She lifted a hand to her mouth as she yawned, Ernesto’s song and the solidity of Christophe’s shoulder under her head conspiring to make her sleepy. Maybe she was just rationalizing. Trying to find a way around the guilt associated with accepting such a way of life.
With wanting to be part of it.
Then again, she didn’t need an excuse. She’d decided long ago that nothing would keep her from him.
27
“I can’t believe you came,” Luca said to Nico.
He shrugged. “You asked.”
“I’m sorry,” Christophe said. “None of us wanted to bring you back into this. We wouldn’t have called if it wasn't important.”
“I know how you feel about New York, and it’s going to hell in a handbasket,” Luca said.
They were alone on the terrace, half the candles burned out on the table, the others barely flickering. The women had gone to bed, taking the children with them. The clatter of Carmen and Lucia cleaning up in the kitchen traveled onto the terrace.
Nico touched his wine glass. “Got anything stronger?”
Farrell grinned. “Do I have anything stronger? I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared for a couple minutes, then returned carrying a bottle of Macallan’s and four glasses. He held the label out for Nico. “Will this do?”
“That will definitely do.”
Farrell poured a healthy dose into each glass and handed them to each of the men. “To protecting what’s ours.”
“Protecting what’s ours,” they said in unison as they clinked glasses.
They sat in silence, savoring the Scotch and the silence. Christophe had only met Nico a couple of times in the past. He’d found Nico to be overbearing and controlling then, and he was surprised to discover instead a quiet strength that had eluded him the precious times they’d met. It was impossible to say whether it was a newly acquired character trait or one that Christophe had simply overlooked in the past, but Christophe found himself warming to the other man in spite of his previous reservations.
“I made some calls on the way over,” Nico finally said. “Did some digging in New York.”
“And?” Farrell prompted.
“They’re seeing the same thing you’ve seen in London and Paris, although it’s been difficult to get a clear picture given the lack of leadership there.”
“So they’re taking out the financial infrastructure and the informants there, too?” Luca asked.
Nico nodded. “Looks that way. And it might be too early to tell, but it seems like there’s a pattern to it all.”
“What kind of pattern?” Christophe asked.
“They took out people on the lower levels first. More recently it seems like they’re attacking the middle,” Nico explained.
“Any word on whether Raneiro is actually there or if he’s calling the shots from another location?” Farrell asked.
Nico hesitated. “There are rumors, but nothing I can confirm as of now.”
Christophe leaned forward. “That’s an important piece of the puzzle. If we know he’s in New York and we can figure out who his next target is…”
“We can cut off the head of the snake,” Farrell finished.
Christophe nodded. “Exactly.”
“That’s the only way any of us are going to be free of Donati,” Luca said. “I mean, who the fuck would have thought the bastard would survive that shooting in Rome?”
“He went down,” Nico said. “I saw it with my own eyes. Multiple gunshot wounds. He must have been wearing a vest.”
Farrell drained his drink. “I’m going to get him between the eyes this time. Make sure there’s no rising from the dead for that bastard.”
“First things first,” said Christophe. “We have to find out where he is.”
“How much time do you think we have?” Luca asked.
Nico seemed to think about it. “London and Paris have both been badly crippled, their financing infrastructure severely compromised. New York was already vulnerable. When that falls, I’d say it’s over.”
“How long?” Farrell asked.
“A few days,” Nico said. “Maybe a week.”
Christophe tried to imagine everything he’d worked for gone in a week and couldn’t. Of course, there were safety precautions in place. Money stashed in several numbered accounts overseas. He assumed the same was true for the other men, including Luca. He’d certainly advised Julien to prepare for the worst. He would never lose what he had. The estate on Corsica was secure for future generations of Marchand offspring. The house in Paris — all its renovations, all its furnishings and art — were bought and paid for.
Still, something nagged at him. It took him a moment to realize it was Donati. The man was vile. The worst kind of criminal.
The kind with no conscience, no honor.
Letting him rebuild the Syndicate would be a return to a savage business model. One bent only on profit. Child pornography, sex trafficking, identity theft of everyday citizens… none of it would be off the table. Nico had been the turning point for many cities in the Syndicate. A kinder, gentler organization. Some would disagree, but he had been the first to take those income streams off the board. Farrell and Christophe had followed, and while Christophe wasn’t in close contact with the other bosses, he had to assume Nico’s model had trickled to them as well.
One look at what was happening now made it clear that Raneiro would take them back fifty years. Execution-style killings in the street, private citizens as collateral damage, money as the ultimate false idol.
Christophe shouldn’t have cared. And yet he did. Maybe it was Charlotte: the prospect of building a life with her, making a family, wanting the world to be a better and safer place for them.
Maybe it was just pride.
Whatever it was, he didn’t want Raneiro in charge. And that meant they had to take it all back. This time for good.
