“We still need him—for now. His logistics teams have federal clearances in three key regions. And it’s his suppliers that will keep alarms silent as product moves across the border.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Operation Shadow Broker has been about securing the evidence needed to put Ramirez behind bars for RICO charges. The details—vague as they are—from Rook are the kind of evidence we can use against him. But it’s not enough. I need more.
I hesitate. Careful of what I say next. “If Edmond really is pulling away, if he becomes a liability to Ramirez, that makes him a risk—to my clients and their assets. It’s my job to protect them, and I won’t compromise my reputation.”
That catches Rook off guard. His glass stills in his hand. “You’re walking away?”
“I’m offering a solution,” I say, leaning in. “Right now, Edmond has exclusivity to the deal, which gives him leverage. The kind, as you said, that’s making Ramirez nervous.” I push gently. “What if you sideline Edmond? I’ve got clients with land along the Gulf, private security clearances, and no sentimental ties to any of this. They don’t ask questions—they just move product. If you’re looking for reliability without the risk, maybe it’s time to reevaluate your partnership. Bring in outside investors. Remove Edmond’s exclusivity and dictate the price, the players, the pace—you have all the leverage.”
Rook tilts his head, considering. It’s no accident I’m pitching this to him first. Ramirez needs ego stroking and theatrics. But Rook? He’s the gatekeeper. If I can sell the plan to him, he’ll carry it straight to Ramirez—and take credit for it, which only sweetens the deal.
His gaze sharpens. “Would this affect the accounts?”
“Absolutely,” I lie smoothly. “In a good way. You open things up, the valuation increases. You set the price. You control everything.”
He leans back, letting that sink in.
Just then, the breeze shifts—and the French door creaks open. Rook stands and walks toward the door, peering out onto the dark veranda. As he steps away from the desk, I spot something glinting on the floor.
A glimmer of gold catches the moonlight. I walk to the foot of the desk and crouch down. My stomach drops. A ring.Herring. Cybil’s.
The one she never takes off. Wore it on a chain when we were kids, keeps it on her thumb now like it’s a piece of armor. It’s like a breadcrumb in a wolf’s den. Why is it here? Where is she? She was in a hurry to leave the table after the spilled wine. Did she go straight to her room? Or did she take a detour?
Dinner wasn’t normal—unless you’re James Bond making small talk with the people packing heat under the linen napkins. The wine spill, Sebastian’s twitchy reaction, Cybil’s rush to leave the table. The way thewhole scene played out was... awkward. I thought maybe I was the only one who noticed, but now I’m not so sure.
Would Edmond really use Cybil to get out of the deal? I scan the office, but nothing’s out of place. Except the ring. I rise slowly, trying to keep my face unreadable as I slip the ring into my pocket.
Rook pulls the door closed and latches the lock, not noticing I’m rattled. He downs the rest of his drink and nods. “I’ll talk to Lorenzo. In the meantime, see what you can learn from the assistant.”
Ice water runs through my veins. “She seems pretty loyal. Doesn’t seem the type to open up.”
“Then get creative,” he says, leaning forward. “If Edmond’s pulling out or playing a second angle, she’ll be the first to know. Maybe even be a part of it.”
The thought of Cybil tangled deeper in this mess makes me want to put my fist through the mahogany desk. But I follow Rook out of the office and catch sight of Sammy Pawson standing in the hallway with a forkful of chocolate torte in his mouth.
I can feel him watching me as I head down the hall, ignoring the way his presence makes my blood run cold. If they’re circling Cybil, I’ve got to get to her first.
Chapter 19
Ben
Lagoverde, Italy
Friday night
The urge to knock on Cybil’s door is overwhelming. But I have a shadow—Pawson. I expected him to leave with Rook and find Ramirez. But I can feel him tailing me as I walk past the dining room, empty of Sebastian and Mr. Edmond, and head to the kitchen. I secure another piece of chocolate torte and head back to my room. My eyes flick toward her door, just for a second. Just long enough to hope she’s safe behind it.
Rook’s voice echoes in my head. “See what you can find out from the assistant.”
It’s not a request. It’s an order. One I have no intention of following—at least not for Ramirez. But pretending like I will? That’s going to get tricky. How do I look like I’m gathering information without putting more of a target on her back?
Instinct has me sweeping my room the second I step inside. Before dinner, I left the French doors to the balcony open. Nothing looks disturbed, but the weight of Cybil’s ring in my pocket—and Rook’s command to use her—puts me on edge.
I set the slice of chocolate torte on the table and check the bathroom. The wardrobe. Sweep a hand under the bed. I run my fingers along thedresser, lamps, and bedside table like I’m expecting something to bite back. A pair of reading glasses sits on top ofCatcher in the Rye. I pick them up, angling the hinge to confirm the tiny red light is still blinking. Good. The feed’s live.
I open the app on my phone and scrub through the grayscale footage. No one’s been in or out since I left for dinner. Still, I don’t relax.
I remove my jacket and drape it over the chair. Loosen my tie. Under any other circumstances, I’d welcome the chance to get closer to Cybil. That’s not a chore. It’s a dream I didn’t know still burned inside of me. The story she shared with me on the veranda this afternoon—that little slice of her life felt like something sacred.
