The next time he screams it I’m already gone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Issa
Despair is carved into my every step as I stumble back through the lobby, passing by the white arches and the Renaissance artwork, and out under the portcullis, its sharp stakes representing the ones now piercing my heart.
We never expected all the members of La Società Villefort to be present.
I never expected a man like Aiden to be capable of love.
I never expected his confirmation of that to hurt so badly.
And Eloise…
Did he really kill her?
My gut says no, but everything about tonight is proving unpredictable and cruel.
The security guards by the door laugh when I rush pass, catcalling and whistling as I take the stone steps at a run.
“Where are you going, sweetie? Come back and play with us a while!”
Night has fallen, changing soft shadows to dark wounds. The lines of cypress trees look like enemy soldiers. They’re not the proud guard that greeted us when we first arrived.
The men are still calling after me as I reach the end of the driveway. Ignoring them, I veer left onto the main road, toward the two white vans parked up there.
The doors fly open as I approach. Maxim reaches me first and pulls me into his arms. I feel his reassurance bleeding into my skin and the tears start to fall. “Issa. Hush, zvezda moya,” he croons. “It is nearly over. I received Aiden’s message. We need to get back to The Cristo as soon as we can.”
“We can't,” I gasp out. “La Società has taken it away.”
“Then we drive and drive until we figure out a new plan. He’ll catch up with us, Issa. You know he will. Here,” he shoves a burner cell into my trembling hand. “Read the message.”
It’s done.
I catch his eye and the sweetest note of relief passes between us.
We don't need the British and their protection anymore. They would never have extended it to Aiden, no matter what miracles he pulled off tonight. I made a judgment call earlier, and now Karina is safe and recovering in a new, top-secret location.
“I can’t leave him behind, Maxim.”
“He’d kill me if we didn't leave when we could,” he argues. “There isn’t a place in this world where he won’t find you, Issa.”
“Ielena Dubova?” Maxim releases me as a smart lady in tight jeans and a blue shirt comes marching up to us. It’s Ielena Knight, even though my husband doesn’t love me. “Caroline Fletcher, Field Agent,” she announces briskly. “You did well in there. Your husband is doing even better.”
“I’m taking her home,” says Maxim.
Caroline sizes him up for a beat. “Fine. But stay in the harbor. We’ll swing by once this operation is over.”
“Fletcher,” yells a voice from the back of one of the white vans. “That’s Knight’s cue. We need to move.”
Moments later, Maxim and I are speeding past the gates of Château de Morcerf, with heavy hearts and destinations unknown.
Chapter Thirty
Aiden
I bring the stolen car to a screeching halt next to the quay. I can feel my heart pounding through the bloodstains on my shirt.
I have to get to Issa. I have to touch her, to taste her. To bring it all home to her. There’s so much crap to sift through, so many revelations to come to terms with, and so many lies to dispel. I need her soft calm to help me unpack the chaos.
Am I too late?
I’m praying Zaccaria was lying about The Cristo. I’m imagining pushing open my cabin door and finding her lying there. …
It's summertime, so Port Hercule is a hub of money and prestige. Every spare berth has been booked up for months, and at first glance it’s impossible to distinguish The Cristo from all the other superyachts in the harbour. I break into a jog, checking the bow of each vessel in turn. When I reach the end of the dock, I turn and jog back again to repeat the process.
Where the fuck are you, Issa?
Pulling out my cell, I hit her number but the call rings out. I try again, and the same thing happens. That’s when I remember she never took the device with her to Château de Morcerf.
By now, I’ve completed a second lap, and uneasiness is spiking the pit of my stomach with jagged thorns and barbed wire.
“Fuck!”
I sweep my gaze across the remainder of the harbor, but it’s a stupid, pointless endeavor. My yacht is too big to berth anywhere other than this side of the harbor.
She wouldn’t leave without me. Not after everything... Would she?
Exhausted, I fall to my knees by the edge of the water as the sounds from the bars and cafes on the other side of the harbor drift over me. It’s the kind of mockery I used to deliver with relish.
She’s gone.
It’s all gone.
I roar her name at the empty horizon, but only a lifetime of lonely nights and barren days answer back...
“Are you done howling your broken heart at the ocean yet?” drawls a voice suddenly. “If so, I have something that might interest you.”
A man in a sharp, blue three-piece is standing ten meters away. Wide stance, hands in pockets, shrewd expression, with his head cocked slightly to the side suggesting an air of amusement at my misfortune. Judging from his accent, he’s American.
Prick.
“Who are you?”
“FBI Special Agent Roman Peters,” he says, canceling out my roughness with his New York smooth.
“A little out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you?” I say, groaning inwardly. “I take it you have an international warrant?” I hold my arms out, inviting him to cuff me. “Go on. What are you waiting for? Whatever you’re accusing me of I’ve probably done it and worse.”
He doesn’t budge, though. He doesn’t even glance down.
“I also go by another name, Mr. Knight,” he says. “But only to close friends and acquaintances, of which you are neither. However, at my sister’s request, I’ve chosen to make an exception.”
