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“What makes you think I’m worried?”
Locksmith snorts. “Please. We all recognize your I’m worried voice. Kinda sounds like you have a stick up your ass. A different stick than the usual one, that is.”
I roll my eyes, but they aren’t wrong. “I’ve been thinking lately about this alliance between Vittorio and Cian. There’s something fishy about it. Makes me wonder how long they’ve been conspiring against me.”
“It can’t be that long,” Locksmith says. “I mean… up until the Red Wedding, Vittorio had put all his eggs in the Egorov basket.”
“That’s just it: I’m starting to doubt that. The man is a cunning little weasel and he’s one to hedge his bets. I think that this runs deeper than any of us know.”
That suggestion is met with a thoughtful silence from both Aleks and Locksmith. “Do you think he suspected you and Bee?” Aleks suggests.
“He certainly suspected something.”
Locksmith makes a grunting sound. “It was a good plan. There’s no way he would have?—”
“He had a conversation with Wren before the wedding,” Aleks interrupts. “I’m gonna have to agree with my brother on this one. He knew something was up, even if he didn’t know what that something was exactly.”
“Okay, so what are you saying?” Locksmith asks.
“He’s saying that we can’t underestimate Zanetti,” I answer. “He may have requested a sit-down, but I doubt it has to do with requesting a truce. If he’s calling me, it’s because he wants to manipulate or trick me.”
“I’ll see what else I can dig up,” Locksmith offers.
“Don’t bother. If Vittorio’s got a plan in place, there’s not gonna be a paper trail. He’s aware that I’ve got hackers on my team.”
“He’s not aware you have me, though,” Locksmith points out. “Motherfucker tried to buy me once and I laughed in his face. He’s never forgiven me for that.”
“That, among other things.” I sigh and readjust my grip on the steering wheel as I weave down backroads to bypass the traffic. “Let’s just do our homework here. Run more recon on the Italian depot we’re hitting next. I want to make sure the surveillance system is fully mapped out before we go in.”
“I’m on it.”
“And if there are any other developments, call me immediately.”
“Wait—you’re not joining us?” Aleks asks.
“Not tonight. I have to go home, check on Wren.”
“How is the missus?” Locksmith asks politely.
“Very pregnant, very strong-willed, and getting more and more impatient by the second.”
“It does feel like she’s been pregnant forever,” Aleks says sympathetically. “Who knew nine months could last so long?”
It strikes me as we say our goodbyes and hang up that, as long as nine months has felt in some ways, it’s been a blink of an eye in others. Things have changed—many things.
Like this, for example. I just hung up the phone after sending my best lieutenants off on some of the most important groundwork of our lives. And instead of following up on their efforts, instead of planning and scheming and thinking and working…
I’m about to go home to my pregnant woman to do nothing much at all.
And it feels so fucking right.
“How much longer, Doc?” Wren asks, turning hopeful eyes on Dr. Liza. “Seriously, you have to give me some good news. I feel like the whale that swallowed Pinocchio. I just want this little puppet out of me.”
Dr. Liza just smiles bracingly. “It’ll take as much time as it takes, Wren. But in my professional opinion, I’d say no more than two weeks. We’ll have to consider inducing if we get much farther along than that.”
“Two weeks?!” Wren gasps, veering to me with panic as though she’s hoping I can solve obstetrics for her with a simple wave of my hand. “You’re saying I might be pregnant for another two whole weeks?!”
“Like I said, we can always induce labor,” she repeats. “But I’d advise against it until the last possible moment. The baby will come when he’s good and ready to.”