“I think we should consolidate our reporting,” he said, breaking the silence. “I’ll draft a report detailing the hits to Paris and the surrounding areas. I’ll include a timeline of events either proven or likely to be traced back to Raneiro. If you do the same for London and New York, we might be able to find some rhyme or reason to what he’s done so far. And that might help us figure out what he’s going to do next. That will give Nico time to collect more intel from his routes in New York.”
Nico nodded. “It’s a good idea. Raneiro doesn’t act haphazardly. There’s a method to his madness. We just have to find it. I’m betting a pattern emerges if we cross-reference the timeline of destruction in all three cities.”
“We’ll have to act fast,” Farrell said. “Otherwise I say we head for New York and start killing people until we find him.”
Nico chuckled. “While that method has a certain appeal, we’re outnumbered. We have to be smart.”
“I like smart,” Farrell said. “I like hurting assholes like Raneiro even more.”
“No one wants him more than me,” Nico said. “He almost killed Angel in Rome. Almost killed…” He caught his breath, like the words were hard for him to say. “Almost killed Stella before she was born."
“We’re going to take him down,” Luca said.
Farrell lifted the bottle of Scotch and poured a little more into each glass, then lifted his in the air. “To taking that motherfucker down.”
They clinked glasses and drank.
28
Charlotte came around from the side of the house and started another loop around the property. It would be her fourth time around, but still she felt an excess of energy wound tight under her skin.
It had been two days since they arrived, and she hadn’t been outside the property’s walls once. She shouldn’t have minded. She was surrounded by lovely people, ensconced on a picturesque property with bucolic scenery, wonderful food and wine, plentiful time to read.
But while Jenna, Isabel, and Angel were busy with the children, Charlotte found no outlet for the nervousness that bu
ilt inside her by the day. She’d read an entire book the day before, had helped with the children and in the kitchen, had explored every inch of the estate. Julien and Leo had arrived the day before, and the men had been holed up in Farrell’s study, comparing notes on the events in each of their cities, trying to find some kind of pattern that would lead them to Raneiro’s next move. He’d offered to let her sit in, but she felt like a third wheel, and she had nothing useful to add anyway. It was better to give them space.
Which left her with her laps of the property. She’d even considered borrowing a pair of running shoes and going for a jog, but she knew security wouldn’t allow her into the surrounding woods alone, and she didn’t want everyone else to think she’d gone mad circling the property.
She looked up as a figure left the house and made its way toward her. A minute later she recognized Julien, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. She slowed down as he approached.
“You should take up work as a property surveyor,” he said when he’d almost reached her. “You’ve covered a lot of ground.”
She laughed and they both started walking. “Cabin fever, I suppose.”
“You might be the only woman I know who wouldn’t relish two days of rest and relaxation.”
“I’ve watched Angel, Isabel, and Jenna,” she said. “They are definitely not resting and relaxing with those children.”
He grinned. “Point taken.”
“You’re right though,” she continued. “I have it easy by comparison, but I can’t seem to get rid of all this nervous energy. I’m not used to being in one place for so long, I suppose.”
He nodded. “You and Christophe have been on the move since you met.”
“That’s true, and I have to admit I’m not used to so many people, however lovely they all are.”
“That’s right,” he said. “You’re an only child.”
She looked up at him, momentarily surprised. “How did you know?”
He blushed a little. “Job requirement.”
She punched him playfully in the arm. “Did Christophe make you do a background check on me?”
He shrugged. “It’s standard. He has a lot to lose.”
“I’m not after his money,” she said a bit too sharply.
Julien stopped walking, touched her arm. “Hey.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, running a hand over her forehead. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I know you’re not after Christophe’s money. No amount of money would be worth what you’ve been through to be with him. And it’s perfectly natural to be on edge right now. We all know something’s coming, and hanging around here like a sitting duck, feeling helpless, is no good for that.” He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and dangled them in front of her. “Which is why I brought these.”
She looked up at him. “Keys?”
“Car keys.”
She smiled. “Is it allowed?”
He laughed, and she suddenly saw him the way other women must. Saw how beautiful and open he could be, how much he would have to offer the right woman. “You’re not a prisoner here.”
“You’re sure it’s okay?” she asked.
He sighed. “Are we going to spend all day talking about it? Or am I going to bust you out of this place?”
29
They took one of the Rovers and left the property with no one the wiser. Charlotte had to resist the urge to cheer as they sped down the long drive and out the gates. Then they were free of the compound on the road to Florence.
She rolled down the window and let the cool November air fill the car as Julien navigated the winding roads. She breathed it in, free for the first time in days, then felt guilty. Should she have asked the others if they wanted to come along? Would they be angry that she’d left without them?
Then again, traveling into the city with two carloads full of women and children would present a significantly different security risk, and she couldn’t imagine Farrell or Nico allowing it. She would make a point to bring something back for Jenna, Isabel, and Angel, and for the children, too. In the meantime, she would enjoy the freedom.
