Page 87 of No Darker Temptation

“This will be good for us.” She reassures me. “A little bit of space is healthy.”

“I know.”

Except deep down I hate this. In theory, going back to school is a great idea. In one place she can fulfill her social needs, occupy her time, and work toward something she’s proud of and satisfied with. In practice? A fucking disaster.

Too many uncontrollable variables on a university campus that a few months ago wouldn’t have stressed me out as much as they do now. Not after Regina and Sandro both had unpleasant encounters with her and especially not so soon after my meeting in Madrid. The other Dons were right. Dahlia is exposed because of me and we aren’t in the best place right now. I’d make an effort to introduce her to the other families, present her properly, but there’s too much permanence in a move like that. We’re straddling a very thin line right now where the peace between us is precarious at best. Mostly, it remains semi-intact because we’ve both quietly decided we aren’t ready to flesh this out yet.

Whatever this is.

I lift a hand to the side of her face and caress her cheek with the pad of my thumb. “Te amo, Dahlia.”

She smiles again but it feels more like a kindness than an expression of true happiness. “I know.” She kisses my cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

She turns away and this time, I let her go.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I glance at Dimitrio before shoving the magazine into my gun. “No, I think we’re set. Everyone knows what they’re doing⁠—”

“No. I mean about Dahlia.”

Before I can respond, the door at the back of the van swings open and Diego sticks his head in. “Be ready in five. Rodrigo has eyes on the back entrance.”

I give a curt nod and the door closes again. I can feel Dimitrio’s eyes on me, expectant and patient, but I’m not sure I have anything to say.

“It’s difficult not to notice,” Dimitrio goes on. “The shift that’s taken place in the last month.”

“I’m just giving her space,” I say, repeating Dahlia’s words from earlier this morning. “Sometimes people need that.”

Dimitrio doesn’t look convinced but he’s enough of a gentleman not to say otherwise. A man of few words, it’s easy to dismiss him as someone without deep sentiment or thought. Afterall, he doesn’t display more than the basic functions of a human: eat, sleep, breathe. He behaves more like a machine than anything else but only I know it’s to conceal something much deeper than that.

He feels too much, thinks too much. In this profession, any sort of attachment to the people around us is nothing short of catastrophic. Manuel’s death hit him hard despite his best efforts to keep his young protégé at arm’s length. And against his better judgement, I know he feels a sentimental attachment toward us as well. How could he not when he’s known us all our lives? Before Dimitrio was head of security, he was my childhood playmate. He went everywhere with our family.

As the years passed, our relationship has grown and evolved. Adulthood put some much-needed distance between us but it’s times like these where he lets his vulnerability show and I know he still sees us as we were when we were children.

Friends.

“It’s not a big deal.”

Dimitrio says, “I think it is.” Then gestures. “Those bullets don’t go in that gun.”

I look down at the pistol in my hands and the magazine I’ve been struggling, and failing, to shove inside. With a muttered curse, I drop both on the metal table in front of us and start shuffling through the duffel bag at my feet.

“We have a few minutes.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather not.”

My sudden shortness leaves him undeterred. “After we handle this Walsh and Collins thing, the two of you should leave. Go take a trip somewhere. Be alone for a few days.” He holds a grenade up to the light, quirks a brow, then shoves it into the front pocket of his blackout vest. “Settle your shit.”

The back door opens again. This time it’s Paco. “Ready?”

I nod. “Leave Walsh and Collins alive. I have a few questions to ask them.”

The Walsh and Collins operation is run out of a warehouse in El Poblenou on Calle de Badajoz. Infiltrating in broad daylight isn’t ideal but it took much longer than I wanted for this entire operation to fall together and the timing had to be just right. Collins was in Ireland for a few weeks and then Walsh was in Peru. This past week has been the first time they’ve been in the city at the same time since earlier in the summer and based on some reliable intel I received from O’Neil in New York, they won’t be in Barcelona together again until November.

Which means our window of opportunity is small and closing quickly. I need both families wiped out in the next twenty-four hours so I can put all my focus where it needs to be, on taking down Sandro.

By the time Dimitrio and I walk inside, Diego and Paco have already gutted the place. Dozens of soldiers are hard at work clearing out the room and every once in a while another bullet is fired. A pool of blood is gathered at my feet and I look down at the body splayed across the concrete.