Scarlett’s eyebrows lifted. “Syria?”
Before I could explain, Rav called to her, “Scarlett, we need your input on the extraction routes.”
“On my way.” She gave me a quick smile and headed back to the briefing with her mug.
I lingered in the galley, watching the team work. Percival was fully engaged now, deep in conversation with Rav and Scarlett at the map. Their movements were synchronized, efficient—three professionals who knew exactly what they were doing.
The chain of command was there—Scarlett was obviously the lead. Defined roles, though? From the introductions yesterday in their boardroom, they had those, too. Maybe working with them wouldn’t be so different.
I sipped my coffee, still unable to stop staring at Rav. The confidence in his posture, the authority in his gestures. Heaven help me, it was all too familiar. Too appealing.
How could it not be?
He was the last man who’d looked at me like I was attractive. Whole. Like I was something worthy of a man’s attention. For the first couple of years, every time I touched myself, I’d imagined it was his hand. His tongue.
Then another man tried to step into Rav’s place. Owen. Things had started well between us, but once it got serious, he’d instead confirmed that no one would ever want me again.
I’d never forget his eyes. The way they’d bulged when he slipped my shirt over my head.
How he’d looked away and told me to put the shirt back on.
I’d warned him ahead of time, but instead of making love to me, Owen had suggested plastic surgery.
The briefing broke up, but Rav and Percival remained at the screen. The two big men mirrored each other, folded arms, occasionally pointing at the map, nodding thoughtfully.
Percival’s scarsdecoratedhis arm. Sure, they messed with a few of his tattoos, but they didn’t change his life. They were war wounds—something to show off and boast about how tough he was.
My fingers curled around the top of my turtleneck, pulling it higher.
Would you ask me about plastic surgery, Rav? Would you recoil and tell me to put my shirt back on?
Chapter 9
Rav
I guidedour small Audi SUV through a final turn on the winding coastal road, the weathered villa coming into view ahead of us.
Beside me, Scarlett lowered her phone. “Brie’s got the team in Halifax on standby for comms checks once we’re inside.”
“Good.” I glanced in the rearview mirror to ensure Malcolm was paying attention and not still brooding about being relegated to the backseat with Emmett. Behind us, Zac’s vehicle followed close behind with the rest of the team.
We’d said goodbye to Percival at the airport, so he could travel on his own and not bring attention to us. Brooke’s reluctance to stay with us—with me—had been evident in the tight set of her shoulders.
The villa sat on elevated ground beside an olive grove, its faded rose-colored exterior contrasting with the rich green foliage surrounding it. A pair of wrought-iron gates stood open, framing a small stone courtyard. I pulled to the side of the road, absorbing the advantages of the location. High degree of visibility in all directions, elevated position, and limited approach routes. One road in and out.
“Not bad,” Malcolm murmured as we stepped out. “Private, defensible.”
I nodded, taking in the arched doorway and stucco walls with enough chips missing to give it character, but not enough to be run-down. The November air was mild, carrying the subtle scent of the nearby olive trees and the sea, barely five hundred feet from us.
The villa’s door opened, and a tall, dark-haired man stepped out to greet us. He moved with effortless confidence, dark eyes bright with interest as he took in our group.
“Benvenuti!” He approached Scarlett, who was in the lead as always. His smile widened. “Tell me you are the Scarlett Reynolds my cousin spoke of.” He leaned in to kiss Scarlett’s cheeks in the traditional Italian greeting, his hand lingering on her arm as he pulled away. “He failed to express your beauty.”
Malcolm stepped forward immediately, hand jutting out.
Mario’s smile didn’t falter.
“Malcolm Sharpe,” he said, his voice carrying a subtle edge. “Scarlett’s fiancé.”
