by Mari Carr
They brushed their teeth. When Leila started to rip through her hair, grimacing a little as she did, Karl took over, carefully brushing it out and then braiding it.
“Where did you learn to braid hair?” Leila asked. “I thought you only had brothers.”
“On one of the digs I did in grad school, we—myself and the other grad students—were sitting on the roof, drinking and talking about life skills. I said I didn’t know how to braid. One of the women taught me.”
“You must have practiced,” Leila said, admiring the neat braid he’d made. They went into the bedroom.
“I did, on them.” Karl wiggled his eyebrows at Leila. The sound of her soft laugh relaxed him.
Antonio cleared his throat. “I don’t think we can go like this.”
They were all butt-naked.
“Closet,” Antonio pointed to a set of double doors.
The clothes they’d worn yesterday were in a dirty heap on the floor. Any reservations Karl might have had about taking and wearing a stranger’s clothes were smaller than his desire not to put anything back on that he’d been wearing yesterday.
They were clearly staying in the master bedroom of what was probably a vacation home, or a rarely used residence. The massive walk-in closet was set up in three distinct sections—perfect for a trinity—and empty except for a few pieces of clothing hanging in protective plastic casings, one in each section. Leila opened one bag and let out a little laugh.
Apparently, this was the residence they used when they came to the opera. Everything was formal wear.
The admiral of Hungary had two wives, based on the clothing. One set of women’s clothing was elegant and conservative. The other set was just as elegant, but younger and far more daring.
Karl hopefully held up a slinky black dress with thin straps, holding it out to Leila. “This is nice.”
“That is a foundation garment,” Antonio said.
Karl and Leila looked at him. He pulled on a pair of pants that were too big around and about a foot too short for him. He sighed.
Leila laughed. “I still want to know how you know what this is. Are you sure you don’t have a deep-seated desire to wear a frilly skirt?”
Antonio shrugged on a shirt. “My sister and mothers dress well. Mention the skirt again and I’ll kill you.”
Karl hung the little black not-dress up and accepted the pants and shirt Antonio thrust at him. Leila went through all the garments twice, then sighed and pulled on a pale-green dress that fell to her knees and was longer in the back than the front. The straps were made of crystal beads, and the dress had almost no back, save for a few more beaded straps that crisscrossed over her shoulder blades and hung in draped swags over her lower back.
He and Antonio were both staring at her in admiration. She really was beautiful.
She looked down at herself, sighed again, then grabbed the last dress shirt out of the men’s section and pulled it on over the top of the dress, rolling up the sleeves several times. The tails fell almost to the hem of the dress.
“How long has it been?” Leila asked.
“Fifteen minutes,” Antonio said.
“Oops.”
Karl hooked an arm through Antonio’s, then took Leila’s hand. “Whatever happens, we stay together.”
Leila looked up at him. “Yes. We…we belong together.”
Antonio swallowed and looked away.
They left the dubious safety of the bedroom and headed downstairs.
The fleet admiral was waiting for them in the formal parlor. The rug was an antique, there were real oil paintings on the walls, and the furnishings were beautiful. It wasn’t as nice as the safe house in Venice, and wasn’t even in the same realm as Villa Degli Dei, but it was lovely.
The fleet admiral looked like a bull in a china shop.
He paced across the room, stopped, turned, and went back the other way. Despite the good size of the room, he was across it in four paces.
When they entered, he turned, his scowl melting as he took in their attire.
“I’m sorry. Did our big fucking crisis interfere with your season tickets to the opera?”
Antonio—who looked ridiculous in the too-short pants—crossed his arms. “You wanted to see us?”
The fleet admiral threw one hand in the air. “Yes, I just wanted to stop by, maybe have coffee and hang out.” Each word was lower than the one before, until the fleet admiral was growling.
“We don’t have any coffee,” Karl deadpanned.
Leila turned and pressed her face into his arm, shaking with suppressed laughter. Antonio smiled, but quickly wiped the expression away.
Eric pinched the bridge of his nose. “You three had clear instructions. Stay together.”
“We have,” Karl pointed out.
The fleet admiral looked at him, and the look in the huge blond man’s eyes was not reassuring. Antonio took a half step forward, putting himself between Karl, Leila, and the fleet admiral.
“Stay in Venice. Stay out of the investigation.”
They said nothing.
“Get some damned therapy.”
“We did that,” Leila said quietly. She stepped away from Karl, and in front of Antonio. “I’m the one you want to yell at. I killed Ciril. You wanted him alive, and I killed him. I’d do it again.”
“You think I’m going to yell at you for shooting him?”
“I had other options,” Leila said.
Her fingers were trembling. Karl came up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders and pulling her back to rest against his chest. Antonio stepped beside them.
Eric watched them in silence.
“I could have gone with him. That’s what he wanted. Maybe I could have gotten him to leave Nyx, though he said he would take her too. He’d make me watch…”
She was shaking, and Karl had to close his eyes and fight to force back his own memories of watching helplessly as Ciril beat her.
Antonio’s arms came around them, and the dark memories retreated.