Less than an hour later, they were moving through the streets of Florence. She and Julien exchanged minimal conversation, but it wasn’t at all awkward. He had a calming air about him, and she remembered his story about the house that had caught fire. He’d mentioned a sister, and she wondered if he’d been a good brother. If he’d looked out for his sister and protected her. She wouldn’t have been surprised. He had the same effect on her, and she wondered if his sister knew how lucky she was to have such a good man in her life.
They parked next to the curb in an old part of the city. Julien came around to her side of the car. She caught a glimpse of the gun holstered at his side as he opened the door. It was a reminder that she was in a new world, one where anything was possible. Still, it was hard to imagine danger on the horizon on a day like this. One where the sun was shining over the storied city of Florence, the air crisp with the promise of Fall, and Christophe was waiting for her back at the house. Everything else — the fire at the store, the damage done to Christophe while he was held captive, the looming presence of Raneiro Donati — suddenly seemed very far away.
“I’d offer to get lost,” Julien said, “but that would be pushing it with Christophe, even for me.”
She laughed. “It’s fine. I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t.”
They made their way through the narrow streets of the city, stopping in small boutiques, galleries, and gift shops as the spirit moved them. She picked up a package of sandalwood incense for Angel, an antique hair clip for Isabel, a rosemary-scented candle for Jenna, and boxes of hand-dipped chocolates for Carmen and Lucia. An old fashioned sweet shop proved the perfect place to shop for the children, and she chose individual mixes for each child, careful not to go overboard in case their mothers objected.
When they were done shopping they stopped at a tiny pizzeria for lunch, then ducked through the wide doorway of an old church nestled between two shops. It was empty, candles flickering from the altar at the front of the nave.
They approached the altar in silence, each of them picking up one of the long matchsticks. The light flickered across Julien’s face as he struck the match, and she turned away to light her own, wanting to give him privacy.
She wasn’t a religious person by nature, but there was something sacred about the ritual, and she lit one of the candles, then closed her eyes and thought of Christophe and Farrell and Nico, Luca and Julien and Leo. She asked whatever gods might be listening, whatever machinations might be at work in the universe, to watch over them and keep them safe in the coming days.
When they were done they took a seat halfway to the back. She looked around, taking in the graceful columns and archways on either side of the pews, the giant gold candlesticks holding candles, the narrow windows leaking light far overhead. Behind the altar, a cross rose toward the ceiling, Christ seemingly resigned to his fate, head bowed in submission. It was quiet as a tomb, and the old stone seemed to breathe with the life of the thousands of people who had sat within its shelter seeking comfort and guidance.
She didn’t know how long they sat there before she caught Julien’s eye. He gave her a smile, and they rose to leave, both of them blinking against the sun as they stepped out onto the streets of Florence.
“Is there something else you’d like to do before we go back?” he asked.
She smiled. “I feel so much better. Thank you for this, Julien. Really.”
“It was my pleasure. I think I needed it, too.”
She hadn’t considered the possibility, but it made sense. Christophe and the other men at Farrell’s compound were men of action. As hard as it must be for Charlotte to remain cooped up, worrying over what was next, it had to be infinitely harder for them. They were under attack and Raneiro had backed them into a corner, forced them into hiding to plot and plan. He was an invisible enemy, at
least for the time being, and one who had even managed to mobilize Christophe’s own brother against him. She would try to be more patient when they went back. Less selfish.
They returned to the car and headed out of the city. They had entered the first long stretch of country road when she saw Julien’s gaze pull to the rearview mirror. HIs jaw tightened, and she knew instinctively that something was wrong.
“What is it?” she asked.
He hesitated, his eyes still on the mirror. “I think we have a tail.”
She turned around, immediately spotting the black Humvee behind them. Whoever it was wasn’t trying to be subtle; it was obvious they were tailgating.
“But… I thought Farrell had contacts in the city? People who were keeping him informed if Raneiro came back?”
“He does,” Julien said. “I doubt that’s Raneiro, but he has long-standing ties in Italy. It’s got to be someone working on his behalf, someone Carolina Barone missed.”
“What do we do?”
“Hang on,” he said, making a hard left that sent them careening onto a smaller, dustier road.
He sped up, trying to put space between them and the Humvee. But the other vehicle closed the distance fast, revving the engine and creeping up close enough to tap the bumper of the Rover.
Except it didn’t feel like a tap. The whole frame seemed to shudder, and Charlotte reached out to brace her hand against the glove compartment.
Julien reached over and pushed the button on the glove compartment. He removed a handgun and held it out to her. “Take it.”
“I… I can’t.”
“You can,” he said. “You will.” She hesitated and he shouted at her. “Goddammit, Charlotte! You want to be with him? This is what it is. Now take that fucking gun.”
She took it. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
Rule: Paris Mob Book Three Page 11
