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She lights a cigarette and glowers at me. “You’re a hard woman to track down, Isabella.”
“That was done on purpose. I don’t know if you heard but I kind of got kidnapped by Franco Falcone, tortured amongst otherlovelythings.” I spit out at her, speaking sarcastically of course.
“I heard. I’m happy to see you’re alive and well. Franco has gone AWOL but a birdy tells me he was last seen being dragged out of that butcher warehouse by men in masks. You wouldn’t happen to know who they were, would you?”
I shake my head, playing the poker face I learned so well. “No. Whoever they are we should thank. They might’ve done us a favor.”
Z snickers, “Maybe. Maybe not. Falcone was the top dog of his crime family, but now that’s been handed to who exactly. Alfred Falcone?”
I nod, “That would be my best guess.”
“Our work with the Falcones isn’t done, Isabella. But, considering your cover is blown I can’t use you anymore.”
I interrupt her, “If you’re going to pin those charges on me, just fucking do it. I won’t be your puppet anymore. In fact, I refuse to be.”
Z cackles lowly, “Isabella if you’d allow me to finish I’d inform you I’ve told my upper management to cut you loose. There was a time when I wasn’t a handler and . . . your situation reminded me of something I endured myself. I have no control over what my bosses choose to do, however they agreed with my decision. It would be wrong to pin the crimes against you, especially when your father did it to cover his own ass if things went sideways.” Something in Z’s voice tells me she’s felt the pain I did. Call it a gut feeling, but that’s why she stuck up for me.
When Z first came for me with the charges I didn’t have much of a backbone. Since then I’ve had a lot of life experiences which gives me the purpose to continue on with this decision.
“I appreciate that. Thank you. Now, how do I submit a formal tip?”
Z cocks a brow, “What do you mean?”
“I’d love to inform the CIA of a dangerous man who’s meddling in sex trafficking. I believe he has shipments coming in every Tuesday.”
For the first time since I’ve known her, Z smiles brightly. “You’re nothing like your father, Isabella. I hope you know that.”
“Thank you. I needed to hear that.” In my mind my father was a decent man. Being shoved in that interrogation room showed me the façade he had displayed was nothing but an act. All in all, his impending arrest will only mean one thing —the Funars will have someone reliable, ethical and intelligent looking after their books.
Me.
Much to my surprise Z extends her hand and I do the same. We shake hands and she walks down the deck until she reaches the beach, disappearing from my sight. For a few moments I stand in the front of the bungalow, looking out onto the neighboring rooms and take in the fresh air along with the dimming sunlight.
The room door opens with a click and I turn to see Marcel, already knowing what he’s about to say, I cut him off. “I have plans for us tonight.”
He doesn’t have a clue about what I’m going to make him do, but this should be about us and no one else. We’ve waited long enough. Why should we continue the trend?
By the end of the evening I’ll no longer be a Zugra. Instead, I’ll go by Mrs. Isabella Funar.
