by Sunniva Dee
“Poop everywhere?” I think McRoy’s trying to back my story, but he makes it sound like a question, so with a grave demeanor, I bob my head.
“Full-on explosion.”
“Wow.” Troy is too polite to say out loud what I read on his face. That sounds like a load of crap.
“Let’s get the hell out of here. I’m not about to drown in other people’s excrements,” Tatiana laughs out. She hikes up on her toes, lifting imaginary skirts, the length of Aishe’s, and waddles comically toward the door. This woman has hidden talents, I think while I follow her. I scroll through my texts from Felix. Behind me, the crew is packing up in a hurry.
They’ve got you pegged. Trying for hidden approach first.
Ten minutes later.
Seen. Opening fire.
Another five minutes, a voice message. “Two cars down. One slipped by, but we’ll cut them off higher up.”
“McRoy. Take the van and lead people down the backroad.”
He jerks his head in an affirmative, adrenaline shooting determination to his eyes. “Belen, Maureen, Irene! Chop-chop, or do you want to be covered in poo? We’ve got minutes, here.”
“What the hell?” Belen was already in an awful mood. Now, she’s derailing from drama queen to horrified. She scampers back to her room but is out of there in a minute, max. She all but gallops out to the parking lot with four bags slung over a single shoulder. Who knew she could pack so fast?
“Let’s go! Let’s go!” McRoy shouts, and four more girls haul ass outside. He slides a look from Tatiana to me. “Irene’s got the kitten.”
“Cool.”
Nadia and Bo are still here. Why didn’t I send them off as soon as they were done? They finished filming hours ago! I was too mesmerized by Aishe’s arrival and my hope for Troy’s session. In the meantime, Bo and Nadia enjoyed Jacuzzi time and renewed fucking love out there with a glass of champagne each. What was I thinking?
Aishe comes up to me, looks at me once, and says, “Thank you, Isaias.” Then she waves and starts toward her car. I don’t even think she brought anything inside, so I guess it makes sense that she’s the first one to leave.
“Aishe.” Troy’s is a low, melodious plea.
She turns in the door. Accepts his stare for seconds only, before she gives him a brittle smile. “Be good.”
“You too, beautiful.”
“Geez. They make my heart hurt,” Tatiana whispers into my shoulder. She has her suitcase at her side, following Aishe with her eyes as she leaves.
“I know. Ready?”
“Ready.”
Minutes are hours while I watch people get into cars and vans. McRoy and Tatiana are the only ones who know what’s going on, but anyone looking down the hill can see the subtle flash of fire as guns blast off, destroying enemies, maybe Felix’s men, while I’m host in a play-kingdom that’s minutes away from destruction.
Felix warned me of the Santa Colombini breach ten minutes ago. It’s a goddamn miracle that he’s fended them off for this long.
My commands turn more clipped with each yellow flare I glimpse down the road. There’s no way I’ll let them make casualties out of rockers and porn stars.
The alternative exit isn’t hard to find once my guests are behind the house. In my mind, I’m moving on to the next issue: how to stop Randolfo’s people all together.
The Lucid van is packed and ready to go. But I stand here like a fool, a still-jovial innkeeper with tense jaws, eyes darting to the car and three motorcycles appearing behind the bend, not even half a mile away.
Troy waves, his vehicle rolling into line behind the others, turning the corner, disappearing behind the building. I stare McRoy down and tip my head toward the house in a silent command. He doesn’t think twice. He revs the engine and shoots off with my crew whooping at his abrupt takeoff.
Only Nadia and Bo remain behind. They were in their Volvo, but Nadia’s getting out. Absentminded and still love-hazed, she brushes hair out of her eyes.
“Darling, I’ll get it for you.” Bo opens his door, smiles briefly to me, and explains, “She forgot her perfume in the bathroom.”
Fuck no.
“What type?” Tatiana asks quickly.
“‘Beautiful’ by Estee Lauder,” Nadia says.
“Oh gosh, I sent it with McRoy thinking it was Zoe’s. I’m so sorry,” Tatiana lies. Then, she twists toward me, climbing into our loaner. “Isaias, can we have him deliver it to their house?”
