He was surprised. She could hear it in his voice. She’d been right; he hadn’t known.
“He was tracking me, Primo. He let the Greeks take me,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“Things are out of control here,” he said. “I need to see you to explain.”
She shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
“We’re family, Aria.” His voice rose in volume and pitch the way it always did when he was desperate. “You’re the only one I can trust.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “You set fire to that shelter,” she said softly. “You could have killed all those children, all those women…”
“That was Malcolm’s idea!” he said, his voice growing urgent. “I can’t control him anymore, Aria. I need to talk to you. Maybe… Maybe Cavallo was right.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Maybe it’s time to get out.” He was whispering like he was afraid someone would overhear him. “Do you think he’ll still buy the territory?”
Hope flared in her like a match. “You can talk to him,” she said. “I can put you in touch.”
“Not yet,” he said. “I want to see you first. I want to talk to you. Just the two of us, like old times. You and me.”
“I… I can’t.”
“You can,” he said. “I know you can help me figure this out.”
She recognized the desperation in his voice. Recognized the hint of hysteria that meant he was hanging on by a thread. He wouldn’t last long under Malcolm in this condition.
“I’m not even in New York,” she said.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll come to you. Just tell me where you are.”
Damian would be furious, but only until Primo surrendered. Then he’d understand why Aria had done what she was going to do.
He would have to.
Besides, Primo was her brother. No one could tell her what to do with her family.
Not even Damian.
“I’m in Paris,” she said.
“Paris.” He breathed the word like he couldn’t believe it. “Okay, that’s good. I can be there tomorrow. Just tell me where.”
“I’ll call you in the morning,” she said. “We’ll set something up then.”
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. This is good, bella. This is so good. I feel so much better already. I know we can figure this out together. You know I love you, right?”
“I love you too, Primo, just… don’t make me regret this.”
She disconnected the call and stared at the phone in her hands, threw it on the bed like it was hot to the touch. Her hands were still shaking when she went to run the shower.
15
Damian clicked through the last page of data and leaned back in the desk chair as he turned his eyes to the operation on the other side of the glass wall. Farrell hadn’t been kidding; Christophe Marchand’s cyber lab was something to behold.
Damian had worked tirelessly to set up his own digital operation when he’d first gotten involved with organized crime in New York. He’d learned his financial prowess from the success of his father, but the digital revolution was just beginning at the time of his father’s death.
That part of Damian’s organization had been all him.
To ignore the value of cold, hard data — and the ability to manipulate it — in this day and age was to resign yourself to the dustbin of history.
And Damian wasn’t about to do that.
But other than a handful of experts in Tribeca, his digital operation was decentralized, comprised of some of the best hackers in the world, all of them spread out and operating independently of each other, answerable only to Damian.
It had seemed smart at the time, a way to ensure each programmer had only enough information to compete a given task without enough information to do Damian any real damage.
That had been before Aria, before the Syndicate, back when Damian had prided himself on working alone. When his isolation had seemed like a strength rather than a weakness.
Watching the hum of activity outside the office provided to him by Christophe, he couldn’t help wondering if maybe times were changing yet again. Damian wasn’t resistant to change. Contrary to popular belief, survival of the fittest wasn’t predicated on strength — it was predicated on adaptability.
Adapt or die. That was Damian’s motto.
One of them anyway.
The Syndicate’s operation had given him another window into his business and the many possibilities for conducting it. Where Damian saw his independence as a strength, the leaders of the Syndicate found strength in numbers. In unity.
It was hard to argue the point after the show of force during Aria’s rescue in Athens, the many options for shelter they’d been given afterward; Nico had offered any one of his private homes and Christophe had offered his old family estate in Corsica before Damian had chosen Farrell’s compound in Tuscany for its isolation and proximity to Greece.
And now there was the data to consider, mountains of it.
He returned his eyes to the screen in front of him, a photograph of a beefy, mustached man next to a long list of details — his name, his date of birth, his known addresses, rap sheets in more than ten countries, and affiliations, familial and otherwise.
Damian had spent the morning poring over information on countless men like him as well as the details of Stefano Anastos’s stronghold in New York. At first, Damian didn’t know what he’d been looking for. Raw data was like that — meaningless until you had a strategy for using it.
It was an organic process, one Damian had come to trust. HIs knowledge was always there. He trusted it to coalesce into something meaningful when the right conditions presented themselves.
He’d been about halfway through the data on Anastos’s businesses in New York when an idea had started to form. He was still working through the details, but it was there, slowly evolving into a workable strategy in the algorithms of his mind.
He ran a hand through his hair, let his gaze travel to the rooftops of Paris beyond the old factory windows of the cyber lab. He’d left Aria asleep at the hotel, and he tried to picture her curled up on the sofa in the suite with a book, or maybe watching one of the old movies she liked in the suite’s luxurious bed.
