For a moment, I consider taking him into the train restroom and having very awkward, uncomfortable sex with him in that tiny room. It’s exactly what he wanted me to think about, judging by the flirtatious flutter of lashes he gives me.
“Wait until we get where we’re going,” I tell him, grabbing his traveling hand before he can start unbuttoning my pants.
He starts to pout, but it morphs into speculation. “Where exactlyarewe going, husband?”
“I was wondering how long it would take you to ask. You reallymustbe tired.”
He frowns. “We can’t possibly chance visiting Cee and Frank after last night.”
“Absolutely not,” I agree. “But, as you know, I have business in Venice. It seemed like the opportune time to go, and it’s a long way from Rome.”
“Venice.” He smiles. “Perfect.”
He curls up next to me and I pull him close, press my nose into his hair and breathe him in.
“I reallyamvery proud of you, baby bird,” I whisper a few minutes later, but he’s already asleep in my arms.
* * *
When we arrive in Venice,the workday is only just starting, and so we breakfast at a café while I wait for Vitali to organize access to our accommodation. He was still awake when I called, and sounded highly relieved to hear from me.
“All went okay with the contact?” he asked.
“Very okay.” I knew he was wondering about details, but there was no need to give them. Finch did what he did, and no one outside our marriage needed to know about it. Eventually I plan to shout my husband’s praises to the skies, let everyone out there know that he’s just as dangerous to cross as I am, but while we’re in Venice, it suits me better for people to continue underestimating him.
“Well, alright, then,” Vitali had said at last. “Anything else you need?”
I gave him a number of instructions: accommodation arrangements, finding an opportunity for me to approach La Contessa, and finally, a sizable donation to a particular Florentine art restoration company. Vitali expressed no surprise at all, even at the philanthropic gesture. He was getting more and more like Angelo Messina by the day. At the end I added, “And get some sleep after that. It must be the middle of the night there.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “After that last text, Boss, I couldn’t sleep. Glad to hear it all worked out.”
“These things always do. How are things there?”
“Well, nothing we can’t handle, Boss. Al Vollero’s been going around shooting his mouth off. He’s lit a few fuses, if you know what I mean.”
“Has he? Alright. We’ll deal with that situation on my return. Now listen, Vitali—give us three days free and clear in Venice, but then spread it around a little, which town we’re in. Understand?”
“Baiting a hook, Boss?”
“Something like that.”
“Will do.”
Finch, who did not have the luxury of a few hours of pharmaceutical unconsciousness overnight like I did, has been staring into his coffee with fixed eyes for the last few minutes. But when I put my hand on his, he looks up with a troubled expression.
“Youwantthat asshole from the catacombs to find us?”
“Eventually. I have something bubbling in the back of my mind.” Finch shakes his head, frustrated. “What is it?” I ask at once, my hand tensing on his.
“It’s Teo,” he says. “I mean, itmightbe Teo.” He rubs a fist in his eye like a sleepy child. “Christ, I’m tired. What I mean is, someone has to be tipping off the IFF about where we’re going. Last night, while I was trying to think what to do, I realized I’d only told two people about the Colosseum. Teo was one. Tara was the other.”
I nod and then I sip my espresso, and look around the piazza. It’s touristy; I can’t wait to get out of here and experience therealVenice.
“Luca?”
“Well, you’re right. I agree there seems to be a mole somewhere, baby bird. It’s been on my mind.”
“And you think I’ve narrowed it down some?” He sounds bitter. Unhappy. “Because it can’t be Vollero. He didn’t know where we were.”
