I turn to glance at Jericho who is also listening, who smiles a smile that lets me glimpse the man I’d seen five years ago.
“Come,” he says. “Maybe you’ll understand why I need to do this.”
He doesn’t wait for me to reply but heads through the living room and toward that door and as I follow the sound grows a little louder, the child’s voice whisper-singing along with the song like she’s done it a hundred times before. It isn’t what I expect even though I know he’s taking me to see his daughter. The sound is too soft. Too innocent and too vulnerable for the likes of this man.
I stop at the entrance and watch when Jericho enters. An older woman stands from the couch. She has her hair wrapped in a silk scarf and has a sickly pallor to her face. She smiles at me and nods her greeting to Jericho who nods back but his attention is on the child with a cloud of soft dark curls around her head. She’s so captivated by what’s on the TV that she hasn’t noticed we’ve even walked into the room. She’s holding a well-loved bear on her lap, rubbing his ear, and singing along, her tune a little off. It’s the sweetest sound and my heart melts.
And I know my reaction is exactly what he wants. Why he brought me here.
The song ends.
Jericho clears his throat. The little girl turns to him and instantly, her eyes light up and she’s on her feet, crashing into his legs.
“Daddy!” He lifts her up and she wraps her arms around his neck, that bear still clutched in one hand.
“You know all the words now,” he says to her and hugs her tightly. I see how he’s closed his eyes, how tightly he’s holding her. It brings tears to my own eyes.
“I’ve been practicing,” she says, and he draws back, sets her on her feet but keeps one of her hands in his as he crouches down.
“I think you’ve grown taller,” he says. “You’re almost taller than me.”
She giggles. “Only when you’re crouching.” She hugs him again and he looks at me over her shoulder. He straightens, lifting her in his arms and facing me. Her expression is cautious.
Looking from father to daughter, I see she has his eyes and realize their color is slightly different, one blue and one gray. The little girl pulls a little closer to him.
“It’s all right,” he reassures her and walks toward me. “This is Mara,” he says. “Mara, this is my daughter, Angelique.”
45
Dante
“How the fuck did he find her?” I boom.
“Just like we’ve been watching him I’m sure he’s been watching us,” Matthaeus says.
“You said you moved her twice. How did he do it?”
“I don’t know. They’re bringing Noah here now. The other guards are just starting to come around.”
“No one was hurt?”
“No. Apart from Noah being a little beat up. He tried to fight off one of the men before he was knocked out.
“Noah?”
He nods.
With all those soldiers, it was Noah who tried to fight. “The card?” I ask.
He takes out his phone and shows me a screenshot front and back. “Noah’s got it.”
I take the phone, look at the back. The front has the same I.V.I. logo so it’s useless to me. But on the back, he’s written something.
“Faust. Box 4. Midnight.”
“What the fuck—”
“The opera Faust is playing tonight. The show will be over by midnight. I guess that’s when he’ll bring her.”
“Who’s rented Box 4? Pérez doesn’t strike me as the opera-going type.”
“I’ll see what Charlie can find out from here,” Cristiano says. “It could be a trap, brother.”
“I don’t have a choice but to go. He took her. I need to get her back. I’ll call you after,” I tell Cristiano before disconnecting and turn to Matthaeus who is already on his phone getting soldiers lined up.
When he’s finished, he slips his phone into his pocket and tucks his shirt into his pants as we walk out the door to one of the waiting SUVs. Soldiers are loading into the others now. He checks his watch. “We should be there in about forty minutes.”
“Midnight. He timed it well.” And kid or not, I’m going to kill the mother fucker when I get my hands on him.
46
Mara
I watch him with the little girl while she has a snack. She’s five years old and small for her age, swinging her legs back and forth under the table. Jericho has to coax her to eat but she’s clearly more interested in feeding her bear and watching me. I get the feeling she doesn’t get many visitors.
When the woman, Angelique’s grandmother, turns the corner pulling along a child’s suitcase, his expression changes and he hurries to her.
“You should have let one of the soldiers carry it down,” he tells her, taking the case from her.
“It wasn’t heavy,” she says. “I’m not that feeble yet.”
“Still.” He studies her. “You’re tired.”
She shakes her head. “No more than usual.”
“Is it time for our trip?” the little girl asks.
They both turn to her. “Almost,” Jericho says.
“Is Mara coming with us?” she casts a curious but shy glance at me and smiles. When I smile back, she hides her face in her stuffed bear’s stomach.
“Part of the way,” Jericho answers.
He’s a different man with her. In a way, I’m glad to see it. I never had someone to protect me, not until Dante—for a few days at least—and little girls need protecting. I’m glad she’ll have her father because if I think about what could happen to a little girl like Angelique at the hands of a Felix Pérez or Ivan Petrov, it twists my stomach.
Jericho stands, looks at me and my full plate. I guess he thought he’d feed us both a snack.
“You didn’t eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” I say, standing too.
He nods, bends to kiss Angelique on top of her head and tells her he’ll be back in a few minutes. Then he shifts his gaze to me.
