Page 5 of Covert


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Chapter 4

Isabella

I don’t know what to think when the cab pulls up at the address Marcel had texted me and see that it is a fancy restaurant, the kind like not even I have been to. It’s on the east side of Manhattan where all of the rich and famous call home in their designer clothes with all their gossip. If there was one part of New York that I enjoyed at all, it was here. Just listening in on conversations was enough entertainment for a lifetime.

Right now, though, my focus is on the address, checking over and over that this is where he meant me to come. I can’t imagine a good reason for Marcel to have me come to a place like this to meet him. Nothing other than one, and my father had said nothing of the sort.

I don’t waste any more time, walking up the steps into the restaurant, my heart beating hopeful in my chest. I am thinking about the last time we saw each other and the way he held me just for a few minutes in that hospital across the world from here. I don’t know if it was simply a moment shared in worry and grief or if he finally saw me and meant what he said about dancing with me.

I hate to hope that he and my father have been cooking something up together only to be disappointed. Or maybe this is a date. The real kind.

The whole restaurant is decked out in gold and sparkling lights? including several chandeliers that look like they are dripping with crystals. it reminds me of old pictures I have seen of the Titanic. "I am here to meet with someone, a Marcel Funar," I say as I approach the host, who wears a full tux. I’m grateful to be wearing the nicest dress I brought along with me to New York because otherwise I would feel incredibly out of place. Already a plain black dress feels on the cusp.

"Miss Zugra, I take it?" the host asks with a friendly grin, and I nod, allowing him to lead me towards the far left side of the establishment. I’m led up two flights of winding stairs to find that Marcel is sitting at a private table on the balcony, surrounded by golden curtains, some pulled back and others let down for privacy. This has to be a date, and I blush as I’m seated and given a menu and poured a glass of wine.

"This is all beautiful. How did you even know I was in New York?" I ask him as I sip my wine, and he watches me with an unreadable expression. The anger I thought I had heard in his voice on the phone is gone from my mind, though.

“I have my sources,” he says as the waiter comes to take our order. I let Marcel order for me, unsure what I should get. This place is authentic Greek, not something I’m used to partaking in. Plus, he’s in his element like this, and I’m memorizing every move he makes just in case I never get a night like this with him again.

I want so badly just to let it all go and enjoy it as the night progresses with amazing food and small talk, but he has yet to say anything of value. I have to know what this is all for.

“Marcel, did my father arrange something?” I ask, trying to be a little nonspecific so I don’t look so desperate. I have never once told him out loud how I’ve felt, or Aria for that matter, but that doesn’t mean everyone doesn’t suspect the feelings I have had all these years. I’m not exactly hiding it.

“No, Stefan did.”

My jaw drops, and I look around to make sure we are truly alone. If he has talked with Stefan this is not at all about what I thought it could be. Ican’tbelieve Stefan told Marcel of all people. But there’s no use getting ahead of myself. I have to be level headed about this and find out exactly what he knows. This could be dangerous with the Funar Clan head involved. More dangerous than I already anticipated.

“Shit, what did he tell you?” I hiss, leaning in over the table. I truly can’t afford for anyone to hear this, no matter how innocent I canmake it sound. My life is literally on the line here, and if heknows, his life could be in the balance too.

“Everything, but I want to hear it from you.”

I don’t know if this is a safe place to say a word. I know he has gotten us a private spot, but the staff could easily overhear, and the Falcones and the CIA for that matter have eyes and ears everywhere. This could be a place that they have bugged for all I know.

“Look, I need you to clarify all of what I heard. This is a safe space. I checked into it,” he says, his face still unreadable. I can’t tell if he is angry or disappointed with me or if he cares at all that I am involved with the FBI and CIA. It isn’t exactly good for the Clans when someone close to them has these kinds of ties, but I don’t intend to do anything to hurt them.

“I’ve been learning the business from my father, and among seedy things such as doctoring the books for your clan, he also apparently deals in foreign weapons shipments. The majorly illegal kind. I didn’t know this, but he sent me over a year ago now to sign for a shipment at the shipyard. The boat wrecked, and the FBI found out the whole scheme— that he was sending guns to Tehran of all places. But it’s on me since I signed. In exchange for not throwing the book at me or worse, I was handed to the CIA and trained so that I could do their dirty work. Namely, going after Franco Falcone and hopefully his sons as well.”

There it is, all laid out on the table. He can take it or leave it.

The silence stretches out for miles before us.

Finally, he asks me, “How are you planning to do this, to even have an in with Falcone?”

“Use my womanly wiles. That seemed to be the consensus from the agencies anyway. He does like his women.”

“You should not be losing that part of yourself to a man likethat,” he spits, and I see something in his eyes; anger, jealousy, protectiveness?

I look at him strangely, but he only smiles and sips at his drink as if nothing has happened.

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