by Lenise Lee
“Hi Marissa.” James, one of the dayshift guards grinned pleasantly at her. “I checked his references and brought him up to deliver this package in person.”
Marissa pulled her lips into a worried smile.
“Brought who up for what?”
“He said he had special instructions to give you door to door service.”
“Instructions from who?” There was agitation in her voice. Her questions were only leading the way to more questions, none of which were being answered.
“Mr. Marcello Rossi.” A second male, young but very handsome, with light strawberry blond hair and thin eyeglasses stepped from the side and moved closer to the edge of the doorframe. He was wearing a driver’s cap and a pressed black suit and tie. He offered Marissa a genuinely friendly smile as he spoke. “I’m Alex, your driver for today.”
“Driver?” Marissa’s voice hit a dry high note. “Why do I need a driver?”
“Mr. Rossi provided a specific itinerary for today’s trip.”
Her lips dropped open; Marissa stammered out her next questions.
“Trip? To where?”
“A full service salon and day spa, followed by a shopping excursion on Fifth Avenue.”
Her mouth snapped closed, shock had sealed it tight.
“What’s going on?”
A disheveled Nichole shuffled up behind the small group wearing a robe loosely tied around her round belly.
“What else did Mr. Rossi say?” Eager to hear the rest of the details regarding this early morning surprise, Marissa ignored her friend’s question.
“He said that you were to be treated like a princess for the entire day.” A sweet grin lifted Alex’s face. “I will be serving as your personal chauffer and butler. Whatever you want or need, I’m your man.”
“And…how much is this going to cost me?”
Marissa never assumed anything; whenever possible, she liked to deal in facts, not feelings.
“Zip and nada, Ms. Stiles. All is taken care of. Mr. Rossi made it very clear that no expense should be spared. Whatever catches your eye today, it’s yours.” The young man grinned again, more slyly this time. “He thought you might have some concerns…so he also sent a pre-package as well.”
“Where? I don’t see anything.” Nichole’s head miraculously grew out of Marissa’s shoulder.
The man tossed one slim digit in the air then ducked out of the room. Seconds later, when the young driver returned, Marissa nearly collapsed on the floor. He entered the apartment carrying a colossal bouquet of long stem roses. The mixture of scarlet-red and snow-white roses flooded Marissa’s home with the scent of romance.
“There’s a card in the front,” Alex spoke from his place behind the huge floral-filled crystal vase.
“Well,” Nichole’s finger nudged the center of Marissa’s back, “what are you waiting for? Read it…out loud.”
Nichole slipped the last half of her comment in just as Marissa’s trembling fingers reached for the tiny cream-colored envelope. Ignoring her girlfriend’s firm request, the dazzled woman silently studied the words scrolled across the small card. The lovely message was printed in elegant writing and embossed with golden letters.
Rosas per il mio amore. Whatever you desire is yours. Marco.
Her eyes danced over the message several times. With each reading, Marissa’s pulse fluttered faster and she received the words deeper into her heart. A tiny tear dotted the tip of her curly eyelash.
“Where do you want me to sit these?”
The sound of Alex’s voice returned Marissa to reality. In her mind, the sweet serenade of an imaginary symphony’s slow melody – a gentle waltz similar to the one from her dream – faded away and the present moment pushed forward.
“I’m sorry …right there,” Marissa replied while pointing to a tall table near the open door.
“Mr. Rossi also added one more note to the agenda,” the young man said as he placed the bouquet on the stand. “He said that your dear friend, the glowing mother-to-be, was to accompany you, and that she was also to be given the royal treatment.”
“Oh, he’s good. I like him…a lot.” Nichole nodded her head with excited approval. “I told you he was definitely a keeper, Missy.” The pregnant woman quickly turned and moved toward the bedrooms. She yelled her exiting words over her shoulder. “Me and this baby will be dressed in twenty minutes or less…guaranteed.” Just before her voice disappeared into the background, she called out once more. “Jasmine…come help me get into this tub.”