The last three days had been his every fantasy realized, hour upon hour spent exploring each other’s bodies, talking about all the things they hadn’t had time to share before she’d been taken from Italy, sharing all the memories they’d both held too close for too long. After their first two days shopping, he’d headed to Christophe’s lab to begin compiling the information he would need to take back New York, leaving Aria to the recuperation she desperately needed.
The morning before had been spent getting the lay of the land inside Christophe’s system. He’d spent the afternoon showing Aria Paris proper, complete with a river tour of the Seine and a trip to the top of the Eiffel Tower. He once would have balked at the obvious tourist traps, but it was impossible not to be happy seeing the look of wonder on her face as they’d drifted dreamily past the cafes and kiosks on the banks of the river, as they’d looked out over the picturesque rooftops of Paris.
It was like seeing the city for the first time. No, better than the first time. The first time he’d seen Paris, he’d already been damaged and cynical. This was different, like seeing it through the eyes of a child. It was a revelation, a glimpse at possibilities he’d thought lost to him forever.
He hated to leave her alone for even a minute— especially given the nightmares that still haunted her sleep — but there was still the New York territory to deal with. The Syndicate had come through for him with Aria. He would do the same for them. Even more important, he would make Malcolm, Primo, and Stefano Anastos pay for what they’d done to Aria.
He reached for his phone as it buzzed in his pocket.
“Cole,” he said. “Is everything okay?”
He’d left Cole at the hotel with instructions to keep an ey
e on Aria from afar. He didn’t have any reason to think Primo or Malcolm knew they were in Paris, but better safe than sorry.
“Depends on your definition,” Cole said. “She just left the hotel.”
Damian sat up straighter. “Aria?”
“Yep.”
“Did she ask you to go with her?” Damian thought he knew the answer based on Cole’s demeanor, but he had to ask the question.
“Negative,” Cole said.
Damian drummed his fingers on the desk. He hadn’t explicitly told Aria to stay put in the hotel — but he had told her not to leave without Cole.
“Follow her.”
“Already on my way,” Cole said.
Damian tried to imagine all the reasons Aria might leave the hotel without calling Cole or telling Damian.
The list was short and dangerous.
“Keep me posted.”
He disconnected the call and paced to the window.
What are you doing, Aria?
16
Aria stepped off the subway and emerged onto the streets in a touristy area of Paris near the catacombs. She tried to be observant as she followed the directions on her phone to the cafe she’d chosen to meet Primo. She wanted to trust him, but even if he was still on her side there was no guarantee he wasn’t being followed by Malcolm or Anastos.
She hadn’t seen anything untoward as she left the hotel, but she knew it was more likely she might be ambushed once she reached the cafe. She trusted Damian and knew if he’d installed them at the Ritz it meant that he thought she was safe there, but there was a reason he’d told her to take Cole if she wanted to leave.
Outside of the hotel, she was on her own.
She felt bad about meeting Primo in secret. She owed Damian everything.
More than that, she was in love with him.
She’d known as soon as she’d stepped into his arms on the landing in Athens that she was home. She hadn’t told him, but it was as true as anything she’d ever known, which made her betrayal all the more excruciating to bear.
It’s temporary, she told herself. I’ll tell him tonight, after Primo agrees to sell his territory and hand over information on Malcolm and Anastos.
There would have been no point telling him last night when they’d explored the city hand in hand. It would have been equally pointless to tell him this morning before he’d left for the cyber lab. He would only try to stop her, and she already knew Primo wouldn’t meet with anyone but her.
If she wanted to end this, if she wanted to get Primo out alive and insure that his territory was sold to Damian instead of Malcolm or Anastos, this was the only way.
She wasn’t well-versed in this kind of meeting. She realized now that she’d remained purposefully oblivious in New York. She’d known Primo sometimes had her followed, but there had seemed no point keeping tabs when she’d believed Primo was looking out for her.
She was woefully unprepared to spot any covert action on the part of Malcolm, but she nevertheless approached the cafe on the corner with caution, surreptitiously looking for anyone who might be marking her.
Everything seemed fine. She’d chosen the area intentionally, knowing it would be populated by tourists visiting the nearby catacombs. The neighborhood was fairly far from the hotel, requiring more than one subway, something she’d thought could work to her advantage if she were followed.
Now there was nothing to do but meet with Primo and do her best to lead him to safety.
She stepped into the shadowed recesses of a cafe not unlike the ones she and Damian had ducked into during their exploration of the city. There was a long counter on one side of the small room. Several small tables dotted the other side.
She spotted Primo immediately at the back of the room.
She froze for a moment, working to remove her scarf as she took in his sallow skin, the suit that had been custom tailored to fit and now hung on his too-thin frame.
When she’d composed her face into what she hoped was an expression of placid acceptance, she made her way toward him.
His eyes followed her as she approached. He stood to greet her, his jerky movements indicating that he was in the throes of a manic episode that would require her to remain calm and steady in the face of what would likely be erratic behavior.