“You could have gone. Played along. Trusted us to find you,” Eric said after a moment.
Karl opened his mouth, ready to tell the fleet admiral to go fuck himself.
“If you did something that dumb, I would kill you myself,” Eric finished.
Karl’s protest died.
Eric scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Our best lead is dead—nice shot by the way. Half of Bucharest is on fire. Good men and women are gone.” He looked up. “The only good thing about this clusterfuck of a situation is that Ciril didn’t succeed. What you’re talking about is sacrificing lives—yours and Nyx’s—for the ‘greater good’.” He snorted. “Which is bullshit. You did what you had to. You did what was right.”
“Thank you, Fleet Admiral,” Leila said.
“And once you have healed, I’m going to beat the shit out of all three of you for disobeying orders.”
Karl was sure he was kidding. He was mostly sure he was kidding.
“Now. Sit down. Walk me through it.”
“You should talk to Grigoris,” Antonio said.
“Yeah, thanks, that hadn’t occurred to me. Goddamned bossy Italians. You’re as bad as your father. I talked to Grigoris. He’s a fucking mess. Blames himself. Now sit.”
They sat. For the next hour, they told and retold the story of the previous day. There were things Karl was hearing for the first time. It was hard to listen to Leila talk about what had happened in that alley. He wished they’d been there.
When they finished telling the story for the third time, the fleet admiral went back to pacing.
“The bombs are a problem.”
“They usually are,” Karl pointed out.
Eric rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Lord protect me from academics. I thought Josephine was a pain in the ass… The bombs are a problem because there’s no evidence that Ciril knows how to make one.”
“The mastermind,” Antonio said.
“I really hate that fuck
er.” Eric suddenly looked weary. “If anyone is to blame for what happened, it’s me. I sent out the security alert. It was a calculated risk and a challenge. I wanted him to know that we were no longer going to fuck around just looking for the Domino. Whoever he is, the mastermind is either highly placed in one of the territories or has hijacked our encrypted communications. Last night was a declaration of war.”
Karl felt ill. Blindly, he reached out for Antonio and Leila. They took his hands.
Eric looked at them, and an expression flickered across his face—regret, maybe.
“I don’t know if you three are still a target. The mastermind had multiple game pieces on the board—all the fuckers running around calling themselves the apprentice. Ciril. I think it’s safe to assume the mastermind himself isn’t the bomber, but that he has a pet bomber the way Ciril was his pet serial killer.
“It may be that, with Ciril dead, you three aren’t a target. If we’re right that you two were targeted because of your travel plans, then there would be no reason for you to continue to be a target of any of the mastermind’s other pet psychos.”
“You’re gambling with their lives,” Antonio said.
“I would be, if I didn’t make plans to protect you, but I am. You’re all going to have surveillance and security. Just in case, I’m going outside the organization for help. Your new security details will meet you here later today and stay with you when you go home.”
The fleet admiral rose, looked at them again. His voice was soft when he said, “You can have a bit more time together.” He nodded, then started to walk out of the room.
“Fleet Admiral,” Leila called out. “Do you have a minute?”
Antonio looked at Leila, and though he wasn’t sure why he knew, he knew what she was about to say.
What she was about to ask.
He and Karl shared a look, and then both got to their feet.
Eric turned at the door. “What is it, Ms. Virtanen? I have a car waiting outside to take me back to the airport.”
“Leila,” Antonio said, placing a hand on her arm. “Let me.”
Eric’s narrow-eyed gaze landed on him. “Get on with it, Starabba.”
“My father has formed my trinity.”
“I know.”
Antonio considered that, recognized from the fleet admiral’s tone that he wouldn’t stand in the way of the union.
“Don’t invite me to the wedding. I hate weddings.”
Leila made a move as if to interject, but Antonio put a hand on her shoulder.
If Eric approved of his father’s choices for his trinity, and would confirm it, then Antonio had already lost the only things that mattered to him—Karl and Leila. “I respectfully request that you set the trinity aside.”
Eric sighed, and it occurred to Antonio he was unsurprised by the entreaty. “You understand that trinities are formed by the admirals of each territory based on what is best for the Masters’ Admiralty. Members aren’t given a choice and,” he glanced at Leila and Karl, “emotions do not come into play.”
Antonio forged on. “I don’t think it’s a good match.”
Eric crossed his arms. “I don’t give a shit what you think.”
Karl stepped forward, frowning, clearly ready to step in to defend him.
Antonio raised his hand to hold his lover back. “Sir—”
Eric raised one hand, cutting him off. “These are difficult times, Antonio. We are at war with a faceless, nameless villain who is brutally murdering our people. I need you in Rome, need people I trust in positions of power.”
Antonio was surprised—and pleased—to hear that the fleet admiral trusted him. That feeling evaporated when Eric continued.
“You will be admiral of Rome one day.”
Antonio started to shake his head. That was a job he did not want.
“That’s not open for debate,” Eric said.
“My sister is better suited for that role.”
“Was. She’s now married to the admiral of England, which takes her out of contention.”
