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)
“How close are the two of you?” I ask the guy.
“The lieutenant and me? Not that much. But I can get close if that’s what you want.”
“How close?”
“Close enough. He’s not a big drinker, not a pub kind of guy if you know what I mean, but I can get myself invited to his house. Barbecues. Family lunches. Cricket in the park. That sort of thing.”
I sit back, rubbing my thumb over my chin. “You’ll manage?”
“He’s a buddy kind of guy. Likes to watch rugby matches with his friends. Play cards. It’s not hard to get into that kind of circle.”
“All right,” I say slowly. “Name your price.”
Smiling, he takes a piece of paper from his pocket and slides it over the table. I lean over to read the figure.
A single nod seals the deal.
He grins wider. Stands. “Thank you.” He adjusts his jacket. “I’ll need twenty percent upfront. For expenses and such.”
“You’ll have it.” I pin him with a stare. “But you do realize that once I’ve paid you, you owe me, and I will insist on getting my money’s worth.”
“You’ll get it.” He looks pleased with himself. “It’s nice doing business with you.”
“How soon can you give me something?”
“Not easy to say. I’ll need at least four or five weeks to do that buddy thing. I have to win his trust before he’ll confide in me and tell me what he’s planning.” He looks at Uncle Enzo. “Can I go?”
Uncle Enzo raises a brow at me. I lift an index finger, giving the green light.
My uncle hands him a brown envelope with the down payment, which he shoves into his inside jacket pocket.
“You know how to contact me when you have something for us,” Uncle Enzo says.
The man slicks his hair over his head with a palm and turns for the door.
“Hugo,” Uncle Enzo says.
Our informant stops, not looking back.
“If you don’t have information for me in four weeks, I’m going to come after you.”
The man stands quietly, letting the threat sink in, and then he leaves.
The door shuts behind him, the bell ringing out its chime.
My uncle turns to me. “What do you think?”
I don’t like the guy. He’s slimy, but he’s intelligent too, more than he’d like to give on. “Watch him.”
“Done,” Gianni says.
I get to my feet. “Let’s get out of here.”
I have meetings set up for the rest of the day, making use of the opportunity while we’re in Marseille to see a handful of suppliers and put a few who are starting to step out of line back in their place. After that, I have negotiations scheduled with new players in Paris. Now that I married into the Edwards bloodline, they’ll not only open those doors they kept shut in my face, but they’ll also kiss my ass to walk through said doors.
“Shall we come with you?” Gianni asks with a hopeful air.
“No,” I say. “You need to get back to Corsica to relieve Toma of babysitting duty.”
“Surely, she’s safe in your house?” he asks, sulking like a child.
“It doesn’t matter where she is. You will watch her.”
He looks as if he’s about to argue, but Uncle Enzo grips his shoulder and pulls him back, clearing a path for me. “Safe travels, Angelo. You can trust us to keep the fort at home.”
“Don’t forget my updates,” I say as I button up my jacket in the passing, enjoying the scowl on my cousin’s face.
The door opens just as I reach for it. A woman wearing a trench coat that ends mid-thigh enters. Under the coat, long stocking-clad legs are exposed. In her heels, she’s the same height as Sabella. Same toned dancers’ legs. Same dark hair and eyes.
She must be with the owner. None of my men would let a woman close to the café, not until we’re a good ten minutes gone.
“Excuse me,” I say, standing aside for her to enter.
“Mr. Russo?” she asks, tilting her head up to study me. “Angelo?”
How the fuck does she know my name? My senses go on high alert. “Can I help you?”
Her smile is shy. “I’m the entertainment for the rest of the week.”
I raise a brow. “Entertainment?”
“Yours.” She glances over my shoulder at my uncle. “Courtesy of Mr. Enzo Russo.”
Chapter
Nine
Sabella
* * *
Before I know it, a week has passed. The only news I have from my husband are the bits and pieces Heidi shares with me when she delivers my meals.
He arrived in Marseille.
He’s safely in Paris.
He’s returning via the south of France.
He’s asking about you.
She’s trying to put Angelo in my good books by pretending he cares about me, and I don’t have the heart to tell her it’s pointless. She can’t reconcile something that can’t be fixed. My husband doesn’t give a damn about how long my hours in the confines of my bedroom are or how close I am to going out of my mind. He has no idea what it feels like to be locked in the same space for days on end. If he did, he’d never do it to another human being, not even to his most despised enemy—me.