by Rachel Renee
“I am not getting a tattoo.”
“Come on. It’ll be fun.”
“It’s permanent. There is not one thing I can think of that I want permanently etched into my body.”
“Oh come on. Don’t be a pansy. You’re just afraid of the pain,” he teased.
I laughed. “Hardly. Pain doesn’t scare me. Bad art does.”
“This place is reputable. I’ve done my homework.”
“I haven’t. You can get one and I’ll watch.”
“I will not do it unless you do.”
“You cannot peer pressure me. I’m a grown man who is not about to make some grade-school mistake.” Truth be told, I’d thought about getting a tattoo in my former life. Back then, it was because I was afraid and I wanted to overcome that fear. It never happened though.
“Fine. I will get my tattoo and maybe you will change your mind.”
“I doubt it.” I remember saying those words and wishing I hadn’t when it was my turn to sit in the chair. Santi hasn’t let me live it down. He knew I would succumb and I let him think it was all his idea. Little did he know I was actually living out one of my fears.
I can’t see it as it’s currently covered by my shirt sleeve but I can feel the outline of the bald eagle searing into my skin. It’s my constant reminder of who I am and what I was sent here to do. Santi doesn’t understand it, and it’s a good thing as it would give me away as the deceiver that I am.
“Nic, are you packed?”
“Ready to go.”
Santi is hauling a box out of his room. “Padre is sending someone to take some of our stuff back to Rome. You sure you won’t stay with me?”
“I told you…”
“I know, I know. Charlie is leaving after summer.”
“We’ll still see each other. Coffee every morning in the caffé?”
“You’ll be all wrapped up with Sophia.”
“No.” I see the smirk appear over Santi’s lips. “Well, maybe.”
I have no intention of being wrapped up in Sophia, but the show must go on. Sophia’s and my charade is much easier than playing Santi’s game of a new woman whenever possible. At least I know, for the most part, Sophia is another part in the scheme. I do enjoy spending time with her, but she has as much to lose as I do if we mess this up.
The sudden knock at the door causes me to jump, relieving me of my thoughts and getting my mind back on the prize. “I’ll get it.” I know it’s Charlie who’s come to retrieve me and drive me back to Rome. Santi tried to get me to drive back with him but Charlie insisted that he play the dad card and pick me up instead. It’ll give us some time to catch up without prying ears. There are pieces of the story that I haven’t told him for fear of being overheard. He says he has stuff to catch me up on as well and I’m hopeful with our combined efforts we might be able to cinch this thing up this summer. As much as I enjoyed my time in Florence, I want to go home. It’s only been a year and I feel like my old life must be slipping away from me.
“Hey old man,” I say to the figure before me. He’s got more wrinkles around his eyes than he did just a few months ago. I also see the sparkle of some grays coming through his dark hair.
“Nic, good to see you, son.” Charlie reaches his arms out and pulls me in for a bear hug. “You ready to go?”
“I think so.” I pull back and look to Santi who is standing open-mouthed behind us. “You need any help before we hit the road?”
“I’ve got it.” He smirks. “I’ll see you back in Rome soon, yeah?”
“You know it.”
I grab a box from my left and hand it to Charlie. After that’s stable, I put a smaller one on top of the other before grabbing up my suitcase and computer bag from the other side of the door frame. With one last wave, Charlie and I start the trek to the car to head back to Rome.
“Santi’s upset you aren’t staying with him this summer?”
“He is.”
“Maybe you should.”
“No. I think it will be good to get a little distance. Plus, Paolo and I are building a bit of a rapport.”
I see the small movement of his lips as I answer. “Yes. He’s asked for my help. And I plan on giving it.”
“Nic, that’s great news. One step closer.”
“Agreed. Do you think we could get this wrapped up over the holiday?”
“I hope. I’m sure you are ready to get home.”
“I am. I feel like the longer I’m away, the further I am from the person I was before.”
“You will never be that person again. Every case will change you, some for the good, others, well, let’s just say, not for the good.”
“Understatement of the century.”
“I’m truly sorry for what happened at the vault. If we’d had a little more notice, we could have had another agent on the scene. I hate that you had to make a decision like that.”
I’m not sure what to say to this so I stay silent. I hate it too, but it’s what I was hired to do. Make life-saving or life-altering decisions.
Staring out of the window, I catch the reflection of Charlie, whose face has grown sullen as he talks to me. “You did the right thing,” he continues. “It was either them or you, and you made sure it was you getting out of there alive. They would have killed you had they been given the chance. You were no one to them.”
I ignore what he says to me. The words he’s trying to feed me that should make me feel better about what I did. There are no words that can do that. “Paolo believes that Santi may still be in danger. He is no longer allowing him to run guns for him.”
“He wants you to do this?”
“He does.” I wait for the reaction, but there isn’t any. Charlie’s words are silent too. “I’m going to do it. If nothing more than to gain intel for this mission. Maybe use it to take him down, depending on how much information he allows me to know ahead of time.”
“I’m not sure I like this idea.”
“You don’t have to. This is my mission and I’m to finish it by all means necessary.”
