Consider me a unique, little fucking snowflake.
Wepner is quick to grab the menu on the table. His gray eyes scan and squint, trying to decipher the Italian.
I'm not sure if the man across from me speaks any other languages. I only know him on a business level and a need-to-know basis.
I first got in contact with Wepner over a decade ago when he was just starting fresh in the FBI. He was younger then and eager to get any leads on any cases he could get his hands on, wanting promotions and bragging rights.
I happily supplied him with information on criminals, and he happily brought them down. One by one.
We have a common goal him and I — make the bad people pay for their crimes.
And what do I get out of our little arrangement? With all of my hard work in presenting criminals to him on a silver fucking platter, he turns the other way on my methods of doing so…and all my other non-law-abiding methods of how I make my own fortune.
With the crimes I've committed to get the information that I've given him and to live the lifestyle I currently do, Wepner could easily have me arrested and locked up for the rest of my life.
So our relationship has been tit-for-tat, so to speak, over the last several years.
I also sell codes and computer software to the government, codes that even their greatest hackers can't come up with. They've tried to recruit the best of the best over the years, but none of them have compared to me.
And in exchange for the government not bringing me in and locking me up…or forcing me to do their dirty work in-house, I provide them with all the information they need to take the biggest fish in the underbelly of the world out.
Agent Wepner continues to scan his menu as he asks, "So why did you want this meeting here instead of in the States?"
"Don't tell me you don't enjoy billing the government for an all-expense paid trip to Sicily."
He chuckles, nods and takes a sip of his water that's been sitting at this table for exactly twenty-three minutes. "Sure, sure. But just so you know, you're paying for my lunch."
"Like always," I remark, grinding my teeth as I stare at the glass of water in front of me. I haven't even attempted to touch the liquid that must be pooling with all sorts of germs and dead skin cells, fibers and maybe even hair.
Just the thought makes my stomach roll, but I force myself to focus on something else while simultaneously fighting the urge to start counting something, anything to get rid of the dark thoughts clouding my mind.
Fuck, I need to just breathe.
And so I do. I take a calming breath, and then I take another. I think about Adeline, her beautiful face and instead fixate on when I will get to see her again.
It's an instant calming sensation that washes over me, and I'm truly beginning to believe that she is the cure for all that ails me.
The man across from me doesn't seem to notice my mini mental breakdown, as he's too busy looking at the menu, no doubt looking for the most expensive thing he can order.
Clearing my throat, I tell him the name that has been rolling around on my tongue for weeks now. "Salvatore Valenti."
Wepner's brows shoot up as he looks at me over top of the tri-fold, laminated menu. "I'm listening," he says cautiously.
"I have enough information to bring down his entire empire including his right-hand man —."
I don't even get to finish my thought before Wepner whispers, "Giovanni Morello."
The waiter appears then, and we both fall silent. Wepner orders the swordfish with a blood orange and fennel salad.
When the waiter looks to me, I tell him in Italian that I'm not hungry, but I will take a bottle of his most expensive wine. That seems to please the young man, and he smiles before taking the menus off the table and leaving to go downstairs to put the order in.
"So you bring down powerful crime syndicatesandspeak Italian. Is there anything you can't do?" Wepner asks with a hint of sarcasm.
"Shake a man's hand apparently," I tell him with a slight grin, which causes the agent to belt out a hearty, deep laugh.
"I think that's the first time you've ever told me something funny…or ever smiled, for that matter." His fingertip and thumb caresses his chin as he studies me for a moment with narrowed eyes. "There's only one explanation for that," he states. "Do you have a new lady in your life?"
I school my features, but keep the smirk on my face. "Women are trouble," I tell him nonchalantly, neither answering nor denying his question.
