It didn’t take long for reality to set in. For the high to fall, and for them to realize just how hard it was to make things work. Weeks would pass without seeing each other, sometimes months. Deep cover missions didn’t allow for any contact with loved ones, semi-regular check-ins with the Unit the only thing letting them know the other was still alive.
Death was a real threat in their line of work, and there was no telling if the next mission would be their last.
Romantic dealings were frowned upon between agents, but when Bishop found out about them, he never reported it to the Director. Maggie suspected he saw things coming to an end before they did.
Eventually the pressures grew too much and they went their separate ways. They didn’t talk for a while, but that didn’t last long. Somewhere over their time together, their young, carefree love had developed into something much deeper. Stronger.
They always found their way back to each other. And when they did, it was like they had never parted. When Maggie was in Leon’s arms, he made her feel like she was home. With him, home wasn’t a place. It was a feeling, and she longed to return there.
Maggie stared at him behind her glasses and her chest grew tight. Leon was always honest with her about how he felt, and she braced herself to do the same.
“Look,” she said, “I know we agreed that we’re better off as friends, but–”
“Ms. Sterling,” called an approaching voice. Isabella sat down next to Leon, her cheeks flustered and strands of hair jutting free from her ponytail. She wore no makeup, and bags hung under her sad eyes.
Maggie placed her hand on Leon’s knee under the table. Her confession would have to wait. Molding back into Rebecca, Maggie gave her full attention to their inside contact. “Isabella, how are you?”
“I’m fine,” she said, fooling no one.
Maggie couldn’t tell if Isabella was acting, or if she really was upset over Carlo Rossi’s death. Her show was very convincing, even by Maggie’s standards. “Carlo’s dead, I presume?”
Isabella nodded and bit her lip, like she didn’t trust herself to speak.
Leon eyed Maggie and she returned a slight nod. “Did you come by the boat you picked me up on yesterday?” she asked. They couldn’t talk freely sitting there, and Maggie had questions.
“I walked,” said Isabella. “Things are understandably up in the air, and I’ve only now been able to slip out. I can’t stay long.”
“Then what have you come to tell us?” Maggie used Rebecca to be short with the woman. There was something about Isabella that led her to suspect her grief was real. Maggie raised her guard and scrutinized the woman as she spoke.
“Stefano requests a meeting with you,” said Isabella.
“Stefano?” asked Leon.
Isabella gave a weary nod. “He’s taken his father’s place.”
“That was quick.” Maggie wondered if the son had grieved his father at all.
“He needs to establish himself as the new don before anyone thinks to usurp him.” Isabella fumbled with her fingers. “It’s his birthright, after all.”
Maggie leaned forward. “When and where does Stefano want to meet?”
“The Antico Martini restaurant at Campo Teatro Fenice after the orchestra. The theater is dedicating tonight’s performance to Carlo’s memory. The whole family is attending.” Isabella’s eyes glistened at the mention of the man she’d spied on for six years. “He loved attending and donated a lot of money to them over the years.”
“Stefano doesn’t suspect my involvement in his father’s assassination?” Maggie asked. After all, he was shot at their first meeting. The idea must have crossed Stefano’s mind that Rebecca may have had something to do with it.
Isabella shook her head. “We suspect it was the Marino family.”
Maggie narrowed her eyes. “We?”
“Stefano does,” corrected Isabella. “They made threats about their plans to take over Venice. It appears they carried through with them.”
Maggie leaned back in her chair and tapped the table. “What about Peter West? Could he have arranged it? Carlo was meeting me about a counter offer. Perhaps he felt Carlo betrayed him.”
“Carlo never told anyone about the meeting,” said Isabella. “Peter didn’t know.”
“He must know now, given how the meeting ended.” Maggie studied Isabella as the woman winced at the mention of her subject’s death. Her unease grew.
It was possible Isabella was simply worried about her safety now that Carlo was dead. He respected her, but his son didn’t seem to view her in the same light. Either way, Isabella needed out. Her handler should have done it the second they learned Carlo was dead. Bishop would have gotten Maggie out if she found herself in the same situation.
“Stefano has already spoken with Peter on the phone,” said Isabella. “He plans to meet him, too.”
“He means to start a bidding war?” Maggie guessed.
“Yes.”
It seemed Stefano didn’t hold the same values as his old man when it came to loyalty. It was a good business move to lock two interested parties in a bidding war. But Stefano dealt within the criminal underworld, and sometimes a good business move could also get you killed. Especially if one of the parties felt disrespected.
“And what about you?” Maggie asked Isabella. “I got the impression there was no love lost between you and Stefano.”
Isabella cleared her throat. “He’s asked me to remain his assistant for the time being. At least until all of Carlo’s affairs are in order.”
Whether it was an act or not, Maggie couldn’t stand to sit there and watch Isabella mourn the death of a crime boss any longer. Men like him infected beautiful places like Venice, spreading pain wherever they went. They didn’t care who got hurt from their shady dealings, or the lives that would be ruined from their supply of cocaine and heroin. Syndicates like the Rossi family were a living, breathing plague.