“Mara?” he gestures to the stairs, and I walk ahead of him, unsure what to expect. “End of the hall. Last door,” he says once we’re on the first floor.
I pass six other doors before getting to the one he pointed out. This one stands ajar. I push it open and enter. He follows me in.
“Is that your mother?” I ask as I take in the pretty room. Obviously, not his. Not that I expected him to take me to his bed. He’s not that type of man. I can see that much. Or maybe it’s what he wants me to think. Why he wanted me to see him with his daughter.
The room is luxurious but unremarkable. The only thing that stands out is the long black dress lying on the bed and the pair of heels on the floor. Just what I’d need for an elegant night out.
“Yes,” he says, answering my question.
I turn to face him. “She’s sick.”
He nods once.
“Do you want me to feel sorry for you? Is that why you brought me here? To see your daughter and your sick mother and decide I should sacrifice my life for them?”
He tilts his head to the side, gaze speculative. “I think you’ll do it because you know what that man is capable of.”
“You do too. Why not take him out yourself? You know where he’ll be.”
“My priority is to get my daughter out.” He shifts his gaze to the dress. “You’ll wear that dress. Everything should fit.”
“Why?”
“It’s what he wants. The car leaves in fifteen minutes.”
“Our road trip?”
“I’ll be dropping you off on the way. You’re going to an opera.”
“I don’t like the opera.”
“That’s too bad.”
A man knocks on the door then and Jericho turns to him. They talk briefly and he hands Jericho something. Jericho closes the door and we’re alone again. He walks toward me and when he shows me what he’s holding, I’m surprised.
“An upgrade, as promised,” he says.
&n
bsp; I look from him to it as he pulls a dagger from its sheath. It’s slightly bigger than Matthaeus’s switchblade, the handle about three inches long, the fine blade itself sharp. Deadly.
He tucks it back into its holster. “You can wear it on your thigh beneath the dress. He won’t search you. He’ll assume I’ve done that.” He holds it out to me, but I don’t take it.
“Is this a trick?”
“What kind of trick would it be?”
I want to take it. I want to take it very badly, but I don’t. “I could stab you.”
“You won’t.” He sets it on the bed on top of the dress and turns to walk toward the door. “I will hand you over to Pérez once he gives me what I need.”
“What is it that you need so badly you’re willing to do this? Because if I look at you with your daughter or your mother, you don’t seem like a bad guy.”
He snorts.
I study him now. “What do you need from him?”
“Proof of who ordered the hit that killed Angelique’s mother.”
“So you can kill him?”
“So I can protect my daughter.”
“Why are you giving me a weapon?”
“If there was any other way to do this that didn’t involve handing over another innocent to that bastard, I’d do it. But I’m out of options and I will do anything I need to do to keep my daughter safe. That,” he says, gesturing to the dagger, “is so you at least have a way to defend yourself if things don’t go as I’ve planned.”
“What do you mean?”
“Felix will take you to the opera where the exchange will take place.”
“Exchange. Me.”
He nods once. “But I’ve let your lover know where you’ll be. Where the transaction will take place.”
My lover. Should I correct him? “I’m a person. Not a transaction.”
He has the grace to look away. “I know that.”
“Dante knows and he allowed it?” My heart twists.
“Not exactly, no in fact, he was adamant you wouldn’t be sacrificed.”
Relief floods through me but it doesn’t last long as I put two and two together. “So, the dagger is in case Dante doesn’t make it.”
He nods gravely. “Believe it or not, I’m sorry to do this to you,” he says, studying me. I wonder if he’s waiting for me to tell him it’s okay because it’s not. When I don’t say anything, he checks his watch. “Ten minutes.”
With that he leaves, and I turn to pick up the dagger. I take it out of its sheath and press the flat of the blade against my palm. I could kill myself. Here and now. I could put this through my heart and be done with it. But I won’t do that, and he knows it, or he wouldn’t have left me alone. When I hear Angelique’s giggle float up the stairs, I understand why he’s doing this. I understand why he will sacrifice me even if Dante won’t. I would do the same if I had a child. I have no doubt.
But instead of all that, I think about something else.
I think about what I’ll do with this dagger tonight. How I’ll bury it in Felix Pérez’s stony heart. Because monsters like him don’t deserve to live. And if I get the chance, I’ll leave one less in this world even if it costs me my life in the process.
47
Dante
Faust is well attended. When Matthaeus and I walk into the grand lobby of the opera house the fifth act is underway. We made good time. Better than I expected.
Few people are left milling about the lobby, but most attendees are inside. They won’t open the doors again until it’s over.
“Cameras were already disabled,” Matthaeus says.
I look at him.
“Just got the text from Charlie,” he says. “Someone beat us to it. Pérez or the buyer, I guess.”
Our shoes echo on the marble floors as we make our way to one of the two sweeping carpeted staircases. Two men take the stairs across the large space and a text comes through on my phone confirming that Pérez’s men are on site. He could be too for all I know.
Matthaeus reads the text. “The man in Box Four hasn’t moved. He’s still alone.”