Jasmine shook her big fluff of hair, and then started a slow march further into the apartment.
“Catch you later, Jaz? Don’t forget about tomorrow.”
Alex’s eager sea-green eyes followed Jasmine’s every step across the room.
A tint of burgundy flashed at the top of Jasmine’s light brown cheeks. Her golden hazel eyes, similar to the shade of her big sister’s, blinked away shyly.
“I won’t…see you then,” she said while slipping out of the room at a fast pace.
“Bye,” the young man lifted his voice higher, but the woman had already left the room and was completely out of sight.
Marissa made a mental note to remember to ask Jasmine about that intriguing exchange. She wondered if those two had met before today; the sly grins the pair had shared did not seem to be the casual glances of strangers. For now, however, Marissa could only focus on her own curious romance.
While the trio of women fumbled around in the bathroom and bedrooms, Alex and James drank coffee and talked sports over the eggs Marissa scrambled for them. As she dressed, a thousand distractions and twice as many worries weighed down her progress. Most women would have rushed with carefree and open arms into Marco’s embrace; however, Marissa could only think of all the complications waiting for her after she followed that path. Beneath her mask of caution, a fragile heart – easily shattered – was beating inside her chest. If sincere love blossomed there, would Marcello ever feel the same? Or was Marissa only setting herself up to be made into a fool for everyone to see and scoff at?
One night was all Marco had asked for, and one night was all Marissa was willing to risk. After this evening, she would make good on the promise she had whispered to herself yesterday. Her love story with Marco had to end. Once Marissa said goodbye to him, there would be no looking back and no regrets. She simply could not – would not – take the gamble of facing the heartbreak that was sure to follow if she ever truly fell in love with Marcello Rossi.
PART THREE
~G~
Deception
Chapter Seven
Fatal Wounds
Early Saturday evening, the smuggler rechecked the account balance displayed on the laptop’s wide screen. He had made the drop yesterday afternoon, stashing the merchandise in the designated pickup location, yet the buyers had failed to deposit his final payment. Like the hands of a time bomb ticking down to detonation, the villain’s patience was dwindling down to zero.
His thick finger scrolled across the touch pad then clicked on a link to open the account’s recent history. Furious eyes quickly scanned the screen until they found the details he was searching for. Two hours ago, five million euros had been placed on hold in the account then withdrawn thirty minutes later. There were no notes to accompany the strange transaction, only a crushing negative sign placed in front of a huge sum of money that was rightfully owed to him.
Idioti! These bastards must think I am playing games.
The volatile man stood up, stomped over to the bed, and then smacked the porcelain lamp from the nightstand, sending the delicate item crashing against the hard surface of a nearby wall. Wicked minds were never at peace; instead, they’re always fixated on planning the next move on the chessboard or endlessly trying to outrun nightmarish memories, and his was no exception. However, despite having not slept for days on end, the madman’s mind remained cunningly sharp and dangerously close to a tipping point.
One hour. One hour wa
s all his financier would be granted before the killer would rampage the other man’s home and strangle him in his sleep. Afterward, though it would be nowhere near the full payment due for the thief’s services, he would also hack into the middleman’s personal and business accounts then funnel the money to his foreign bank as compensation for his mounting troubles.
While the man replayed the murderous scheme in his head, his laptop chimed; a new instant message had been delivered to his computer. He walked over and scanned the alert flashing at the lower right-hand corner of the screen.
New Message from Anonymous User
Click here to Accept
The rogue agent rubbed his fingers around his smooth chin. Contacts and buyers were given discreet instructions on how to contact him directly, but only to be used in the case of an emergency. Could this be one of those times? Had one of the local law enforcement units stumbled onto the plot? No…not possible. My plans are always flawless, he mused. The only logical explanation for this urgent communication must have something to do with his missing payment.
He quickly scrolled over the message and accepted the incoming IM. In a fiery flash, the wretched words filled his boiling blood with seething venom.
