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16
Aria steppedoff the subway and emerged onto the streets in a touristy area of Paris near the catacombs. She tried to be observant as she followed the directions on her phone to the cafe she’d chosen to meet Primo. She wanted to trust him, but even if he was still on her side there was no guarantee he wasn’t being followed by Malcolm orAnastos.
She hadn’t seen anything untoward as she left the hotel, but she knew it was more likely she might be ambushed once she reached the cafe. She trusted Damian and knew if he’d installed them at the Ritz it meant that he thought she was safe there, but there was a reason he’d told her to take Cole if she wanted toleave.
Outside of the hotel, she was onherown.
She felt bad about meeting Primo in secret. She owed Damianeverything.
More than that, she was in lovewithhim.
She’d known as soon as she’d stepped into his arms on the landing in Athens that she was home. She hadn’t told him, but it was as true as anything she’d ever known, which made her betrayal all the more excruciatingtobear.
It’s temporary,she told herself.I’ll tell him tonight, after Primo agrees to sell his territory and hand over information on Malcolm andAnastos.
There would have been no point telling him last night when they’d explored the city hand in hand. It would have been equally pointless to tell him this morning before he’d left for the cyber lab. He would only try to stop her, and she already knew Primo wouldn’t meet with anyonebuther.
If she wanted to end this, if she wanted to get Primo out alive and insure that his territory was sold to Damian instead of Malcolm or Anastos, this was theonlyway.
She wasn’t well-versed in this kind of meeting. She realized now that she’d remained purposefully oblivious in New York. She’d known Primo sometimes had her followed, but there had seemed no point keeping tabs when she’d believed Primo was looking outforher.
She was woefully unprepared to spot any covert action on the part of Malcolm, but she nevertheless approached the cafe on the corner with caution, surreptitiously looking for anyone who might bemarkingher.
Everything seemed fine. She’d chosen the area intentionally, knowing it would be populated by tourists visiting the nearby catacombs. The neighborhood was fairly far from the hotel, requiring more than one subway, something she’d thought could work to her advantage if she werefollowed.
Now there was nothing to do but meet with Primo and do her best to lead him tosafety.
She stepped into the shadowed recesses of a cafe not unlike the ones she and Damian had ducked into during their exploration of the city. There was a long counter on one side of the small room. Several small tables dotted theotherside.
She spotted Primo immediately at the back oftheroom.
She froze for a moment, working to remove her scarf as she took in his sallow skin, the suit that had been custom tailored to fit and now hung on his too-thinframe.
When she’d composed her face into what she hoped was an expression of placid acceptance, she made her waytowardhim.
His eyes followed her as she approached. He stood to greet her, his jerky movements indicating that he was in the throes of a manic episode that would require her to remain calm and steady in the face of what would likely be erraticbehavior.
“Bella,thank god,” he said when she reached the table. He stepped around it, folded her into an embrace. She closed her eyes, allowing herself this one moment to be grateful — grateful he was still alive, grateful she was alive to meet him in Paris after all that had happened. “I’ve beenworriedsick.”
“I’m all right.” She pulled away and took a seat across from him. “Howareyou?”
He shook his head, drained the coffee in his cup and lifted an arm to the waitress behind thecounter.
“Do you want coffee?” heasked.
Just watching him made her want to switch to herbal tea, but she nodded anyway, her words stuck in herthroat.
He raised two fingers in the air and they waited as a dark haired waitress with thick black eyeliner served them coffee. Primo waited for her to leave to speakagain.
“Where have you been?” he asked, his voice shaking. “Why haven’t youcalled?”
She stuffed down her anger. “I couldn’t call. I told you, I was being held prisoner by Malcolm, by Stefano Anastos,remember?”
He nodded, his head bobbing frantically like a marionette controlled by unseen hands. “Right, yes. I remember. But why didn’t you call sooner? Right when yougotaway?”
Her head was spinning, the events of the past two months colliding with the image of her brother in front of her, nervous and very, very sick. She tried to focus on the reason for hervisit.
“I called as soon as I could,” she said. “Let’s talk about the New Yorkterritory.”