“Let me guess… The Easter bunny?”
“I’m afraid not.” He laughs, but it’s the stiff scornful sound of a man who finds humor a challenge at the best of times.
“The Tooth Fairy?”
“Roman Petrov.”
This makes me pause. “Petrov? As in Andrei Petrov’s son? The Bratva boss?”
“Former Bratva boss,” he corrects tersely. “He died several years ago. Nina Sanders is my half-sister. I also have the less agreeable honor of counting Rick Sanders as a brother-in-law.” His lips twist into a wry smile. “Unfortunately, he’s starting to grow on me.”
I drop my hands back down to my sides. “What are you doing here? Actually, don’t answer that.” I swing my gaze to the ocean again. “My life has just fucking imploded, so if you’re not arresting me I’d like to get on with piecing it back together again.” I pull out my cell to call Maxim, but he’s not answering either.
“Perhaps we can help you with that.” He takes a step closer until I’m glaring him back into submission. “I represent an organization that has developed an…interest in you, Mr. Knight.”
“If it’s a secret one with a pretentious name, hard pass.”
He laughs again, and this time it sounds more genuine. “The man I work with has no need for such protection.”
“What man?”
His gaze travels to a black Ferrari that’s parked up a little way along the dockside.
“This morning, my sister received a call from your wife requesting urgent assistance in transporting her sister to a private hospital facility. I was happy to oblige. I happened to be in Europe on business anyway.”
“FBI business?”
“Santiago Cartel business,” he says, casually dropping a bomb into the conversation, and then smirking when he sees my expression. “You’ve caught the attention of the really big players now, Aiden.”
“I don’t give a fuck about how big the players are. I just want my w
ife back.”
There’s a noise behind us as the driver’s door on the Ferrari lifts up. I watch a tall beast of a man climb out under the white haze of a streetlight. When he moves slowly in our direction, he’s stealthy and uncompromising, like a tiger catching a scent. He’s dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt, and the sharp blades of a tribal tattoo stain his left arm.
“Aiden Knight,” says Roman briskly. “I’d like to introduce you to—”
“Dante Santiago.” He extends a hand to me, his deep growl wrapping around my throat like a fist. “Rick Sanders said you might be in the market for business opportunities.”
“Mr. Santiago.” I feel the full force of his intimidation, but I’m too distracted to cave under it. I really should, though… This man’s Most Wanted image is as commonplace on the internet as Bob Marley posters on dorm room walls. “What opportunities are you referring to?” I ask, reclaiming my hand.
“The mutually beneficial kind.” He eyes drift toward the shadowed hills of Monte Carlo, flashing white gold in the darkness. “I have a large amount of money that needs cleaning up,” he states briskly. “I hear you’re the man to talk to about that.”
“Not anymore,” I answer. “From six a.m. tomorrow, I’ll be a wanted criminal. The Monaco government will be revoking my Carte de Resident, Ordinaire status soon after that.”
“What if I told you I could reinstate you in your casino, with your fortune… I’d even get you your boat back.” The corners of his mouth start to twitch. “I’m afraid you’ll have to buy yourself a new Maserati, though.”
“That’s very generous of you,” I say swiftly, “but the only thing I want is my wife.”
At this, his lips tilt in a way that has me interested. “My own wife would call that an affliction of the heart… Eve has a way with words that spins darkness into light.” His gaze drifts again for a moment. “What if I said I could help you with that, as well?”
I stare at him for a moment, and then I’m holding out my hand again.
“You help me find my wife, Mr. Santiago, and we have ourselves a deal.”
Epilogue
Issa
Eight weeks later…
There’s a café here that reminds me of him.
I find his past in the crimson awning, and in the cutlery on the white plastic tables, that glints like blades as the sun creeps around the pink-domed bell tower bordering the small bay. I find my future in the colors of the ocean: deep, cerulean blue like his eyes. The lack of tide means that the hue is unflinching. Never wavering. Like the love I feel for him. Like the love I’m longing to make with him.
I miss those eyes.
We drove all the way to Marseille that night, catching snippets on the news about a huge fire on the outskirts of Cannes and the arrest of twelve fugitives. Heart pounding, I listened to the list of names, but Aiden’s was never mentioned, and neither was my father’s. Tommaso Zaccaria’s was, though. There’s a new caged bird on the Riviera, and this one will never be released.
To stop the British tracking us down, Maxim had discarded his cell before we left Monaco. That meant there was no way of Aiden contacting us, or of us contacting him. It killed me that he might think of my disappearance as my last betrayal.
After a couple days in Paris, we made contact with Rick Sanders to make sure everything was okay with Karina at the private hospital he was funding for her, and to let him know that we’d be making our way to the UK to see her as soon as the police heat died down. I didn’t ask him the price of his compassion. Men like him never do anything for free. But however beholden we are to him now, having Karina safe and well is an easy trade-off to make.
