“Stunning.”
He strokes his goatee with his thumb and index finger only. “I can’t imagine anyone believing you’re something other than a capo.”
I smirk at him, keeping my gaze veiled. “Haven’t you heard? I’m a wine merchant here with plans to view some vineyards and possibly purchase them. I heard they are the most profitable and contain the best soil.”
“Ha! You would put a man in that expensive dirt before you’d grow grapes, that is for certain. Your reputation precedes you.” He spreads his arms wide and looks heavenward. “My country may not be anything close to the vastness graced to the US, but we have culture. And that, my American friend, is something you know nothing about.”
I tilt my head and lift a brow. “Touché.”
He wags a finger at me and grins. “Cheeky bastard. I like you. Let’s discuss the terms you’re looking for, and quickly so that we may drink. It is more fun anyway.”
The negotiations are long and comprehensive.
Fontaine may act like a peacock, but underneath his pomp and circumstance, he’s truly a vulture. There’s no doubt in my mind he’d peck at my remains and clean his teeth with a shard of my bone if I didn’t hold my ground and offer opposition. I’ve underestimated an adversary before, and I’m not about to repeat that error in judgment. He puts on a good show, and it offers a false sense of security.
Then it’s my turn to impart deception when he mentions Emilia’s father.
Fontaine shifts his stance, eyeing me closely. “You know Caruso’s my supplier, yes? He brings me an amazing assortment of girls, and they are sold before they even arrive on my shores, hence the need for more protection. This is why I want your weapons.” He thrums his fingers on the railing, the light from a nearby lamppost catching the smooth surface of the ring he wears. It’s a signet one, much like the one in my family. It’s passed on to the firstborn of each generation, but we lost the right to wear it when my father changed our identities. I was so young I don’t even remember it or our old names.
Tristano does, and he wears the ring despite the risk it carries.
I dip my head in acknowledgment, training my focus on the dangerous man before me. “Yes, I do. But you already knew that, as well as the fact I married Caruso’s daughter not too long ago.”
Fontaine’s lips twitch. “I was insulted when I wasn’t invited to the wedding. I love a reason to celebrate and drink. Or just drink.” He laughs, and the creases around his eyes deepen, but he still watches me carefully.
When I grin, it’s with a slight edge to it. “The wedding happened quickly because we didn’t want it to be a huge ordeal. Caruso and I were able to come to terms, and that’s the long and short of it.”
“Well, I hope you’ll enjoy Paris and all her splendor, since this is like a honeymoon for you. We should toast to that.” He snaps his fingers and spouts rapid French to one of his men, who leaves and returns with two tumblers and a decanter. After pouring two generous glasses, he hands the crystal bottle over to the bodyguard. “Here,mon ami,” Fontaine says to me in English, his arm extended. “Let us drink to your marriage.”
I lift my hand and nod in his direction. “Salute.”
“Santé.”
Not a drop of alcohol touches my tongue until I verify Fontaine’s swallowed a portion of his. Once that happens, I take a healthy swallow of the cognac. It wards off the cool night air and burns underneath my skin, but nothing compared to the way Emilia makes me hot for her. For the umpteenth time I have to remove her from my thoughts.
However, she’s brought back to my attention by fate.
Who happens to be a bitch.
Both mine and Fontaine’s cell phones ring at the exact same time, and all my senses, though already on alert, go full throttle. He dips his head at me, and I do the same, pulling my mobile device from my pocket. An unknown number isn’t uncommon in my line of business, but a freezing chill stabs me at the sight of it.
I answer and press the phone to my ear, then wait. If someone calls me, then they’ll certainly talk, because this number is private and unable to be traced.
“Silvestri,” says an unfamiliar voice. “Bonjourand welcome to France.”
“You have me at a disadvantage, but I assume you’ll rectify that by giving your identity?”
A masculine chuckle sounds, and my irritation skyrockets. “I have it on good authority you are meeting with Charles Fontaine concerning a cache of weapons. Am I correct?”
I clench my jaw to keep from cursing. This motherfucker isn’t saying who he is or what he wants. I can do that as well. “Depends.”
“Hmm… That’s true. And what I do to your wifedependson you.”
If time can stop, it does. If I can live without breathing, it happens.
Someone has Emilia.
The stranger’s words are a poison that spreads through me, coating me with sickness and slowly killing me. With this comes the warming of my blood, and it turns my veins to tiny rivers of molten lava. This scorching heat erupts into a fury that burns with the need to exact death and vengeance.
