“In my line of work, you accept it as a hazard of the job.”
“How long have you been a contract killer?” she asks, and I sense every set of ears listening to our conversation.
“I told you I trained with some mercenaries for two years after I graduated Oxford. When I left Nepal, I did a couple of years with the US Army. Spent time honing my skills in Afghanistan and Iraq and creating a stellar reputation I used when I left to establish myself as a sniper for hire. I recently retired on my eight-year-anniversary to focus on my family duties.”
“Yet you came back here to do a job,” she says as the doors open and the men check the hallway leading to my apartment.
It’s clear, and we walk behind them as we talk. “I had no choice. I was told the brother of the man who was my last hit was coming for me. I did my research, and it seemed legit, but I knew there was a chance it was a trap.”
“They lured you back to Berlin to take you out,” she correctly surmises as I unlock the door to my apartment. “Why?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.” I open the door, letting the men do a sweep of the apartment before allowing my wife to step foot inside.
They take Ivanov to the living room while Catarina trails me to the bathroom. I remove the medical repair kit from the wall-mounted cabinet, gritting my teeth as pain shoots up and down my arm. Blood drips between my fingers onto the cool white tile.
“Sit,” she commands, taking the kit from my hand and gently pushing me down on the closed toilet seat. Using her knife, she cuts my shirt away, leaving me bare-chested. “I wondered how a playboy adventurer got so many scars on his body,” she says, dabbing rubbing alcohol against a cotton pad. “Guess I have that answer now.”
“Another hazard of the job.” I hiss as she cleans the wound. “This isn’t the first time someone has tried to take me out. The Ghost is legendary, and there are always assholes trying to steal my crown.” I grind my teeth and dig my nails into my thigh as she carefully prods around my wound.
“I heard you were called The Ghost in our circles because you were always missing from the action, and it’s widely known you rarely attendedmafiosoevents. I had also heard of the contract killer, The Ghost, but never in a million years would I have thought you were one and the same.” She peers into my wound, frowning as she says, “It’s fucking genius. Hiding in plain sight.”
I flash her a grin as pride swarms my chest. “I always got a big kick out of that. No one would’ve suspected it was me, and I have kept my identity a closely guarded secret. I am known within sniper circles, but there is a code of honor among us. We never divulge real names to outsiders.”
“It’s not just a flesh wound,” she says, telling me something I already know. “I can see the bullet.”
“You’ll have to pull it out.” I extract the tweezers and hand them to her. “If that won’t work, use your fingers.”
“It will hurt like hell.”
“I know.” I pull out the miniature whiskey bottle and down the entire thing. “Do it. I don’t have time to go to my doctor, and I can’t risk showing up at a hospital.”
She gives me no warning before digging her fingers into my wound and rummaging around. I bite down so hard on my lip I draw blood. “Fuck,” I hiss through clenched teeth as I dig my nails harder into my thigh.
She doesn’t talk, solely focused on her work. “Got it,” she says a couple of minutes later as more blood streams from my arm.
“Thank fuck,” I say as she tosses the shell into the sink. She hands me a second mini bottle, but I shake my head. “I’ll take some pain meds. I need to keep my wits about me to interrogate that prick, cover our tracks, and get us out of here.”
“I have a plane ready and waiting, and I can organize transport to the private airfield as soon as we’re ready to leave.”
“Good.” I nod. “Tell your pilot to log a route to London.”
“Why London?” She uses a wet cloth to wipe all the blood from my arm.
“The guy who set this up is there on business right now. I need to pay Jacobi a little visit.”
“He’ll know you’re coming as soon as he discovers the dickhead in the living room failed.”
“Which is why I’m sending a crew to detain him for me.” I look at the wound. “Can you clean that again so I can stitch it?” She cleans it thoroughly and holds my skin together as I stitch it up.
“You’ve done that before,” she says when I’m finished.
“Countless times. One of the skills I picked up in the army.” I stand, kicking the remnants of my shirt aside as I pull her into me and kiss her. “I should be mad at you for spying on me and following me when it was obvious it was dangerous, but I can’t find it in me to hold on to my anger.”
“I’m glad I was here, and that I chose not to trail you on the metro. To drive straight to your apartment. If I hadn’t, I might not have realized what was happening in time to stop it.” A shudder works its way through her. “You nearly died, Massimo.” Her warm hand lands on my chest. “It scared me.”
“I’m alive.” I kiss her. “You’re alive.” I kiss her again. “And I’m going to ensure that’s the way it stays.”
“Weare,” she corrects me, and I smile.
