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She keeps her distance, layered in a long, woolly coat and shawl that’s draped over her head, partially disguising her face.
“Seguimi.”
With a swish of her long coat, she’s scrambling away. I’m trailing a couple steps behind. She disappears between two giant shipping containers, then makes another left. It’s the beginning of a little game—quick steps and hard turns as she takes me down a maze of containers that fan farther out from the docks.
I have no fucking clue where we’re going. For all I know, this lady could be leading me into a trap of some kind.
She could work for Lucius or some other enemy of mine.
This could be the worst mistake of my life. Yet I walk faster, staying behind her.
She leads me down another narrow passage that eventually opens up to a gravelly lot with more containers spaced out more generously.
“Rimani dove sei.”
“Is there a reason you’re speaking to me in Italian?”
The woman runs several paces ahead before she slows down. The shawl’s slipped halfway down her head, revealing straw-like copper hair with touches of gray. It’s also now that she’s stopped moving that I’ve realized how tall she is—maybe only an inch or two shorter than I am.
Who is this lady?
“Well?” I ask when she says nothing. “Make this quick. I hope you weren’t bluffing. That would be a grave mistake on your part.”
She puffs, trying to catch her breath from all the scurrying she did, though the corner of her lip twitches. “Parli Italiano?”
“No… not really. Look, lady, what the fuck do you want?” I snap, losing the last shred of my patience. I stick my hands in my motorcycle jacket, a deep scowl on my face. “Either get to it, or I’m out and you’ll be sorry for wasting my fucking morning.”
“You have his temper.” She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “But first, some reassurance. Promise there’ll be no payback for having this. You won’t be angry and get revenge for taking it.”
“Give back what you took. And I won’t bring you any harm. Whoever you are.”
She regards me with her heavy, scrutinizing brow as if I must pass some secret judgment test I had no idea I was taking in the first place. Then she turns away and disappears into a shipping container.
A few seconds later, she emerges clutching Stefania’s missing photo albums, walking them to me like they’re fragile heirlooms made of glass.
“There are many photos in here that should be of interest to you,” she says vaguely.
“And her cell phone?”
“In his summer home. He demanded it be brought to him firsthand. But there is a contact in there that should be of interest—one who will have the other half of what you’re looking for.”
“How do you know?”
She holds her hands up as if she’s wiped her hands of the situation and takes a step back.
But I’m not done yet. I grab her by the wrist, my hold tight and aggressive.
“I asked you a question,” I growl. “How do you know and who the hell are you?”
“Let go!”
“Give me one reason why I should trust you?”
“Stop!”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t blast you now that I’ve got her photo albums back. How do I know you’re not setting me up?”
The woman panics, twisting and pushing against my ironclad hold, but I’m not releasing her anytime soon—I’m intimidating her ’til she’s scared enough to give me some real answers as to what the fuck is going on.