“If what you say is true,” Karl interjected, “then Antonio will need strong partners, people who understand the workings of the entire society. Giovanni has chosen his son’s future wives based on strengthening his power and wealth in Rome. Would the society not be better served by a trinity that is…” Karl took off his glasses, absentmindedly cleaning them with his shirt. “Worldly?” he said at last.
Eric appeared to consider that. “It’s an interesting argument. I agree that the Starabbas have enough wealth and power in Rome.” Eric rubbed his jaw, and Antonio thought the man looked tired. It was clear he took the responsibility of this office seriously. Members were dying on his watch, and the Viking was the type of man who didn’t accept failure—in others or himself.
“Very well,” Eric said at last. “I will dissolve your current trinity.”
Antonio hadn’t realized how heavy the weight pressing on his chest had been until it was lifted away.
Then he considered his father’s response to having his orders challenged and dismissed. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. Father had raged over Sophia’s marriage for days, that anger only abating when her husband, Arthur, was made admiral of England. He would regard the fleet admiral’s actions as a personal slight, something Eric no doubt realized.
“Thank you,” Leila said, smiling. “You won’t regret—”
Eric’s eyes narrowed. “Do not misunderstand. The three of you will not be placed in a trinity together.”
Leila frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense. You heard Karl. It would be better to form trinities between territories. We’ve become too splintered, each territory looking out for its own best interest. That won’t help us as we try to uncover who the mastermind is and bring him to justice.”
Karl agreed. “The union between Antonio’s sister Sophia, James, and Arthur has already forged stronger relationships between Rome and England. And you just allowed James’s cousin, Cecilia, to marry a man from Castile and one from Hungary. The precedent has already been set.”
“I did not wed Sophia to the British men; that was my predecessor. Nor was Cecilia’s marriage meant to last; that was a strategic error on my part. One I don’t intend to repeat. I’ve set no precedent. I meant what I said about keeping the people I trust in place. Ms. Virtanen, I need you in Kalmar, and Dr. Klimek, you are needed in Germany.”
“Fleet Admiral—” Antonio started.
“No, Antonio. The three of you take some time, get whatever this is out of your systems. Then I expect you all to return to your homes.” He turned back for the exit.
Antonio made one last appeal. “Eric. Please.”
“My answer is final. And it’s no.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Antonio was the last to reenter the room they were sharing. None of them had spoken since the fleet admiral’s decree that, while he no longer had to marry Rosa and Viola, he wouldn’t have Karl and Leila either.
That was devastating enough without confirmation that, if and when his father stepped down, he was in line to become the next admiral of Rome. Technically the decision was made by the conclave of admirals, but usually the territory recommended someone, and the fleet admiral could also put forward suggestions. An endorsement from the fleet admiral weighed heavily in the decision. If Eric put his name forward—given his last name and relationship to Giovanni—his future was virtually decided.
Leila drifted over to the window, glancing down at the quiet street below. He doubted she was seeing much.
Karl had pulled out a chair in front of the small writing desk in the corner. He’d turned it to face the room, but like Leila, he was silent, lost in thought.
None of them wanted to be the first to speak, to admit how much the fleet admiral’s decision hurt.
Karl rubbed his forehead, his brow furrowed. “There has to be some way we can convince the fleet admiral—”
Antonio shook his head. “No. H
is decision is made.”
“We would be a good trinity,” Leila said, not bothering to turn to look at them.
“We knew…” Antonio started, unable to finish his thought. They knew they wouldn’t get to choose. They knew when they’d joined. He’d never regretted becoming a member of the Masters’ Admiralty, never had one second of doubt that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
Until now.
Leila sighed, then moved away from the window. “I don’t regret anything.”
Karl gave her a sad smile. “Neither do I.”
Antonio reached out his hands, both of them walking toward him to take them. “You are the best thing in my life. That will never change.”
They shifted closer, and he kissed Leila, then Karl. Then Antonio watched as they shared a kiss.
“What now?” Leila asked.
Antonio knew the answer to that, but he hated to say it. “I go home. I tell my father I won’t marry Rosa and Viola.”
Karl winced, the response so comical and accurate, Antonio laughed.
“We’ll go with you,” Leila offered. “I’m pretty sure I don’t have a job to go back to, so there’s nothing holding me back.” She glanced at Karl. “Of course, I know that you—”
“I’m going back to Italy too. We’re going to steal as much time as we can,” Karl said, placing a soft kiss on her cheek.
She cupped Karl’s face fondly. “Maybe we can steal forever.”
Forever, Antonio thought.
I’ll take it.
“Antonio? May I enter?”
Antonio stepped out of his walk-in closet, frowning. He must be hearing things. His father wouldn’t have come to his bedroom. His father didn’t seek people out. He summoned them to his office, his seat of power.
And yet his father stood in the door, the very picture of patriarchal elegance. He must have come from an event of some kind because he wore formal black and white. With his dark hair and silver beard, he looked striking and regal.
“Admiral.” Antonio set aside the pile of clothes he’d pulled out for Karl. The few clothes and toiletries Karl and Leila had—all of which they’d taken to Bucharest—were lost when the safe house exploded.