“Fuck.”
“He’ll come.”
“Describe him again.”
“Nothing has changed, Dante,” he says. I know this. We went over this as soon as our men got on sight.
“Humor me.”
He sighs. “Late 40’s, early 50’s. Well dressed. We’re too far to hear any identifying accent.”
“What about facial recognition?”
“Sent several photos to Charlie but he hasn’t been able to get anything yet. Too much shadow or, more likely, he knows how to keep himself in shadow.”
“I’m willing to bet the latter. But it doesn’t make any sense if St. James was telling the truth. That he paid over a million dollars for her. She’s not Elizabeth. Anyone knows that. And after five years with Petrov…” I trail off. I don’t want to speak the rest aloud. But this buyer? It doesn’t make sense. “We’re missing something.”
We reach the first-floor landing and rather than proceeding up via the elaborate main staircase, we take a right to where one of my men opens a door to an emergency exit. There’s nothing glamorous about this one and our steps echo too loudly on the concrete. We slow as we reach the door and from here, I can faintly hear the sounds of the soprano.
It’s a shame Faust will be ruined for me after tonight. I like the story.
Matthaeus sends a text, and we wait for the response. It comes just two minutes later when a door opens, allowing us entry to the third floor and the box entrances. More people mill around the hallways here, men standing at the bars set up at every few intervals drinking. With the private box entrances and the prices associated with them, the rules are different for these people than they are for the general public.
We walk along the rounded corridor toward the box at the far end, where a staircase identical to the one we just climbed, is guarded by two men.
“Perez’s men,” Matthaeus says, not that I needed him to confirm. We don’t slow our steps as we approach Box Three, the one Charlie arranged. The owners of the box had decided to skip this opera which was lucky for us. We show our forged electronic tickets to the man standing outside and he only hesitates for a moment before opening the door to let us in.
Just as the door closes behind us a text comes in. It’s Charlie.
Charlie: Did some digging. Found out who owns the box. I need to call you. Now.
Me: Can’t talk. We’re in the box now. I don’t want to take a chance we spook the asshole.
Charlie: Shit. Okay. The box is registered to a company by the name of Gray and Associates. As far as I can tell, there’s no single Gray. Or not anymore at least. Anderson Gray died about fourteen years ago and since then it’s been run by his children. Three brothers. The name changed to Gray and Associates then. Before that, when Anderson Gray was alive, they went by a different name. It’s why I didn’t make the connection.
Me: What connection?
Charlie: This group isn’t exactly clean, Dante. You want to be careful. They have interests across all continents. Not all are on the up and up.
Me: What do they do exactly?
Charlie: Imports and exports. It’s all very vague. The family is associated with IVI.
Me: What the fuck is this Secret Society bullshit? Grown men playing at some game?
Charlie: I don’t think they’re playing games.
Me: What else?
Charlie: Gray and Associates has ties on all continents, as I said, but the European sector only started to really grow about twenty years ago. And this is where the interesting piece comes in. The connection.
Me: Twenty years?
Charlie: I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. It’s the only thing that adds up.
Me: What?
Charlie: The oldest brother, Drake Gray, was charged with the Europe project. And somehow, he came into contact with David.
Me: David?
Charlie: Yes.
He was in Naples for a meeting with him. I remember this because your father happened in on the meeting and David was beside himself angry. He was trying to make a deal without your father’s knowledge.
Charlie has never stopped referring to the man who raised me as my father. He has not once called David that.
Charlie: Because David had gone behind your father’s back, your father punished him but cutting him out of that particular business altogether.
Me: You’re losing me. Who cares what happened twenty years ago?
Charlie: It’s exactly that. The timing. This could be a longshot but the million dollars… Gray, and I’m assuming it’s Gray in that box, he put up a million dollars for Mara. Why? It can’t be coincidence.
Me: What the hell are you talking about?
But as I ask it, my mind is working, doing the math. As impossible as it is.
Charlie: Your father had several secret meetings with Gray at the house. I don’t know much more because the business never came to fruition. Gray spent some time in Naples vacationing, or so he said, and he was gone.
Me: Twenty years ago?
Charlie: I’m going to send you a photo of Drake Gray from back then. The shots we have of the man in the box next to yours aren’t great quality but it’s not unreasonable it’s the same man and it’s the only thing that makes sense. Keep in mind, he’d have been thirty or so then.
A ding signals the photo and I open it. It’s a shot at a restaurant and Gray clearly doesn’t know it’s being taken. He’s sitting at a table with a woman. Her back is to the camera and she’s a little fuzzy because the photographer had focused on him. She has long dark hair draped over her shoulder. And I only recognize her because the strap of her dress has fallen off her shoulder exposing a familiar birthmark.
I shift my gaze to the man sitting across from the woman. He’s a big guy. Blond hair cut short wearing an expensive suit and a Rolex watch, pouring from the bottle of wine into the woman’s glass. And he’s smiling at her like he’s smitten.
Stolen: Dante’s Vow Page 23
