“I have done my research, and it seems legit, but it could be.”
“It’s odd timing. You’ve never had to do anything like this with any other job. Assholes attempt to hit our factory and you get recalled to complete one final job. It makes me nervous. I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I, but Jacobi says this guy won’t fucking quit until he finds out who killed his brother. We don’t need any loose ends right now. I’ll take care of him while you meet with Juan Pablo in Cali, and we’ll reconvene in a few days.”
He zips up his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Stay safe, brother.”
“You too.” We slap each other on the back before going our separate ways.
* * *
I text Jacobi as I exit the rooftop building in Mitte, striding briskly along busy Berlin streets, keen to escape the area before the cops show up. I punch out a message confirming the mission is complete and the target is down. Smashing my burner cell under my boot, I toss the fragmented parts in the nearest trash can and make my way toward the closest U-Bahn station.
I get off the subway twenty minutes later in Friedrichshain, heading on foot the rest of the way to my apartment in Kreuzberg. Nightfall is descending, and the streets are less crowded here. Most Berliners are inside the eclectic mix of hippy bars and chic restaurants or spending their Thursday night at home with family or friends.
I have apartments stashed all over Europe, but my Berlin place is my favorite. Kreuzberg is just outside the main tourist center, and it has an authentic vibe I love. It’s local and central without the transparent commercialism of the more popular areas of the city.
I’m surveying my surroundings as I round the block toward my apartment and contemplating ordering takeout when a person with a familiar voice shouts a warning at me. “Get down, Massimo!”
Despite my utter confusion, I don’t hesitate to heed my wife’s words, dropping to the ground as a succession of shots whizz over my head. I’m like a sitting duck out in the open, but I’m fucked if I’m going to lie on the ground while some dickhead takes potshots at me.
Whipping my Glock from my waistband, I spring to my feet as more shots dart by, embedding in the wall behind me. Pain flares across my upper left arm as Catarina yells more commands for me to stay down. I fire blindly across the road in the direction of the gunfire, which appears to be coming from behind a large white van parked illegally at the curb.
My wife comes into view as she surges forward, running up the sidewalk, followed by Ezio and Ricardo and two other guys I don’t know. The traffic lights change, and a stream of traffic flows down the road, slightly blocking my view. A short, stumpy guy I recognize takes off running as my wife gives chase. Frustrated I have no clear view to take him down, I run along my side of the street, ignoring the blood pouring down my arm and the horrified looks of the young couple I race past as I hurry to keep pace with my wife.
ChapterThirty
Massimo
The traffic clears, and I run across the road as I watch Catarina throw herself at Ivanov from behind, tackling him to the ground. I reach the curb in time to see her plunge a syringe into his neck, and his limbs turn instantly floppy.
“What the hell?” I ask, my eyes seeking hers as she checks the sniper’s pulse before turning to her men, blatantly ignoring me. “Carry him to Massimo’s apartment. Do it fast and discreetly,” she adds, quickly scanning the street as she straightens up. It’s empty except for that couple I passed who are staring at us with ill-concealed shock. “Handle that,” she tells Ezio. “Make sure they understand how dangerous it would be for them to breathe a word about what happened here.”
“Catarina,” I snap through gritted teeth. “What the fuck is going on?”
“You got shot,” she says, still avoiding answering the goddamn question. Concern splays across her face as she tugs my shirt from my pants, cuts a strip from the end of it with a knife, and ties it firmly around my injury. “Let’s get you cleaned up, find out what this idiot knows, and then get the hell out of Dodge.”
Sounds like a smart plan. “You can’t deflect forever,” I say, giving up for now. We need to get off the streets ASAP. I can question her when we’re safe.
She grabs my good arm, checking left and right before guiding me across the road. “There will be time for questions and answers later. Right now, we need to deal with this situation.” She leads the way to my apartment building, stepping aside to allow me to input the code. It hasn’t escaped my notice she knows where I live.
The door automatically glides open, and she nods for Ricardo to enter first, quickly followed by the two goons carrying a comatose Ivanov Rankov. There is no lobby or receptionist in this building—one of the reasons I purchased an apartment here. However, thereisa camera—another reason I bought in this building. I will need to take care of that, along with the street cameras outside.
The men scout the area while I stare at my wife. She looks hot, dressed all in black, and I know it’s her signature battle look while white is the armor she wears to the boardroom, so to speak. “You were following me,” I surmise as she threads her fingers through mine and steers me into my own damn building.
“Yes. I knew you were hiding something.” A beatific smile graces her delectable mouth. “I had no idea it was this. You have truly taken me by surprise and it’s not often people do that. I have so many questions.”
Her eyes gleam with excitement, and it does something funny to my insides to not only have her readily accept this part of my life but to get a kick out of it too. “As do I.”
She nods, squeezing my hand. “We will have time to share our truths later.”
The elevator pings as it arrives, and we pile inside first with the men following. The instant the doors close, I smash my lips against my wife’s, kissing her hard. “Thank you,” I say, reluctantly tearing myself away. “You saved my life.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Her expression is a strange mix of confused, relieved, and happy.
“If you hadn’t followed me, I would be dead.”
“How can you say that so calmly?”
