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“Hello.” His deep, gruff voice comes across the line, and I hear the hesitancy. Okay, so I’ve already been talking to Dante. He and I have met without either of our fathers’ blessings. I know he’s shocked I’m not calling him from a burner phone but from my real phone number, which I gave him after our first meeting. He and I want the same thing.
Peace.
“Lupo, it’s Dario Revello.” I smile so he doesn’t hear anything but kindness. I play it off just in case my father has someone listening in on my phone. “I was wondering if we could meet soon.”
A baby cries in the background, and I hear the soft voice of a woman. Is it strange that I’m actually jealous? I want to settle down. I want a family. I want what he has. I’ve never met his wife or child. They had a whirlwind relationship, and I know she is the Rossi heir. I didn’t tell my father the truth because Dante told me that in confidence. He’s trying to protect her in case there are still enemies out there. Unfortunately, there are. My papà being one.
“Hello, Revello. How can I help you?” He goes along with the ruse.
“Like I said, I want to meet. I think we have a common interest.” He already knows this, but again it’s all a play for those who may be listening in.
“Just a moment,bambola, let me take this call and we can go,” he says away from the phone, and again a pang hits my chest.
It’s funny that he’s calling her doll. It makes me wonder what she looks like for him to refer to her as that. Like me, he’s a tall man; however, he has a lot more muscle than I do.
I hear him moving on the other end of the line, then he says, “I’ll have to look at my calendar, but how does next weekend sound to you?”
“I can do that.” I type it into my calendar app and then send him the invite to the email address I have on file for him.
“Got it. We’ll talk soon. I don’t need to tell you to come alone, do I?”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Thought I’d try.” He hangs up without saying goodbye.
I know why he asked. I’ll be going to his family’s home and he’s just thinking of her. I’ll figure something out. Unlike him, I don’t travel with very many guards. Ever since the attack years ago, I prefer to be by myself. It draws less attention, and I can fight and shoot as good as any guard my father would hire. But only a few people know that.
After a long shower, I dress in all black and head out to the gallery to get ready for this evening.
* * *
Luna
I look at myself in the mirror one more time. I was put on this assignment a couple of days ago and arrived here in Vicenza to scope out everything before tonight. The reflection that looks back at me is of a beautiful dark-haired woman with hazel eyes. I have a bruise on the side of my head by my ear and more along my jaw. They must be from my last assignment, which I don’t remember. The doctor helps me forget them. He says it will make me a better operative if I don’t remember everything I’ve done in the past.
I turn to the side and take myself in. The white knee-length sheath dress is completely open at the sides of my torso and closes with a large gold zipper that extends from the left side of my waist to just above my knee. The bottom of the dress is asymmetrical, going from my left knee and ending about mid-calf on my right side. The top comes all the way up to just above my collarbone. The whole effect doesn’t show much, but what it does is alluring. I slip on a pair of red high heels, and my long hair that I’ve flattened out falls over one shoulder.
This is a long assignment. I’m meant to infiltrate the organization and bring them all down. Implode it from the inside. This is my first step. I’m going to an art gallery owned by the lieutenant, the son of the Capo, which makes him the second in command. The artist showing is another family member of theirs. If I can get one of them to befriend me, I can get in deeper.
I pick up my clutch that has a camera in it and my key to the robin’s-egg blue Maserati that I get to use. I make my way out of the hotel and down to the main floor, where the concierge signals the valet to get the car for me.
It’s waiting for me when I step out onto the sidewalk. I tip the valet and slide into the driver’s seat, then I take off. The purr of the engine lulls me for a moment, and I shake my head as a memory flashes through it. A dull headache at the back of my head causes me to close my eyes for only a moment to ease the pain. I open my eyes and swerve to miss the car that is stopped in front of me. The roads are tighter the closer I get to the city center where the historic city once sat. I pull into a parking spot and give the valet my key before I walk the short distance to the gallery. I met the young artist earlier when I cased the place. She’s about twenty and excited about her showing. This is her first one, and I walked around admiring her pieces.
I’ve studied art design in university, so I knew what to say to impress her and not sound stupid. She’s actually more talented than I figured. I thought the family was taking pity on her and letting her show at their gallery as a favor, but she will more than likely sell out tonight with the pieces she has on display. The young artist might be my way in. I can get in her good graces and start a friendship with her.
Walking carefully over the cobblestone toward the gallery, I notice it’s lit up and shining in the now setting sun of the evening. A few cars are parked directly in front of the gallery along the old street. A black Ferrari and Mini Cooper in a bright white. People are milling around, and the urge to move away from them is so great. I hate being in crowds even though it’s the best cover. For some reason I’ve never liked it.
I step to the podium and am about to sign the guest log when a squeal and voice stop me.
“You came.”
I turn to see the girl walking up. I rack my mind that is still hurting with a dull thrum for her name. Vittoria. She rushes up to me, and for the first time in a long time when she pulls me into her embrace, I don’t cringe away. She’s dressed in a white Grecian inspired long gown that is over one shoulder.
“I told you I would come.” I chuckle, and for once it’s not a lie. My eyebrow lifts as I try to figure out why making her happy makes mehappy. These are feelings I’ve never had before. I’m about to step away from her and flee, but she grabs my hand and pulls me farther into the gallery toward a man. He has his wide back to us, so I don’t see much other than his tall frame. He’s dressed in all black. The shirt is so silky looking it almost shines in the glow of the lights. His dark hair is curly and the same shade as Vittoria’s.
“Rio,” Vittoria says, and he turns.
I step back because there is something so familiar about the man. His piercing hazel brown eyes are laser focused on me. He has a trim beard and mustache that covers the lower part of his face, but his lips are full and look soft. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, and his eyes flare at the move. I release it and look for the closest escape. Something about this man is causing my body to riot. My breathing quickens. My pulse is racing. Even my core that never responds to a male softens and aches.