“Of course. I’m sorry about that—I’ll make sure it gets to you,” I say.
As Bo shuts the car door behind his wife, he sends a stray stare down the road. His body stills, and I see the moment he notices. Bo doesn’t say a word. He just shifts his focus back to me, alarm quiet in his gaze.
I nod.
He nods back. Bo Lindgren, the leader of Clown Irruption, just understood that the storm coming to The Summit is made of death.
“Take care,” he says, voice calm. And when they leave, their station wagon careens around the building.
Tatiana and I get into my loaner. I’m pissed that I didn’t send her off with McRoy. Why was I playing host with her until the last minute?
I forgot the contracts!
I rush inside and grab the briefcase, pass the kitchen on the way—it’s complete chaos—and there’s film gear scattered behind in the living room. I’ll be paying The Summit handsomely for the cleanup.
There are three cars and a slew of motorcycles speeding up the hill. I’m not sure which are Felix’s men and which aren’t. One of the bikes tip over, the rider flying through the air and meeting gravity, helmet first.
I exchange a glance with my ice queen before I spin our car behind the lodge, destruction vanishing from sight.
“What the fuck?” I grit out.
From the backside of the lodge, a small army of vehicles appear between the trees. They drive fast and straight toward us.
“Tatiana, grab my cell. Any new messages from Felix?”
She hits buttons, lighting up the screen. “A voice message. Hold on.”
I consider making a U-turn. There’s a back entrance at the lodge, and I could probably fend them off from inside for a while. Just, “a while” isn’t good enough for a woman who deserves a long life.
“Isaias. Felix, here. The Colombinis are hell bent on getting in. I’m sending a crew up the backroad, bikes and a few cars, to trap them in the middle. Make sure to get out of the way, and I’ll try not to shoot up the house.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. Drop my gun to the floor.
My nun starts to snicker. I arch a stern brow at her, which makes her laugh even harder. She lifts one of those pretty little hands of hers and flutters a greeting while we pass Felix’s backroad crew. And in the mirror, I watch them barricade the road behind us.
Fucking. A.
My black Audi A8 loaner is made for the narrow mountain roads. I feel fucking alive and mutter, “Sorry, you won’t like it,” to Tatiana before I turn on “No Lives Matter” by Body Count and crank the volume to door-shaking heights.
The twelve cylinders roar through the curves, making us whizz in and out of the traffic. My concentration hones in on the velocity, until it’s all it is: this moment, the temporary bliss thundering through me, the adrenaline of yet another win giving me a head rush.
Outsmarted everyone. Again.
Tatiana doesn’t move at my side. In my peripheral, her arm still rests on the mid console. It’s not lost on me that she’s cool after everything she witnessed, after everything we’ve been through.
Hell, Tatiana should be scared of me right now, with the insanity of this music and the speed I’m pushing. I risk a full glance. Her eyes are calmly on the road. I think she’s actually tapping the rhythm with a finger. Christ, she’s perfection.
My phone breaks thr
ough the drums. I accept.
“Isaias. Thank God you picked up.”
“Gabriela?” I shout. “Where the fuck are you?”
“In Venice. Listen, I can’t talk long.” Her voice lowers to a hissed whisper. “They’re right here. They don’t know I’m calling you, and—”
A gruff curse in Italian. A man’s voice. Gabriela’s “No, per favore!” is a desperate howl. The phone smacks against something, making a crunching noise, and then she’s gone.
She’s fucking gone!
“No.” I redial. It goes straight to voicemail.
I call Rocco, who picks up immediately. “Sir, I was about to call you.”
“What do you know?”
“Just got off the phone with Sebastian Nero. Gabriela recognized them at the airport and disappeared before they could get to her. Apparently, she headed straight toward Testaprati Island, and the Santa Colombini were waiting for her.”
No. No, no, no.
“Maybe she didn’t think straight,” he suggests. “She might have headed into Santa Colombini territory to shake off the Neros.”