Anonymous: payment denied
RAM: explain
Anonymous: merchandise is forgery
RAM: impossible! items were verified as authentic
Anonymous: expert testing confirmed contents as fakes…payment was withdrawn from account
RAM: pay my fee or return goods
Anonymous: refuse…forgeries well done…will be resold…consider first payment already sent as full amount due…no further contact will be accepted
While reading the last sentence, a violent roar clawed to escape the villain’s throat.
RAM: then you will die and I will take what is owed from your pockets
Immediately after he hit the enter key, another message appeared on the screen, but the killer ignored the musical alert. He was done with this pointless conversation and done with the man who assumed that he was sitting in safety on the other side of the encrypted transmission. The fool had signed his own death warrant, which was soon to be delivered in person and with merciless vengeance.
However, before he visited his sickly associate, first the killer had to deal with executing another prompt punishment on the traitor who was closest to his own black heart. He should have known better than to trust that green-eyed banshee. While distracting his attention with swinging hips and scorching kisses, the treacherous woman had been plotting on how to switch the real gems with forgeries all along. Until today, Katerina’s greed had always served his purposes well. In spite of this, he would not allow his fondness for her to prevent him from using whatever harsh techniques were necessary to force her to reveal the location of the authentic jewels. Even if he had to snatch her last breath, the deceitful woman would confess her secret.
As Marcello Rossi stood in front of the bathroom mirror and adjusted his tie, the suffocating aroma of an excessive use of heavy French perfume filled the air. Katerina’s scent drifted up Marco’s nose long before her slinky arms wrapped around his waist. She hugged his body from behind then looped a thin finger through a short blond curl at the base of his neck.
“Marco, amore,” she purred in his ear. Her roaming hand slid beneath the curve of his strong jaw. “Dove stiamo andando?”
Ignoring the woman’s false affections, Marco nudged her hand with his shoulder and stepped out of her hold.
“We are not going anywhere.” He finished folding his tie before speaking again. “I have a business meeting to attend to this evening. I will not return until much later.”
While the deceptive woman sulked nearby, Marco put on his pressed evening jacket then brushed his hair once more. Behind him, Katerina flopped down hard onto the edge of the bed he refused to share with her. She crossed her arms and legs tightly, staring at his wide back with deadly aim the entire time.
“Business? Huh,” she sneered then used a finger to fling her long dark hair over her slim shoulder. “It is that woman.” The agitated female stood and advanced closer, stopping directly in front of him. “I have seen how you look at her. Americana! Huh…so plain and homely.”
The jealous female tossed another handful of hair around her shoulder, both for dramatic effect and to accentuate the distaste for her rival.
The agent silently dismissed his companion’s attempt at rousing his anger. This was not the first time Marcello had rejected her flirtations, nor had this been Katerina’s first fit of rage when he had done so. Despite the fact that he had once considered this woman, whom he had known since childhood, to be a close friend, Katerina had lost all her inner beauty and charm long ago. She had only succeeded in growing more volatile and manipulative over these past few years. In Marcello’s eyes, she had become unattractive and dreadful to endure.
“It is none of your concern, Katerina.”
“None of my concern, eh?” She shoved his chest with both hands. Though she tried hard to rock the man off balance, she failed, which infuriated her even more. Green fire poured from her slanted eyes. “Do not anger me, Marco. You need me now more than ever.”
“You’re insane,” Marco replied coolly. Her threat held no weight in his ears.
He stepped around her then moved at an easy pace toward the door.
“Do not forget that I was there when your brother was shot down like a dog in the street. Do not forget that I was the one who tried to save him while you fled in terror.”
Marcello froze. His hand was fixed on the doorknob, but he was too horrified to turn it and escape from the woman’s cruel words or the haunting memories they summoned in his mind.
“Silenzio.” Although he only managed to whisper the order, in his thoughts he had screamed the demand.
