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“Cristiano inside?”
“Nah,” he calls over his shoulder. “He had an errand to run.”
“What are we, suburban housewives?” I grumble under my breath. “Deliveries and errands? The next thing, someone’s going need time off to get their pussy waxed.” No one responds to the sarcasm because Lucas is long gone.
The silence in the villa is eerie. Screens flicker high on the walls, like a row of soldiers, monitoring the comings and goings of select places all over the region. But the sound is off, and it feels too quiet.
I pour a coffee and sit at my desk, reviewing the agenda for a meeting this afternoon.
Either the proposed agenda is a big snooze, or my concentration is shot.
I glance at the time on the screen.Is Daniela awake, or is she still curled up under the covers, her dark hair fanned over the white pillowcase, like it was when I left this morning?
By the time we got to bed, it was well after one, and after a short nap, we were at it again.Sleepy sex. The kind where you’re both on your side and you slip effortlessly into her warm body. The kind I’ve never had with anyone but her, because I never stick around for a midnight snack—or at least I haven’t since I was a college kid.
I stole away under the cover of darkness, long before anyone in the house was up. I didn’t wake her to say goodbye, because it was early.There really is no shortage of bullshit that I’m willing to swallow when it comes to her.
She’s a chink in my armor. No one knows the extent of the vulnerability but me—and now her, because I couldn’t keep my damn mouth shut. I can’t afford that kind of vulnerability. Especially now.
Once we know more, I might be able to afford more risks, but until then I need to assume danger is everywhere.
The Italians and the Russians are the most formidable opponents. But the Italians won’t touch her. It’s not their style, and we have an understanding. But if the Russians get their hands on her, they’ll take photographs and video while she’s tortured, and send them to me so that her screams are forever imprinted on my consciousness—haunting me until I take my last breath. Maybe beyond. Maybe that’s destined to be my eternal hell.
I glance up when the door slides open. “Someone sent you flowers?” I scoff, as Lucas enters carrying a vase of colorful blooms.
“I love these flowers,” he quips. “The card with them has news we’ve been waiting for.”
He opens the small enclosure card, and his face drops. “It’s a mixed bag,” he grumbles, handing it to me.
You’re leaking at the neck. Coordinates unknown. I’m out.
“Our guy?”
Lucas nods. “The florist delivers fresh flowers to your uncle’s place a few times a week. Our guy got friendly with her. She told me he asked her to deliver us a message last week, but she was too nervous to follow through. She hasn’t seen him since.”
A cold chill runs up my spine. “Is this the same florist who prepared Daniela’s wedding bouquet?”The one that concealed a plastic detonating device.
“No. It’s the first thing I thought of too.”
Still, I don’t like it. What kind of idiot delivers a message through a florist he recently met?The kind who doesn’t have any other choice.“Do we need to be worried about her talking?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Why did she feel the need to deliver the message today?”
“She claims to have run into him every time she’s there, until last Friday. Apparently, his disappearance has been eating at her, and she didn’t know what else to do.”
“You believe her?”
He nods. “But I’m going to do a background check to see if there’s any reason I shouldn’t.”
I glance at the card. Discretion is one thing, but could he have been any more cryptic?“This doesn’t tell us much.”
“It confirms we have a problem. And it’s not a foot soldier. It also tells us he’s off the grid.”
“Or dead,” I mutter.
“You’re right. It doesn’t tell us much. We still don’t know if someone turned, or if they’ve been inadvertently compromised, or if it’s a device we haven’t been able to pick up. The Russians are masters at that sort of thing. It goes back to the KGB. It’s got Dimitri Fedorov’s name all over it.”