“Anything else?” Maggie asked.
Isabella made to say something but stopped. “No.”
Maggie dug in Rebecca’s Louis Vuitton bag and dropped some Euro’s on the table to cover the bill. “We’ll see you tonight.”
Getting up, Maggie left Isabella at the table and walked down the street without another word.
“Where are we going?” Leon asked when he caught up to her.
“To get you a tux.”
“Why?”
Stefano was attending a show in his father’s honor, and some of the city’s heavy hitters would be there to pay their respects. Maggie couldn’t put her finger on exactly what, but something wasn’t sitting right. There was more to it, and she intended to find out what.
“We’re going to the orchestra.”
Chapter 9
Getting last minute tickets to the orchestra hadn’t been an issue. The Gritti Hotel owned a private box for their high-end guests, and Guido was more than happy to arrange their attendance.
Maggie checked herself over and ensured the knife hidden above her ankle was stored tight. Ready to go, she stepped out the bathroom and went to the lounge where Leon waited for her.
She wore a red jumpsuit in line with Rebecca’s taste and styled it with a gold belt and matching clutch bag which contained her Beretta. The jumpsuit allowed the kind of movement a dress wouldn’t. A deliberate choice, given how things went yesterday.
Leon stood by the windows, taking in the spectacular view. He turned around when he heard her and his eyes widened. “You’re breathtaking.”
Maggie couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. “You scrub up well yourself.” The black tux was cut just right for Leon’s large frame, the formal wear mixing well with his rugged features. “That bow tie could use some help though.”
Leon undid the tie and started another attempt, but she stopped him and took over.
“I’m used to clip-ons,” he admitted.
Wearing a full tie was usually a bad idea for an agent. You never knew when you’d find
yourself in a fight, and a long tie was the perfect leverage for an opponent to choke you. Bow ties weren’t as dangerous, and Maggie stepped close to him to fix it around his neck.
Their bodies touched, and Maggie peered into his deep brown eyes as she worked.
There was so much she wanted to say to him, and while she may not hesitate to jump rooftops or dodge bullets, her courage crumbled when it came to talking about how she felt.
When it came to him.
They couldn’t be together; they both knew that. She’d almost fallen into their usual trap earlier, ready to bare all to him and ask for another chance to make things work. It hurt every time things failed, cutting deeper than any wound she’d taken from an enemy’s blade. Yet it hurt more to be apart. To deny her feelings and try to move on.
Maggie pursed her lips. Some things were better left unsaid. “There you go.”
“Thanks.” Leon tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing along her jaw. He caught himself and pulled back, straightening his jacket. “Ready?”
Maggie nodded and they left the suite, the tension between them thicker than the humid nighttime air that teased at another hot day to come.
The Teatro la Fenice was only a short walk from the hotel. Maggie and Leon strolled along the path with the mass of tourists, walking through the streets and over the bridges connecting the fragments of the sinking city together.
The world-renowned theater sat landlocked within San Marco, surrounded by art galleries, the San Fantin church, and numerous restaurants. Including the one where they were to meet Stefano after the orchestra.
People stood outside the front entrance, dressed to the nines and awaiting the call to be seated. There were more locals than what Maggie suspected was usual, most of them there to pay their respects to the dead Mafioso.
Leon offered his arm. “Shall we?”
Maggie complied. It would help them blend in with the other attendees. Or at least, that’s what she told herself. They walked up the stone steps and entered the foyer.
Most attendees waited inside, the hum of chatter bouncing off the rose marbled walls and high ceilings. Royal red carpet led upstairs to the theatre, and extravagant crystal chandeliers twinkled above the guests, casting glittering light over the room.
Somber faces mixed with the excited ones of the tourists, the latter unaware they were mingling with some of the city’s unsavory elite.
Heels clicked behind Maggie, and she and Leon turned to see Isabella. She was dressed in a mournful black dress, the fabric covering her figure from neck to wrist. “Hello, Ms. Sterling,” she said, her smile forced. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I wanted to pay my respects,” said Maggie.
“I appreciate it,” came Stefano’s voice. He stepped from behind them, dressed in a black suit with Angela on his arm. She, too, wore black, her dress covered in sequins that glittered under the chandeliers. Sadness etched over her beautiful features, striking even in her sorrow.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Maggie said to the pair.
“Thank you.” Stefano nodded, but he didn’t look half as mournful as Isabella. Someone called him from across the room. “Please, excuse us.”
“I’ll see you after the show.” Maggie watched Stefano and his daughter greet a group of attendees who’d just arrived. She turned her attention back to Isabella. “Stefano looks real cut up over his father’s death.”
Isabella led them away from the crowd, hiding behind a marble pillar, and lowered her voice. “Stefano can’t show any signs of weakness.” Isabella nodded across the room to a group of stern-faced men huddled in the corner. “Those men over there are the Marinos. The one in the middle is their leader, Enzo. The two beside him are his brothers, Franco and Jovanni.”
Maggie ducked her head around the pillar to get a better look. The three brothers were far younger than Carlo, but Enzo, the oldest Marino, looked about Stefano’s age. The siblings were flanked by five other men: large, brutish figures with dark eyes and faces that promised even darker intentions.
