Informational plaques in Italian and English explained the cannons’ history. Couples posed for photos against the battlements. The view was spectacular: the curve of the bay, Vesuvius looming dark against the stars, the lights of Naples spreading in every direction.
Two guards blocked a narrow staircase marked “Privato. No Entry.”
They weren’t just fake security. They stood like men prepared for violence, with their weight evenly distributed, hands resting near their weapons. The stairs behind them were barely three feet wide, steep enough that I could only see a few steps before they curved out of sight.
“Twenty-four minutes,” Brooke whispered, checking her phone.
What were we going to do? The deployment site had to be up top.
The terrace walls were maybe ten feet high—climbable, but not quickly. The guards had clear sightlines across the entire platform. There were no crowds to blend into up here, no distractions.
“There has to be another way up.” I strolled toward the edge of the terrace with her, attempting to pass for another couple in search of a romantic photo op.
From here, I could tell the castle’s roof was flat and ringed with a low wall.
Brooke pulled out her phone, but her hands shook so much she dropped it. Cursing, she bent over to retrieve it.
“Brooke.” I turned her to face me. “We’ll find a way up. I’ll get us past them.”
Her jaw clenched, and the look in her eyes made my chest tight. Fear, yes, but also determination. And regret?
“Rav.” Her voice was so quiet I had to lean in to hear it. She reached up and pulled off her mask, those bright green eyes locking onto mine. “Whatever happens, I need you to know—” She stopped, swallowed. “I never stopped loving you. And I never will.”
Before I could respond—before I could even process—she was moving. Not toward the guards, but left, where a man in jeans and a button-down stood near the railing, typing on his phone.
She pulled off her cloak as she walked, letting it fall.
“Owen!” she called out, her voice carrying across the terrace. “Owen, what are you doing here?”
The man’s head snapped up. From thirty feet away, I saw his eyes go wide. He lit up like she was the answer to every prayer he’d ever had.
“Brooke?” He crossed to her in quick strides and wrapped her in an embrace that made my heart stop. His hands splayed across her back, pulling her against him. “Oh my God, you’re here! This is perfect. I heard you were in town, but I didn’t believe it.”
“Trevor Norris told me you started working for a private company, but didn’t say you were in Naples.” She didn’t pull away. Didn’t resist. Just accepted the stranger’s arms around her, while I watched, trying to make sense of what was happening. Every word traveled through the earpiece, ensuring I heard her say, “I would have looked you up!”
“You have to come see what I’ve done,” Owen said, shifting so he held her hand like he had the right. “You won’t believe what I accomplished with our old research.”
Theirresearch?
He started pulling her toward the guards, who stepped aside without hesitation. They knew him. He belonged here. Not here, butup there!
Brooke glanced back once as Owen dragged her up the narrow stairs. Our eyes met, and she mouthed to me,‘I love you.’
Then she was gone, disappearing with a man who’d held her as though he owned her. A man whose voice I’d heard on the radio, counting down to mass murder.
Owen. Whoever Owen was, he had Brooke now.
Chapter 40
Brooke
Owen’s gripon my hand was too tight as he pulled me up the narrow stairs. His palm was damp with excitement or nerves—probably both. Each step took me farther from Rav, but those two guards hadn’t given us any choice. This was the only way through.
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Owen said for the third time. His voice had that breathy quality he got when he was excited about a formula or an unexpected data point. “I thought I was hallucinating. But you’re real. You’re here.”
The stairs opened onto another terrace, just below the roof. The Castel dell’Ovo had so many levels. The wind swept up from the harbor, whipping my hair across my face. I fought to push it back, years of covering the scars on my neck making the action habitual.
This terrace was smaller than the one with the cannons, and the highest anyone could go without scaling the walls to the roof. The whole space was maybe fifty feet square, ringed by waist-high battlements. Eight operatives stood at strategic points, all armed, all watching us. But it was the center that made my breathing shallow.
