Would the Russians dare own property in Italy? It was entirely possible but again, I’d be dead by now, tortured first before being killed. This scenario didn’t fit the typical mold. Maybe whoever had attacked me was searching for Mikhail and the others. If so, I could kill the fuckers with my bare hands.
I moved through the fields toward the water hose, the one comfort I was allowed while working. It also had a vantage point that allowing a captivating view of the rolling hills thatled toward the ocean. There was no mistaking the scent filtering through the light breeze.
Much like my nostrils were filled with the fresh fragrance of Rafaela’s perfume. Light and refreshing, I’d detected a hint of vanilla and spice, a perfectly innocent fragrance for a woman so young and untouched.
While it may be a sin, I’d hungered to kiss her, finding my mouth watering by just thinking about doing so at some point in the future.
If I ever saw her again.
“Get back to work,” Marco barked not only to me but to the others as well, yet the man had taken a special liking to me. So much so he’d utilized the butt of his Glock to ensure I wouldn’t cause him any trouble.
I would so enjoy driving a blunt instrument through his mouth.
His glare was as harsh as the hot sun and he was thoroughly enjoying the position he was in. I moved back into position, pulling weeds and shoving them into a holster bag. There were at least twenty other men working where I could see, but there were hundreds of acres. In my calculation, there couldn’t be but so many guards on the property.
At least I knew how many came at night. My little healer’s information had been appropriately stored for future use.
I had to marvel at her courage and her abilities. If she was nothing more than anital’yanskaya printsessa, Italian princess, she was very brave. If she was a seductress, she was playing her part well. But why use a woman? The pieces of the puzzle were all frayed.
I’d know more if and when she visited again.
What the lovely Rafaela didn’t know was that in all three languages she’d used, I’d been able to understand her completely. Her attempt at speaking Russian while also knowing English fluently meant she was well educated, another reason to believe she was someone of value.
If I were my father, I’d take her with me when I left, using her as a method of revenge as well as power.
Perhaps I would if and when I had the chance.
For now, I’d bide my time, waiting for the right moment to get the hell out of here.
With or without the angel’s help.
A worker had been watching me for some time, yet he’d kept his distance. When he went to dump his bag into the waiting pickup truck, he was forced to pass me. On his return, he stooped as if tying his shoe.
“Stai attento, anziano. Le guardie hanno discusso del tuo futuro.”
Be careful, senior. The guards have been discussing your future.
“E cosa hanno detto?”
And what have they said?
He rose to his full height, quickly glancing around him. “Che ci sono piani speciali per te. Sono pericolosi. Non contraddirli.”
That there are special plans for you. They are dangerous. Do not cross them.
I took a deep breath. “Chi è il proprietario di questo posto?”
Who owns this place?
“Demarco Marichetti.”
A name I wasn’t familiar with, but one that would remain imbedded in my mind.
“Grazie per l’informazione.”
Thank you for the information.
He nodded and returned to his station, obviously extremely nervous. While he was terrified of them, I wasn’t. He had no idea just how dangerous I was.