Maggie studied their features. Was one of them the shooter?
“Why are they here?” Leon asked.
“To show off and gloat over what they’ve done,” said Isabella. “They know Stefano won’t do anything in front of so many people. Coming here tonight is an open display of defiance, and Stefano won’t have any other option than to retaliate.”
“They’re starting a war,” Maggie said, taking note of the room. Enzo and his brothers’ presence wasn’t going unnoticed. Attendees spoke in whispers and stole glances over their shoulders at the men, looking between them and Stefano.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” said Isabella. “I only hope it doesn’t spill onto the streets.”
“Sounds like Carlo won’t be the only dead member of the mob soon.”
Isabella flinched, and Maggie clenched her hands around her clutch, keeping her face neutral in case they were being watched.
“You know,” she said, pulling Isabella in for a hug and whispering in her ear, “for someone working against the Rossis, you sure seem to be taking Carlo’s death hard.”
Isabella pulled away. “I won’t deny that part of me grew to care for the man during my six years undercover. Outside of his business, Carlo could be kind and fair, and he treated me well. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten exactly who and what he was or why I’m risking my life to take down his family. Instead of worrying about my allegiances, perhaps you should focus on your job and secure the deal before the night is through.”
Isabella shot them both a glare, gritting her teeth. She spun on her heels and stormed off to return to Stefano’s side.
“We need to watch that one,” Maggie said as a gong rang through the foyer to call for the attendees to take their seats.
She and Leon joined the crowd, and a member of the staff led them upstairs to their seats. The private box sat four people, but Rebecca requested for her and her guest to be the only patrons for the evening. They took the two seats at the front and waited for the show to begin.
Maggie had already checked the layout of the theater before coming, just in case. The trouble spies must have gone through to obtain such information before the internet didn’t bear thinking about. Now, a quick search online gave Maggie access to the theater’s blueprints. She’d made a mental note of all exit routes and counted them off in her head.
“It’s like we’ve stepped into the past,” Leon leaned on the booth’s bannister to get a good look at the intricate facade.
“It was all done this side of the century. The theater burned down in the nineties, for the third time, and everything had to be restored.” According to the theater’s website, at least.
The reconstruction succeeded in creating the ambiance of the old theatre, designed to resemble the nineteenth century incarnation which was built after the first fire. The name of the theater was no coincidence, la fenice meaning ‘the phoenix.’
The ceiling was painted in a cornflower blue and framed by a gilded filigree design, like golden Burano lace. The lacework travelled down and encompassed the stage, running along the boxes and the gallery above. Below them, the rows of crimson seats filled up on the ground level, anticipation dancing through the room.
The crowd clapped as the lights dimmed, and the ninety-eight members of the orchestra walked out onto the stage.
Maggie was much more interested in the audience than she was the musicians. They were one row up and four booths to the left from the royal box. The seats of honor offered the best view in the house and looked directly at the stage from above the main entrance to the theatre.
Blood red curtains draped on either side of the seats where Stefano sat with Angela by his side. Neither of them clapped when the conductor entered, Stefano too busy staring across the theater to his right.
Maggie followed his gaze to a box halfway down the row where the Marinos sat. Enzo shot a brazen smile Stefano’s way.
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br /> “Peter West is here.” Leon nodded to the row of boxes below them and over to the left.
Maggie brought the brass binoculars provided by the theater to her eyes and narrowed in on the man. He looked just like the picture in his file: well-built, bulbous nose, bald head. Two people sat behind him, but darkness cloaked their faces as the conductor led his orchestra into the first number.
The song opened with the melancholy cry of cellos, the minor keys resounding through the entire room thanks to the amazing acoustics. The tiny hairs on Maggie’s arms stood on end as the violins joined the procession.
She turned her attention back to the Marinos, getting a closer look with her binoculars. The brothers were deep in conversation, none of them paying any attention to the delicate music enveloping around them.
The conductor picked up the tempo as the woodwinds and brass joined the fray, offering a balance of rich and bright tones to compliment the lush strings.
Maggie crossed her binoculars to the royal box; Stefano stood by the door, stabbing his finger into the shoulder of one of the men standing guard, his lips moving in rapid succession. The men nodded and left. Stefano slammed the door shut behind them and returned to his seat.
The percussion section entered in a crescendo, the timpani rolling like thunder, the marimba skipping like rain. The conductor swooped his arms high then flourished them downwards as symbols crashed as the storm reached its peak.
Moving to Peter West, Maggie spotted him watching Stefano with narrowed eyes.
The music was wild now, erratic and thrashing out in bursts of anger and panic that coursed through the room.
“Something’s wrong.” Maggie could taste it in the air. Feel it in her bones.
Leon straightened in his chair. “What?”
Maggie shook her head. “I’m not sure.”
Leon took the binoculars and zoomed in on their people of interest. “Stefano isn’t happy.”
“Neither is Peter West.”
Maggie checked on the Marino brothers, who watched the angry Stefano with stone faces.
Vendetta Page 5
