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“Donatello? Like the ninja turtle?” Anna asked, eyes bouncing all around the room.
A tall, elegant man with Mediterranean features crossed the room, hands extended.
“Like the Italian sculptor,” Nine whispered under his breath.
Formal greetings done, Donatello turned his attention to Anna. “So, this is what brings you to my humble establishment?”
“You’re the only one I trust with such beauty,” Nine replied.
Donatello tapped a finger on his lip and walked around Anna studying her figure.
He extended a hand to Anna and she took his arm. “Right this way.” And he led her toward the fitting rooms in the back.
To her credit, she only glanced back once.
Nine followed them and sat in a velvet armchair canted to give a perfect view of the triple mirror at the end of a red-carpet runway.
An associate in a short black leather skirt, silk blouse, and heels stopped by, “Champagne, sir?”
“Yes, two,” Nine said and she disappeared.
Donatello emerged from the fitting room where he’d left Anna. “Anything particular you’re looking for?”
“This isn’t for the club,” Nine answered. “We’re attending a private party.”
Donatello nodded, “Of course.”
Nine went on, “I want every woman in the room to want to be her and every man in the room to want to be with her.”
Donatello smiled, “I have a few pieces that will show off her skin to absolute perfection. The creature is luminous. I congratulate you, sir.”
Donatello turned and began snapping instructions to assistants.
And Gate rumbled over the earpiece, “Don’t get too comfortable, Nine.”
Nine heard Rooster in the background, “We’re fine tuning, Gate. Don’t block the frequency.”
More muttering from Gate and then he fell silent.
When Nine had suggested shopping, Stash declared it a fantastic opportunity to test drive their new surveillance gadgets, so Gate discussed with Anna, and now they were here.
With Anna in a fitting room about to model fetish wear, each piece with at least one comma in the price tag, Nine sipping Dom from a Wedgewood flute, and every word being transmitted back to the compound.
Honestly, Gate was handling better than Nine expected.
He’d halfway expected to have his balls ripped off.
But if they wanted this charade to be believable, there were aspects that had to be perfect. Nine had a reputation in certain circles, and he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t see someone he knew at the party, so his scene with Anna, which was how he was thinking of the whole operation, had to be flawless.
And if Gate couldn’t get through a lingerie fitting without reaching through the earpiece and choking him to death, he’d never make it through the party.
“Calm down, brother,” Nine muttered behind his champagne flute. “This is what Ido.”
“Exactly,” was Gate’s smartass reply.
Nine decided to ignore him, at least until he was back at the compound, and then he’d deal with whatever he had to deal with.
Donatello led one assistant carrying an armful of garments and another carrying boxes of shoes into the fitting room.
