I roll over and reach across the sheets, fumbling for warm flesh. It’s well past dawn. I know that much because we were still going at it like rabbits as the sun rose. Finally, we’d both admitted defeat. I don’t think I’ve ever been outfucked by anyone.
I like it.
I’m still fumbling, though. No velvety skin within grasp. I raise my head and frown down at rumpled sheets. There’s no platinum-haired wildcat curled in them. Not even a wet spot to prove it all happened…
Fuck, Caraldi! Bareback all night?
We didn’t use a condom. She’d shrugged it off when I raised the issue. I guess by the time I had the sense to think about it, I’d already come in her twice. Probably on the Pill. Still, I should probably schedule a check-up when I get back to town. No telling who was there before me.
Jesus, I’m an idiot.
I sit up and slide out of bed, heading to the small bathroom adjoining the room.
Not there, either.
But when I turn to scan the room, I see my sweatpants folded over the back of a chair. I hadn’t put them there last night. They’d been kicked aside on the floor somewhere. Her clothes are nowhere to be seen, however.
“Ah fuck,” I mutter, knowing what I’m going to discover before I even search through the pockets. They’re empty. My wallet’s gone, along with my credit cards. Worst of all, she took my goddamn ring.
Surprise fucking surprise.
What was I thinking? I could see she was bad news from the moment I laid eyes on her. Anger burns in me. Treacherous little bitch. The credit cards are irrelevant, but that ring…
I had it made from Mama’s old jewelry.
The plain gold ring is worth barely anything…except to me. I’d melted down the pieces she hadn’t sold to survive – the delicate cross and chain, the fine little signet ring – and I’d made a solid band I could wear in memory of her. I’d engraved her initials inside. An engraving that’s had to be refreshed more than once thanks to my habit of twisting the ring on my finger. It’s all I had left of her. Even the Russians had the good manners to leave it untouched in my billfold.
Now some fucking skank is probably pawning it as I stand here.
I fling the pants aside and stalk to the bathroom, stepping beneath the sputtering shower to wash away the scent of her.
I’m in the foyer in 15 minutes, scowling at poor Betty, who’s clearly flustered.
“I’m s-so sorry, S-sir,” she stutters. “Your companion left two hours ago. I just assumed—”
“It’s fine,” I mutter, turning back to the stairs that lead to my room. It’s not fine. But it’s not her fault. That’s all on my shoulders. And a little silvery waif who I stupidly trusted.
Did I really trust her, though?
“Check-out is at 11 a.m., Sir!” Betty calls after me cautiously.
“Whatever. I just need to make a call.” I’m still shaking my head in frustration as I leave the reception. More at myself than anything else. When Mario picks up my call, I can almost hear his anxiety crackling down the line.
“Please tell me you’re ready to leave now,” he says sharply. “It’s all I can do to keep Mr. Dario and Mr. Mateo from coming to you themselves.”
“Tell them to hold their fucking horses,” I growl. Though I’m as anxious to get out of here as they are to find me.
“They’re worried, boss. About you. And…something has come up.”
“Fuck.” Of course, something’s come up. Something’s always up. “Can it wait?”
“Not long. It’s the branding on the new merchandise. It’s labeled for Sevastopol.”
Goddammit. We never discuss business on the phone, but I guess these circumstances are unusual. What my 2IC is cryptically telling me is that my latest gold shipment has been hijacked by the fucking Russians. What the actual fuck!? The motherfuckers seem determined to make my whole damned life impossible right now.
“I’ll deal with it as soon I get in. When can I expect you?”
“We’ll be there in two hours, boss,” he answers smartly.