At this speed, I’ll be out of the canyons in five minutes. Five minutes is too long when people you love are in extreme danger. What was Gabriela’s deal? Was she planning on hitting up Ariadna first thing?
Sure, the last time I saw Gabriela, she talked about introducing herself to Ariadna, but that was before the war started. She wouldn’t be stupid enough to consider that now, right?
Amedeo Santa Colombini is an old fox; if anyone can connect our dots, it’s the head of the entire Santa Colombini organization. Neither his daughter or I ever doubted that he’d sacrifice his own blood for la famiglia. What a paradox it is that Ariadna is still alive thanks to her family being kept in the dark. Gabriela’s slip-up better not have changed that.
“Does Il Lince know?” I ask.
“No, sir. I wanted to talk with you first.”
“Call him, and don’t hold back. Just tell him all the details. I need him to get me on a private jet to Venice asap.”
“Yes, sir, I’m on it.”
“Give Felix a call too, check on his guys. He should have a few in Venice by now.”
“Okay. Anything else?”
“I don’t have time to deal with McRoy’s finicky ass, so I’ll leave that to you. I have someone he needs to drive to my father’s bunker until I’m back.”
The road takes an abrupt turn. I throw the wheel to the left, narrowly avoiding a jagged boulder. Airborne, Tatiana and I land hard in our seats before I regain control of the car. I flick my eyes to her. Crystal-clears pierce me with annoyance, either because of my driving or because she understands she’s the someone I’m locking away.
“Do whatever you can to stay in touch with the Neros and Felix so Gabriela’s trail doesn’t go cold. I don’t want her six feet under. Got it?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“But if as much as a single hair on Ariadna Santa Colombini’s head is in disarray, I swear to you that I’ll be on a rampage this country hasn’t seen since the Depression.”
Tatiana gasps, and that—that is how I catch my mistake. Rocco doesn’t even breathe on the other end.
“I’m warning you, Rocco. Don’t even—”
“Boss! I swear to you, I would never. On my family, I swear it. I do.”
“Not to a single soul.”
“Never. Okay. I’m going to get off the phone, now,” he says. “Got some calls to make.”
“Yeah.”
I’m a wolf in a cage at the safe house in Malibu. Bully’s back. Tatiana is here. Fritz has returned too, and McRoy and Rocco both keep calling with updates. It’s nine p.m., and I still have no news on a departure time.
It’s dangerous to feel my kind of uproar. You can’t steer your world properly this way. “So yes, I do give a shit when he takes aim at every innocent person I love,” I still bark at Rocco, because he knows—he knows, and— “This is Gabriela we’re talking about. And it’s fucking Ariadna. Get it?”
“Sir, I totally get it. I’m sorry.”
Behind me, Tatiana stands. She clacks quietly out of the room.
My father works too slowly. I need that jet AS-fucking-AP. Last news I got was that Patrick, the law-school boyfriend, had been found at the docks with a bloody gash at the back of his head. They could be slicing my cousin open, trading her—who knows what’s happening to her right now.
I hang up midsentence and blow air into my fist like I’m cold. I scrunch my eyes shut, absently registering the murmured conversation in the front rooms and the click of the door.
That reminds me; McRoy hasn’t confirmed Tatiana’s pickup time yet. I call him and let two fingers of whiskey into a glass. I’m dropping ice into it as he picks up.
“Sir, you want me down there tonight?” he asks.
“I do.” I’d love to have Tatiana banish a smidgen of darkness with me until the morning, but Il Lince’s people could call me with travel news at any moment, and I’m not going to scramble to get her to safety last minute.
“I’ll pick her up within the hour.”
I roll the burning liquid in my mouth while I stand and walk to the hallway. I feel better as it trickles past my esophagus, releasing tension with each inch it touches.
I feel a fuck-load worse when I discover that Tatiana’s loaner is gone.
“You let her go?” I ram my fist into the wall an inch from Fritz’ head. “What the hell?”
He blinks. “You sent her out for a new throwaway, sir.”
“Throwaway? A new throwaway! Why would I send her out for a throwaway and with the Santa Colombini on our tail?”