The death of his brother had left a ragged scar across Marcello’s spirit, and Katerina’s scathing reminder had torn the old wound wide open. The agent carried the events of his sibling’s terrible demise like a badge of disgrace; it was a raging torment, which taunted him night after night.
“Guardami!” The furious woman rushed up to Marcello and pulled him by his shoulder, forcing him to face her. “Look at me!”
How could a woman so pleasing to the eye be so vile and bitter inside? Marco had contemplated this question many times and was yet to find a suitable answer.
With four broad strides, the tense man stepped away from Katerina. In all of his thirty years on this earth, he had never placed a heavy hand upon a woman, and today would be no different. Fearing that he might destroy his own reputation as a gentleman, Marcello knew he had to leave the suite at once.
“When I return, I will request separate room arrangements. We may have to be here longer than I had anticipated. A suspicious wire transfer has been placed by one of the suspects. Also, our analysts are trying to decipher several messages we intercepted from his computer afterward.”
“Hmph…Ask me if I care,” she said and turned her back to him. “You brought me here…I never wanted any part of this stupid mission.”
“We are under the same orders and serve the same purpose, Katerina.” Marcello raised his voice slightly when he spoke, rebuking her defiant tone. “It was your duty to accompany me.”
“I serve no one,” she hissed. “When we return to our country, I am done. I will no longer be used this way.”
Their conversation had become useless; there was no point in trying to reason with a sour mind.
“Alert me if there are any further updates,” Marcello said flatly. He pulled the front door open and stepped into the outside hallway. “I will return in a few hours.”
Upon his return, Marcello would notify his supervisors of Katerina’s deteriorating mental state. For now, he would continue to pursue other leads in the case. If one of the hotel staff was confirmed as an accomplice to the terrorists he was seeking, could it be possible that others were also in league with the villains? The spy�
�s original suspicion slammed his thoughts with full force. Was a charming American woman working as a well-placed decoy to distract the special ops solider? Marco dreaded the answer his trained mind declared to him.
After he had taken only a couple steps outside the doorway, a whoosh of wind whizzed by his left ear, followed by the thunderous crackle of crystal shattering. The vase that Katerina had thrown against the doorframe fractured into a thousand sparkling flecks on the floor near the entrance. A few of the tiny shards sprinkled the shoulder of Marcello’s black tuxedo jacket.
“I hate you! You disgust me,” the rabid woman screamed. “You will always live beneath your brother’s shadow. Codardo! You will always be a coward compared to him!” Suddenly, a chilling calm filled her voice. “We should take what is rightfully ours, Marco…what we have earned by years of dedication and service. We can live like royalty…all of us.” She whispered her last three words, almost as though they were an afterthought. “This is your last chance. Since that tragic day, nothing has been the same between us…but it is not too late. We can be happy…together…again.”
Marco held his position. His ears remained on high alert, awaiting the sound of feet running across the thick carpet. When Katerina did not attempt to rush at him, he stepped farther away from the threshold. As he walked up the hall, Marcello swiped fragments of crystal from his shoulder, never once bothering to turn and face his raging accuser. Even as the elevator doors slid shut and sealed the vision of her face out of his sight, Katerina’s unsettling finale continued to echo in his ears.
Chapter Eight
Last Dance
On the backseat of a stretch limousine, Agent Marcello Rossi sat in deep meditation. Gloom hung on Marco’s face while he contemplated the world’s affairs as if they were all his personal burdens to bear. His shoulders were slumped and a large lump clung to the bottom of his throat. Jewels were only the showpiece of this crime, and the thought of Marissa – his heart’s true desire – as a conspirator in this intricate game of weapons smuggling filled his heavy chest with a dull ache. Conflict raged within his tormented mind. If Marissa were truly an enemy to his cause, would the dedicated agent have the willpower to arrest her and turn her over to an international tribunal? Or, perhaps, would he dare to abandon his sworn oath to uphold justice? If necessary, would Marco do everything within his power to protect her, possibly even aid Marissa in fleeing the authorities?