Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
When only blue water stretches around the yacht, I go inside. Uncle Enzo and Gianni are in the lounge. Both are on their phones, my uncle reading something and Gianni playing one or the other idiotic game. They look up when I close the door but say nothing as I go to the sideboard where refreshments are set out.
Needing the caffeine, I pour a big mug of coffee. Black, no sugar. Not like Sabella. I smile when I recall her stunt of this morning, how she provoked me by planting her luscious lips on the rim of her mug on the exact spot I touched with my mouth. The act was suggestive and intimate, a daring tease that hardened my cock instantly. I have to be careful. She can’t know how much she affects me. I can’t afford to give her that much power.
My smile is gone before I face my family. They watch me with wary expressions, waiting.
I comb my fingers through my hair to tame the windblown strands. “What’s the status on yesterday, Gianni?”
He puts his phone down. “Nothing happened.” He glances at his father before continuing. “Nothing noteworthy.”
I study him. “Sabella didn’t leave the house?”
“No.” He digs a finger in the collar of his rollneck sweater and pulls it away from his throat. “She just hung around inside.”
“The whole day?”
I find that hard to believe. It’s not like my feisty wife not to get up to mischief.
Gianni shifts forward on his seat and leans his elbows on his knees. “She did walk around the house in the afternoon and checked out the view but not for long.” He shrugs. “It was cold.”
“That’s it?” I drink the strong coffee, enjoying the welcome warmth that settles in my stomach.
“Yes.” He frowns. “Where would she go without a car? It’s not like there’s a neighbor she can visit.”
“Fine,” I say. “From now on, I want hourly reports. Daily ones won’t cut it.”
His shoulders slouch. “Every hour?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Are you serious?”
I give him a hard look. “Would I be joking?”
Uncle Enzo slides a gaze in Gianni’s direction with an unspoken message in his eyes. “He’ll be happy to do it.” His voice is hard. “Won’t you, Gianni?”
“Yes, of course,” my cousin says, the pleat between his eyebrows deepening.
When I fix him with a glare, he stares at his hands.
I turn to my uncle. “This contact of yours, how trustworthy is he?”
“Very,” Uncle Enzo says. “He’s one of our best informants in the force.”
I finish my coffee and put the mug aside. “Who recruited him?”
“Nico.”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I consider that. “How did they meet?”
“Someone on the street got word that a crooked cop was taking bribes.”
“How can you be sure he’s not double-crossing us?”
“I questioned him myself.” Uncle Enzo stands and looks me in the eyes. “He doesn’t have a conscience, that one. He’s frustrated with the low pay and less than desirable working conditions. You know how tough it is to be a cop on the drug beat in Marseille these days.”
“Is he a junkie?”
“No.” Uncle Enzo goes to the espresso machine and pushes the button to wake it up. “We checked for signs of use.”
“Good. Addicts are unreliable. They’re driven by their addiction, not by their brains. We don’t want to get caught up in that mess.”
“Right,” he says, riding on the balls of his feet as he waits for the water to heat.
“Where are we meeting him?” I ask.
“At the old harbor. A small café. The owner is one of ours.”
I nod. “Get our men lined up. I want five in the café and ten in the street. Armed. Let the café owner know I want the security recording after the meeting. You never know when it’ll come in handy. It’s always good insurance in case our contact grows a conscience and decides to talk.”
“Or if another party offers him more money,” Uncle Enzo says.
“Exactly. Do a proper scouting of the area before we arrive. Make sure it’s clean.”
“I’ll have the café swept for bugs before we enter.” He adds in a low rumble, “Can’t be too sure with these pigs.”
“Gianni.”
My cousin lifts his head and sits up straighter.
“Make sure we’re not followed.”
“Do you think it’s a trap?” my cousin asks.
“No, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” I ruffle his hair as I walk past him, roughing him up a little like I used to do when we were kids. It’s my way of telling him our tense moment is over, and that we’re good. “Never forget we have many enemies. They’re all watching. Waiting. Biding their time for us to screw up, for a weakness they can exploit. Remember what my father always said. It takes hard work to get to the top, but it takes blood, sweat, and tears to stay there.”
He watches me through the fringe of hair that falls over his eyes. “What’s our weakness?”