I was hoping he’d crossed paths with Aiden, and I’d asked him as much. That’s when he told me to go and live a dream I’d shared with my husband that night in Cannes, when he’d bought me perfume and I’d fallen even more under his spell.
That’s when I knew Aiden would come for me there.
We’ve been in Collioure ever since, that small picturesque seaside town of light and color on the Côte Vermeille. It’s even more beautiful than I remembered, but it’s also emptier. “Collioure has no shadows,” or so the artist, Andre Derain, wants us to believe. In a way he’s right, but for me there will always be one: the shadow of longing for better things to come.
Karina was finally well enough to travel here last week. As I sit in the café sketching fishing boats and tourists, I can see her and Maxim walking slowly, arm in arm, along the stone promenade. The transplant was a success and she grows stronger every day. We have a long road ahead of us, but the loose grit is starting to level out into something smoother.
“Excuse me, madame?” A waitress appears at my table with a tray laden with goodies. Without further ado, she starts to unpack a bottle of red wine and two glasses, laying each one down in turn in front of me.
“I’m sorry, you must be mistaken,” I say quickly as she reaches for her corkscrew. “I never ordered any—” That’s when I catch sight of the label:
Saint-Émilion.
2001.
With a soft cry, I drop my sketchbook and rise to my feet, my eyes scanning frantically, but never daring myself to believe.
That’s when I see him.
He’s leaning against the sea wall about fifty meters away, wearing black like the free raven that he is now. He crooks his finger at me, and I smile despite the tears streaming down my cheeks. Instead of complying, I repeat his gesture, and then watch as he tips his head back and laughs.
That’s where we meet again: halfway between his wall and my café; halfway between his desire and mine. When I feel his strong arms wrapping around me, I know there isn’t a color in the world that could capture this moment.
Urbane.
Savage.
Beautiful.
And more. So much more.
“The 2015 is the better vintage,” I blurt out.
“Bullshit… The 2001 is far more subtle, and it’s less prone to being emptied over Armani suits.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“I love you.”
I pull back to look at him, almost certain I’ve misheard.
“I wanted to tell you in that fucking château,” he says, shooting me that crooked grin of his. “I wanted to scream it after you, but Pietro had other ideas.”
“Where have you been, Aiden?”
“Busting Frankie out of jail, getting The Cristo back, establishing a couple of new businesses for a really dangerous criminal.” His grin widens. “It’s good to be bad, and I’m not planning on changing anytime soon… Your father sends his regards, by the way. He’d like to come and visit you and Karina. I said you might be washing your hair—permanently.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Think or drink? Speaking of which, let’s crack on with that bottle.” He turns to lead me back to the café, and then stops. “Wait, I have something for you first.” He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a folded packet of papers. “Here. It’s a letter from my solicitor.”
I open it up and the world stops turning. “You want a divorce? Aiden, I—”
He captures my face between his hands, the fierce love in his expression driving roots down into my soul. “We’re doing this thing properly, Issa,” he tells me. “The past isn't going to taint us any longer. I want to love you right. I want to marry you right. The minute you sign those papers, I’m down on one knee with a ring that’ll dazzle fifty shades of purple for all I care. Just as long as you want me.”
“Yes,” I rasp, with my heart so full of him it feels like I’m drowning.
He lowers his gaze to my lips. “Kiss me like you mean it.”
“Is that a dare?”
“It’s a request, embellished with a fair amount of begging and pleading. It’s been a long eight weeks and I need to taste you again.”
I close the distance between us to half… Always half. Because we’re two parts of the same whole, and the child gro
wing inside me is the perfect outline.
“Come and get me, Raven,” I whisper.
Acknowledgments
To my husband and my two beautiful girls. So many sacrifices were made for me to be able to write this book. I sank, you rescued me. I cried, you hugged me. Cancer kicked me again, and we kicked back harder. I love you more than words can say.
To childhood summers spent in the South of France. To playing on the small beach in Collioure, and then running back to my parents who sat at the cafe with the red awning. To cheap meals, cheap hotels, but to memories as rich as Aiden Knight himself.
To Cora, Sammy, Sheri, Kathi, Sally and Julia. Thank you for cheering me on from the sidelines. This book was hard and I floundered more times than I care to admit, but you never let me flounder for long.
Amanda Marie and Sheri Glaesman. Thank you for your excellent last minute (because it’s always last minute with me) proof-reading and editing skills.
To all the book bloggers and bookstagrammers who are still taking a chance on a sort-of rookie. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
To Jo and all the team at Give Me Books PR. Thank you for being so wonderful and supportive in every aspect of my life! #fuckcancer
To Maria at Steamy Designs. Thank you for taking on all my demands, not disowning me, and for weaving your magic!
And finally to the readers. You make every invasive scan, test and operation worth it. I’ll be writing these stories for you until they prise my laptop away from my lifeless fingers! Thank you for making all my dreams come true.
Catherine
P.S. Please consider leaving me a review on Goodreads and Amazon. I’d be so grateful.
Black Skies Riviera: An Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance Page 27