Dmitri
The text message arrives at 11:47 PM.
I'm in my office at Nexus, reviewing distribution reports that mean nothing to me right now. My mind keeps circling back to the same dark-haired woman who occupies every waking thought.
Yuri:Saturday. 8 PM. Vittoria Sartori. James Rogers. Dinner at Marchetti's.
I read the message three times. Each time, my grip tightens on the phone until the case creaks.
Marchetti's. The upscale Italian restaurant on Michigan Avenue where Rogers probably thinks he can impress her with overpriced wine and mediocre conversation.
I pour myself a vodka. Yuri calls thirty seconds later. I answer without greeting.
"How reliable is this information?"
"Solid." Yuri's voice carries that particular satisfaction he gets when his plans work perfectly. "Megan confirmed it herself. Heard the arrangements being made this afternoon."
Megan. Yuri's American girlfriend who, through remarkable coincidence, secured a position in the Sartori household three months ago.
The truth is far less romantic than coincidence.
Yuri spotted her at a coffee shop near the Sartori compound six months ago. Young, ambitious, desperate for connections in Chicago's elite circles. She had no idea what she was walking into when the charming Russian with the expensive watch started flirting with her.
He courted her properly. Dinners, flowers, the whole performance. By the time she was thoroughly in love with him, he'd already positioned her to apply for the Sartori job opening. She thinks she's helping her boyfriend with harmless business intelligence.
She has no idea she's a spy.
"What else did she hear?" I ask.
"Apparently, Vittoria agreed without argument."
Without argument.
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache.
"The mother is pushing hard for this match," Yuri continues. "Megan says Aria Sartori has been planning the wedding colors since the proposal came through."
I drain the vodka and pour another. "Rogers has no territory. No soldiers. His family sells cars."
"His family has connections to legitimate business circles the Sartoris want access to. Political donors. Real estate developers." Yuri's tone is careful. "They see him as safe."
Safe.
They think she needs safe. A bland businessman who'll give her a bland life in a bland mansion somewhere far from the blood and bullets that built her family's empire.
They don't see what I see.
Vittoria Sartori doesn't want safe.
She wants to burn.
"What's Rogers's schedule this week?" I ask.
"Working on it. Megan can only access Sartori information directly. But I have other sources tracking him."
I set down my glass. "I want to know everywhere he goes. Everyone he meets. Every woman he looks at twice."
"You think he's dirty?"