“Bella, thank god,” he said when she reached the table. He stepped around it, folded her into an embrace. She closed her eyes, allowing herself this one moment to be grateful — grateful he was still alive, grateful she was alive to meet him in Paris after all that had happened. “I’ve been worried sick.”
“I’m all right.” She pulled away and took a seat across from him. “How are you?”
He shook his head, drained the coffee in his cup and lifted an arm to the waitress behind the counter.
“Do you want coffee?” he asked.
Just watching him made her want to switch to herbal tea, but she nodded anyway, her words stuck in her throat.
He raised two fingers in the air and they waited as a dark haired waitress with thick black eyeliner served them coffee. Primo waited for her to leave to speak again.
“Where have you been?” he asked, his voice shaking. “Why haven’t you called?”
She stuffed down her anger. “I couldn’t call. I told you, I was being held prisoner by Malcolm, by Stefano Anastos, remember?”
He nodded, his head bobbing frantically like a marionette controlled by unseen hands. “Right, yes. I remember. But why didn’t you call sooner? Right when you got away?”
Her head was spinning, the events of the past two months colliding with the image of her brother in front of her, nervous and very, very sick. She tried to focus on the reason for her visit.
“I called as soon as I could,” she said. “Let’s talk about the New York territory.”
His expression grew stormy. “The territory… Is that all you care about, bella? Did he put you up to this?”
Primo’s emphasis on the word “he” told her all she needed to know about his feelings regarding Damian. She would have to tread carefully. Primo didn’t let go of wrongs easily — real or perceived. Her betrayal of Primo when she’d left New York with Damian would be fresh in his mind.
She forced her voice calm, reached across the table to touch his arm. “This has nothing to do with Damian. You said on the phone that you wondered if it was too late to sell him the territory. Don’t you remember?”
He yanked his hand away, his expression turning petulant. “Of course, I remember.”
“It’s a smart idea.” Stroking Primo’s ego was one of many methods she’d devised over the years to bring him around when his paranoia got the best of him, when he began to see enemies in every corner, when he began to think even she was his enemy. “Damian is determined to take the territory. He’s working with other powerful men — men who have unending resources, Primo. We’re not equipped to fight them off.”
She’d lumped herself in with him intentionally. She was less connected to his business than ever, but he needed to see her as an ally, needed to believe that she was still on his side.
In many ways, it was true; she was on his side. She wanted him to make it out of this mess with the Syndicate — with Damian.
With Malcolm.
Because whether Primo realized it or not, he was in trouble with Malcolm. It had always been inevitable, but now that Malcolm was working with Stefano Anastos, it couldn’t be denied. Malcolm was using Primo’s discord with Damian to make his move for the territory. He was smart enough to know this was his last shot. Once Damian took the territory for the Syndicate, it would be too late.
“You don’t know what I’m equipped for anymore.” He took a nervous slug of coffee. “You don’t know.”
Her throat constricted. She was the only one in his world who cared enough to try and save him. He was surrounded by luxury, by men who had pledged their loyalty to him, but it was a world built on artifice.
A paper world that would crumble at the first
strong wind — and the wind was already blowing. He just didn’t know it yet.
She tried to change tactics. “We always knew this was temporary, Primo. You said so when it started, remember? You told me that you were going to capitalize on the vacuum of power in New York, that you were going to make our fortune and get out, that you were only doing it so we never had to worry about money again.” She forced herself to smile at him, forced herself to play his game one more time. “You were right. We made so much money, Primo. We can leave New York now and go anywhere, do anything.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You would go with me? You would leave him to come with me?”
“Of course. We’re family.”
It was painful to lie to him, but it wasn’t the first time she’d been forced to do it. When Primo was on a rant, there was nothing to do except to pacify him, to tell him whatever was necessary to get him to the other side where he would be more reasonable. Most of the time he wouldn’t remember the things he’d said, the things he’d demanded, and she was never in a hurry to remind him.
She just needed to get him through this episode, get him to agree to hand over the territory. Then she could talk to Damian and work on getting Primo the help he needed.
He studied her.
“You lie, bella. I know you, and you’re lying. You want to stay with him.”
She didn’t try to defend herself. It never worked when he was like this.
“I’m trying to help you, Primo.”
“Prove it,” he said, his voice steely. “Come back with me.”
Panic welled inside her at the thought of leaving with Primo, at the thought of being taken away from Damian. She forced herself to stay calm. She was in a public place, and Primo was in no condition to force her to go with him.
Still, this had been a mistake. She wasn’t going to get through to Primo in his current state. He was too far gone. The most she could do was plant the seed and hope he considered it after they parted ways.
She reached for her scarf and wound it around her neck. “These are dangerous men, Primo,” she said. “They’re going to take back New York one way or another. Think about it. I’ll be in touch.”
Into the Fire (New York Syndicate Book 2) Page 8