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After filling my stomach—and getting filled in a totally different, yet equally satisfying way—Jude and I cuddled together in bed. Jude was strangely silent, and I ran my fingertips over his chest in a lazy caress.
“Bitcoin for your thoughts?” I said.
“I’m worried about the trip.”
“What about it?” I asked. “You don’t think I’ll do a good job?”
“I’m certain youwilldo a fine job,” he replied without hesitation. “I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about Furio. I don’t want him to steal you away from me.”
My entire body tensed. If Jude noticed, he didn’t give any signal. “Steal me away from you? What do you mean?”
“You’re an expert coder,” he replied. “And that company is having technical problems. I’m afraid he’s going to poach you.”
“Ohh.” I let out a long exhale. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath. “Don’t worry about that.”
“If he does offer you a job,” Jude said, “will you warn me, first? Give us a chance to counter-offer?”
“My stock options don’t vest until I’ve been here a full year,” I pointed out. “I’m not going to walk away from that any time soon.”
“True, but a man like Furio Rossi has enough money to make up for the lost stock options. If he does try to steal you, promise me you’ll warn me first?”
I sat up and kissed his warm lips. “You’re cute when you’re worried, you know that? I promise I won’t let him steal me.”
But as we fell asleep together, I wondered what I would do if the opportunitywaspresented to me.
Two days later, I was rolling my carry-on bag into San Francisco International and getting in line for security. I had a three hour layover in LaGuardia. Probably not enough time to get out and see anything in New York before I had to go back to the airport. Melinda had booked me a premium economy seat, which meant a little extra room for the long flights. I also had a window seat on the second leg of the trip, which meant I could rest against the bulkhead and get some sleep. It was an overnight flight, and I wasn’t relishing the idea of trying to do that on a plane.
I was thinking about that when two men in uniforms came up to the security line. “Are you Amber Moltisanti?”
“Yes,” I said slowly. “Why do you ask?”
One of them unclipped the rope, and the other gestured. “Please come with us.”
I had seen enough airport freakout videos to know I didn’t want to make a scene. Numbly, I left the security line and followed them. Were they airport employees, or part of Homeland Security? The badges on their chests looked like airport security.
“Have I done something wrong?” I asked. “Is this a random search?”
“You have done nothing wrong,” one of them replied curtly. “Please follow us to your flight.”
I was beginning to wonder if I was being kidnapped when they led me out of the terminal and into a black van marked SFO Security. The van left the public terminal, circled around, and passed through two checkpoints where all of us—including the two men—had to show their IDs. It wasn’t until we passed a sign for the SFO Private Terminal that I realized where we were going.
But the van drove right by the private terminal and out onto the tarmac. It stopped in front of a small private jet. The flag on the wing had three vertical stripes: green, white, and red.
The door to the van opened and another suited man said, “Right this way to Mr. Rossi’s jet.”
Mr. Rossi’s jet, I thought as I climbed the small staircase into the interior. A flight attendant in a white suit handed me a glass of champagne from a serving tray. There was nobody else on board except for the pilot, who looked like he was performing his pre-flight check.
Now this is how you impress a girl, I thought as I took my seat.
41
Furio
When I learned that Amber Moltisanti was the employee that ACS was sending to Italy for four days, I was overjoyed beyond words. In truth, I had thought of little else besides the dark-haired programmer since I met her two weeks ago on my trip to San Francisco.
I was quite aware of my feelings for her; I was under no illusions that my interest was solely professional. Amber was a rare and radiant flower who deserved to be worshiped, and I intended to treat her as such. I was operating under the assumption that she was single, but I had reason to believe that was an accurate assumption. There was no wedding ring on her finger, and Americans were fondly attached to the concept of marriage. Furthermore, I doubted that she was romantically involved with anyone in any serious manner. A man who was courting Amber would have been stupid beyond words not to marry her immediately. So if Amber was not married, then I knew she must be single.
I considered this as I sat in the back seat of my car at the airport. Although civilians were not permitted to drive out onto the tarmac, that was exactly where we were presently parked. Many such rules did not apply to a man of my status. Power had a way of cutting through red tape like a sharpened gladius. That had been a worldly truth since before I was born, and would remain so long after my body was returned to the ground.
