture to it.
“Hurts when I move anything. But I have good meds.”
He’s not taking them though. I can tell from how tightly his face is set.
I take the whiskey he offers and drink a sip only because he drinks from his first and it was poured from the same bottle.
“So. Rinaldi was in Mexico all along?” he asks.
I nod.
“Didn’t your uncle or someone in your organization have intelligence on him?”
“I’m not here to discuss my uncle or our organization, or even Rinaldi for that matter. I want you to arrange a meeting with Felix.”
“Felix? I can communicate on your behalf.”
“In person. Me and him. He’s running the show down there, isn’t that right?”
“We both are—”
“Except that they just shot you.”
“That was an accident.”
“Arrange a meeting.” I shift my glass to my left hand and take a drink.
Jacob eyes the ring.
“Tell him Scarlett De La Cruz is Scarlett Grigori now.”
“When did that happen?”
“Arrange it on neutral territory. Miami. In the next three days.”
“Of course, Cristiano.”
“Oh, and if Rinaldi should disappear, let your son-in-law know I’ll take his head in the place of Rinaldi’s.”
He pales a little.
“And when I’m finished with Felix, I’ll come after you.” I finish my whiskey and put the glass down. “Let me know when you’ve talked to him.”
I’m fucking done here.
31
Cristiano
Alec greets me at the front door of the house. It’s a small house on a large piece of property rarely used but maintained all the same. Neither the deed to the land nor the house are linked to my family. At least not unless you do some significant digging. Only a handful of people know of its existence, my brother, Charlie, Lenore, and the few soldiers I use when I’m here. Even my uncle doesn’t know. It’s a safe house in so far as the secrecy of its existence. I’ve been here a few times on my own in the last couple of years. It would drive my uncle crazy not knowing where I disappeared to but it’s one of the things I’ve kept to myself, needing to.
As far as anyone knows, Scarlett and I went back to the island with everyone else.
“All quiet?” I ask Alec as I slip off my jacket and loosen my tie.
“For miles around.” Access to the house is via a single road which can be surveilled easily. We have men stationed at checkpoints for three miles out.
“Good. And Scarlett?”
“Also quiet.”
I nod, walk toward the large bedroom picking up the bottle of whiskey from the side table. The room takes up the back half of the house. Opening one of the double doors, I enter to find Scarlett standing at the window. Probably just figured out that it’s locked because she’s looking as irritated as ever.
My wife.
I smile. I like the sound of that. And I like her like this. Pissed off. It fits.
“It’s locked,” I say. Closing the door behind me, I set the bottle down and undo my tie.
“I figured that out.”
“Were you going to climb out and run away?”
“Is Noah okay?” she asks, not bothering to answer my question, probably realizing how ridiculous it would have been to try and run.
“He’s fine.” I toss my tie aside and undo my cuffs, then the buttons of my shirt. I watch her as I strip it off. I walk over to the table and am pleased to see she’s eaten. “Hunger strike over?”
“I wasn’t on a hunger strike. I told you that. Nice note by the way. Very romantic.”
I walk over to her, brush hair back from her face. “Is that what you want? Romance?”
“No.” She pushes my hand away and tucks her hair behind her ears. For all her attitude, what I see in her eyes isn’t quite fear. She’s anxious. “Not from you.”
“Who from then?” I feel myself tense.
“No one. Never mind.” She tries to walk past me, but I block her path.
