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Knowing her, she wouldn't want the attention of having a yacht named after her. Only people who know her well enough to know her middle name would realize—it could be our inside joke.
Gaspare cuts our speed and guides the boat into the yacht’s tender garage. He alights the boat quickly, whereas it takes me a few moments to get my sea legs.
“Follow me,” he says, waving me forward.
He’s just as quick on land as he is at the helm of a boat. Though he’s a full head shorter than me, I have to walk briskly to keep up with him. He leads me to the bathing platform, then up a spiral staircase to the aft deck. I’m soaking up everything I can see.
There’s glossy dark wood beneath my feet, with a plethora of beds and seated areas dotted around for sunbathing. A fire pit sits in the center of the floor, as well as a jacuzzi. There’s a huge sliding glass door that opens into a formal dining room.
That’s where Gaspare invites me to take a seat.
The moment I step into the dining room, I’m surrounded by three men. They are dressed in all black, with earpieces and sunglasses. I expected security. It doesn’t make me any less willing to hand over my satchel.
But I do it, and sit at the desk while they comb through my things. As expected, they keep the guns for themselves and return everything else to me. Soon after, a housekeeper appears carrying a pile of clothes.
One of the security guards speaks, then.
“Use the adjoining bathroom to change your clothes. Take off all your jewelry—earrings, watches,everythingand put it in this bag.” He slides a clear baggy across the table. “When you’re done we will escort you to the conference room.”
That part is new.
I consider his instructions. I’m outnumbered on a superyacht in the middle of the ocean. There’s nowhere to escape to. As uncomfortable as this whole situation makes me, there’s little I can do. This is how the Kingmaker Society protects their secrets.
I make the logical choice.
One of the guards trails after me, and stands outside the bathroom door when I close it. It’s as luxurious as I would expect for a bathroom on a yacht of this caliber—black marble walls and flooring, with a soaking tub and huge floor-to-ceiling mirrors, with a porthole that looks out to the glistening water below.
The clothes they’ve given me are exactly my size, the style more in line with the weather. I change into the dark brown linen shirt and shorts, and swap my leather dress shoes out for a pair of boat shoes. Last, I slip off all my jewelry—including my Rolex Daytona—and put it in the bag they’ve given me.
My clothes are whisked away from me the moment I step outside the bathroom by one of the guards. The other two beckon for me to follow them. I do, with my hands in my pockets. We go deeper into the vessel.
I make a map of it in my mind as we go.
Not that it would help me if things go south, but it gives me something to do other than worry about what the fuck I’m walking into. The lack of details makes it all the more thrilling, I think. The unknown always has a certain irresistible allure.
We ascend two more flights of stairs during our walk.
The third level feels different from the rest of the boat. Instead of playful patterned fabrics and design focused around enjoying the sun and ocean, everything about the decor screams business. Angular lines, lots of tables and seating areas, numerous conference rooms and coffee stations—it’s like a maze of corporate hell.
Business is always a part of your life when you get to this level. You can’t escape it, it becomes who you are. You can only try to build a life that’s equal parts business and pleasure, or try to find some pleasure through your business. The guards finally stop in front of a conference room with frosted glass walls.
I swallow around the lump in my throat.
This is it.
On the other side of this door are the members of the Kingmaker Society who summoned me here. I’m certain they’ve been assessing me from the moment I landed in Sorrento, but this meeting is the last chance I have to make the best impression. Joining the Kingmaker Society is as much about being a personality fit as it is about being the most capable.
Keller is a snake and he’ll take on whatever skin necessary to get people to like him. But to the trained eye, it’s obvious. Presenting myself as trustworthy will do me more good than sucking up to them. I take a deep breath and square my shoulders.
I pull the door open, and step into the conference room.
The temperature inside is a few degrees cooler, raising goosebumps on my skin. It’s a huge room with almost thirty leather chairs arranged around an enormous table. Aside from that, the decor is nondescript—a few nautical paintings on the wall, one huge sculpture in a corner, and an expansive wetbar.
My eyes dart around the room.
Instead of a group of Society members, there’s only one other person in the room.
Lev Semenov.