25
Charlie says that Sophia has been going to bed with Paolo and he is uncertain if it has to do with the case or if she’s falling for the guy. My mind is reeling because Sophia and I have had so many conversations about Rubio and she has never mentioned that they’ve met up. She’s told me it’s still only messages back and forth. I know I need to talk to her face to face, find out the truth. Charlie and Moretti said something similar to me before but this time Charlie is convinced that Sophia has been staying at the Rubio estate from time to time.
The other news from Charlie is that our government agency has gotten access to the bank accounts that Paolo Rubio hides throughout Europe. Thanks to my assistance with the information from the bank in Switzerland, they were able to gain knowledge of at least three others. We know he has a lot of money, we know he is getting it illegally, and we know he’s dealing weapons, all at the expense of the United States government. The struggle is the fact that we can’t tie it all together yet. Even with the intel from the money Santi and I extricated from Switzerland, we don’t have enough to take down the entire operation.
I feel almost giddy as we pull up to the stone façade of the building I live in with Charlie and Sophia. I was in Florence longer than I was in this apartment but something about it seems so familiar. It feels more like home for some reason.
“Happy to be back?”
“Yes.” I can’t contain the smile on my face as I see the large door open and Sophia hop excitedly down the step to get to the car.
My door is open and Sophia is in my arms, her slender frame fitting oddly into mine. It’s in this moment that I know for sure things are different. Sophia is trying too hard. Our ploy always seemed so natural, but this feels forced. As much time as we’ve spent together, the fact that she seems to have been keeping something from me has my blood pressure rising.
“How are you?” I ask as I pull back, moving toward the trunk to help C
harlie with my luggage.
I try to pretend I’m not looking at her, but I stare into her face through the side of my dark-framed sunglasses as she answers. “Grande. Felice che tu sia tornato.” I’m surprised by the Italian and I think she notices. She swallows as her lips pull up at the edges.
“Feels good to be back,” I answer. My hands start grabbing articles from the trunk and situating them so that I can carry it all into the building. Charlie’s here, stacking the boxes, and then Sophia’s small hand reaches across, grasping at the handle of the suitcase.
“Let me help.”
“We’ve got it,” comes out in a growl. I mentally slap myself. I can’t let her know anything’s different, so I turn to her immediately and smile. “Grazie.” And grab for the handle her fingers were just wrapped around.
I see the light in her eyes return which makes the smile on my face feel more genuine. “Will I see you at dinner?”
The trunk slams, causing me to turn momentarily in the direction of Charlie. His brows raise and his head nods slightly to the left. As Sophia answers, I turn back to her.
“Si. Yes. I’ll be there.”
Her top lip pulls into her mouth, and I know she knows. Her body moves to the door, opening it for us. I don’t look at her as I pass by with my luggage. I can’t. Walking up to the apartment, I’m feeling like such a gossiping adolescent, listening to one person tell me something and being upset with another over something I don’t even know is the truth.
You can’t get comfortable in this job. The moment you do, the proverbial rug is pulled right out from under your feet. I have to believe that Sophia has been honest with me, or in the very least, will catch me up on what has been happening the past few weeks we have been in different cities. I refuse to listen to the feeling that’s growing deep within my gut that she’s been playing me all along. Just another puppet she’s controlling with her feminine charm.
Dropping my belongings onto the floor of the room I call my own, my mind drifts to Savannah, and for the first time in a long time, I think about Eliza. Life was simple in Savannah. Yeah, I was busy, but there were people I could trust. People who truly cared about me who didn’t have an agenda. Eliza. She wasn’t using me as a pawn in her career. I didn’t have to calculate every word that I spoke to her. She didn’t have to create some alternate persona when she spent time with me. What we had was real. It was honest.
I flop onto the hard mattress, eyes averting to the ceiling. I miss home. My real home. Maybe I’m not cut out for this life. My right hand rubs along my bicep, the outline of the tattoo searing into my fingertips as they glide over the symbol.
Getting the sudden urge to run, my body pops off the bed involuntarily. I race to the luggage I just dropped to the floor, unzipping in a haste to get to what I need. Ripping off the clothes I rode home in, I replace them with something more comfortable, easier to move in. My feet find my gym shoes, and before I can even register all of my movements, I’m back outside once more.
Feet hitting pavement, I feel the stares as I race madly down the sidewalks, traversing into the street, back up into the crowds, whatever is the easiest path to get to what I need. As I move, as my breathing quickens, my mind stops racing. Clarity resumes. A job. I need to remember what this is. I’ve trained for this. Well, as much as one person can in the short span of my CIA career. Focus is what I need and the only way to do that is to remember what I’m here for.
By the time I get back to the apartment, my shirt is soaked through and my hair drips as though I’ve just stepped out of the shower. I remove my shirt, using the edges of it to wipe my brow as I pace the sidewalk back and forth to cool down before going inside.
“I didn’t picture you as a guy who’d get a tattoo.”
My head whips around to the voice coming from my left. “You don’t know me well enough to make that kind of assumption.”
Moretti glares at me through half-mast eyes. “That is very true, Niccolo. Although, I thought I knew you better than that. Do you not worry that will give you away?” His head nods to the art on my shoulder.