Bully stands from his lax position in the stairway, a bag of peanut shells flopping open on the step he’s on. “Told you it was odd, man.”
I get in Fritz’ car, a fifteen-year-old Ford Escape with a bad paint job, and haul ass after Tatiana. Once you’re back on the scene, it’s a matter of instinct to slap trackers on people, and after Tatiana’s last disappearance, I got all vehicles taken care of.
She drives toward Hollywood, then the Miracle Mile. She pulls up the cemented driveway of a two-story Normandie-style house with a massive oak door set into a turret. Surreptitiously, she glances around her. I’m parked on the street half a block down, and if you grow up mafia, you’re good at hiding.
Tatiana walks up to the turret and knocks on the door. The porch light must make her uncomfortable, because she hunches forward a little, crossing her arms. Someone lets her in on the second series of raps against wood.
The well-lit front yard has a small balcony, but the backyard is dark, so I slip onto its lawn and peer in through the living-room windows. The space is adorned with what looks like ecclesiastic antiques.
Tatiana enters, shown in by a man who’s probably in his early fifties. She smiles, tilting her head sweetly. She grows serious when the man speaks, explaining with urgency and intent. Tatiana agrees with whatever his assessment is.
A large office desk occupies the right side of the living room, and they move toward it. My ice queen tucks a stray lock behind an ear before she bends with him, reading from his laptop screen. Oh fuck, whatever they’re looking at, they agree—again—and Tatiana sets her you-can-trust-me look on him, adding words to it.
It takes forever for him to lead my woman back to the front exit.
When she leaves, I follow, half a block behind. Thankfully, L.A. traffic rarely sleeps, so cars weave in and out between us through the suburbs until we’re on the road to Malibu. A few miles from the safe house, she stops at a market. I curve behind it and wait for her to come out. Then, we drive again, until she parks in our driveway.
I get out behind her. Stuff my hands in my pockets while I take my time sauntering forward. “I’ll be researching the guy you just visited, so you might as wel
l be up front,” I say, mixing sex and menace in the same sentence.
“Oh sure. That was archbishop Ronstedt of Flandern. So you just stalked me to his house and back. Did you tap me in there too?” She lifts her shoulders like she’s cold.
I crowd her against the door, pushing my thigh in between hers. “I wish. Hmm, beautiful Tatiana of the Valley. Since the first time I saw you, I’ve wanted to unravel your secrets. Just, I’m starting to think it’s not simply for my pleasure I need to unravel you. I’m beginning to wonder if my family depends on it.”
She inhales, the sound sharp enough to border on a gasp. If it were, she’d be afraid, a thought that worries me as much as it turns me on. I press myself against her, rubbing our bodies together.
“I was visiting with what you would call the capo of the catholic church in Los Angeles. Is that worrisome to my little mafia son?” She tilts her head, any fissure in her feline calm gone.
“And why would a nun, a nun who’s not even a novice, with a degree in forensic science, visit the head of the catholic church in Los Angeles?” I ask it so quietly, my breath touches her cheek before I kiss her there, skimming deceptive love up to her earlobe. Tatiana is not unaffected. Goosebumps rise at my unexpected caress.
“Can we go inside?”
I nod curtly. Open the door and walk her in, my front against her back.
“Tatiana!” Fritz oozes relief. “You found her, sir?”
“I did.”
“McRoy’s here for her.”
“All right. Give him a ten-minute warning,” I say and wave Tatiana ahead of me up the stairs.
She saunters before me, taking her time. Halfway up, she leans against the banister and shoots me a half-lidded gaze that stirs my cock. Oh, she’s doing it on purpose, but she’s damn wrong if she thinks she can derail me.
In our room, she plops to her butt at the edge of the bed, bouncing a little. She angles her head to the side, suddenly playful. “What’s the plan, Master? Are you going to press all kinds of info out of me, now, then hide me in your daddy’s bunker?”
I meet her stare with no humor at all. “Yes. That’s the plan. And I’m doing it for your safety. You mean something to me, and I don’t want you susceptible to harm while I fix the mess in Italy.”