“No,” I say, even though the thought has crossed my mind more than once. “There is a story.”
“I’d like to hear it.”
“Maybe some other time, Moretti.” His brows raise in response to mine. “I need a shower before dinner.”
“You better hurry.” His right arm raises as he glances at the metal piece upon his wrist.
I have no idea what time it is and honestly, I don’t really care. They will wait on me. The dinner is planned for my homecoming, after all. The dinner we were supposed to have before I left for Florence.
The man follows on my heels as I traverse through the doors and up the stairs through the entrance of the apartment. I don’t bother to warn Charlie that he’s here as I’m sure he already knows he was on his way. Hurrying, as I’m truly hungry, I leave Moretti at the entrance and proceed to make myself presentable for dinner.
After a shower and shave, and throwing on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, I’m returning to the guests who are preparing the feast. I smell the oregano and parmesan the most, the scent of the meal wafting up to my nose as I move through the apartment. As I meet the kitchen entry, garlic takes over and my mouth begins to salivate. I know Charlie has made the sauce and Sophia dried out the homemade pasta that she has perfected. Moretti is as much a guest to this dinner as I am because I doubt he had a hand in the preparation besides sampling the goods.
“Niccolo, have some vino.” Sophia is handing me a rather large glass filled three-quarters of the way with the red liquid.
“Or would you rather a white?” Charlie raises the bottle he has sitting in front of him.
“Red is perfetto.” I smile while reaching out to grab the large-mouthed glass from the small hand that is grasping its stem. “Grazie.” My mouth opens wider.
I swirl the liquid around carefully before bringing the glass up to my nose and sniffing the contents. As the liquid enters, the full-bodied flavor teasing my taste buds lingers as the wine goes down. Pulling the glass away from my mouth, I see the other bodies in the room staring at me intently.
“What?” All three of them avert their glare immediately. Maybe they didn’t realize they were all staring at me. Shrugging, I set the glass down and ask, “What can I do?”
“Not a thing, my boy, just head up to the rooftop and we’ll bring dinner up once we’re finished.”
“No, let me…”
“Not tonight, Nic. Let us do this for you.”
I glance from one face to the next and each is wearing a mask of happiness. Of indifference. Of…deception. I’ve not noticed it before, but it is certainly there among each upturned lip, wide eyes, or halfhearted grin.
I feel better about the thoughts I had on my run. I feel better about what I need to do to complete this assignment. They may have been shut before, but my eyes are wide open now. This team that is supposed to be working with me has continuously given me reason to suspect they aren’t, in fact, acting completely on my behalf. We are all working on our own agendas and now that I truly see that, I will be better able to do my job without worrying about what someone else may be doing.
Stepping out into the open-air top floor of our building, I see the sun is just starting its descent out of the sky. I find the best spot to people watch and plant myself down in the chair, bringing my wine glass up to my lips. In another lifetime, I could see myself living here. Maybe that’s why Sophia has never left. It’s easy to fall in love with such a place. The history and romanticism that is Rome can’t compare to the southern charm and history that is found in Savannah, Georgia, but it speaks to a different part of me. One that I wasn’t aware was inside until I experienced it.
My glass is empty by the time my three companions stumble up the stairs with arms full of food and drink. I stand and help them, grabbing items from each overstuffed hand. “This looks and smells divine,” I tell them, placing the items in their place upon t
he table.
I resume sitting where I had been moments before, each of my compatriots finding their own spot along the table’s edge. Sophia refills my wine glass and tells me to start the train of filling my plate. The silence is awkward at first, but after we all start stuffing our faces, it becomes less so. After a bowl of salad, two bowls of pasta, and four pieces of bread, I can say that I have overindulged.
Sitting back in my chair as the sun sets behind a building far off in the distance, I finish my second glass of wine and sigh. This is the part I could get used to. “Thank you for such a magnificent homecoming. The food was amazing.” I wave my hand over the table still partially filled with the Italian cuisine.
“You deserve it. Without you, we wouldn’t have what we do on Paolo Rubio. The work you’ve done and will continue to do for us. With us.” He corrects himself but it’s not lost on me. “Brings us one step closer to closing a case on a man who has been taking advantage of his country. You are doing such a service to the U.S. and you deserve to be recognized.”
I feel my face heat up as I’m not accustomed to such high praise. And honestly, I don’t even really feel like I deserve it. Three sets of eyes are boring into my own, waiting for me to say something, but I don’t know what to say other than, “Thank you.”
I think that was good enough as all of them raise their glass in my direction and chant my name. “Niccolo.” As another piece of Liam disappears.
26
I can’t decide if I want to meet Santi at the caffé or confront Sophia about Paolo. If there is one thing I’ve learned while getting close to Sophia it’s that I can read her when we are face to face. She has a tell, a tiny twitch in her lip when she is being dishonest. At first, I didn’t recognize it for what it was, but through training, we were subjected to many different scenarios and people and were taught to notice just the slightest of movements and what they mean. After noticing the twitch for a second time on Sophia, I tested it out. I asked her something I knew she wouldn’t give me a straight answer on, and just as I suspected, the top lip lifted ever so slightly.
