As I walk, I run through everything I’ve done these past few weeks. Interrupting the family dinner is a huge mistake, everyone knows that, but my lieutenant had his phone off and without his go-ahead, we wouldn’t have been able to organize seventy-three crates of product in time to meet the ship before it left.
At the time, a reprimand for interrupting dinner felt like a safer risk than losing my life over missing a delivery that large.
Did I make the wrong choice?
I reach the door and lift my fist to knock, but before I can make contact with the wood another guard darts out of the side hallway and knocks for me.
Several seconds pass, then a loud voice booms from inside. “Enter.”
The guard opens the door for me and waves me through without saying a word.
Keeping my chin up, I stride past glass cabinets filled with detailed, ornate items worth more than my life, a carved marble statue of a naked Greek woman, and several bookcases heaving with volumes that look like they haven’t been opened in decades.
Don Guido Paramatti sits behind a desk almost as wide as the office, resting against a backdrop of three large bay windows overlooking the extensive gardens and woodland surrounding the estate.
At a glance, it’s a foolish place for such a powerful man to sit, but I respect it.
The glass is surely enforced to an extreme standard, and he’s showing the world and his enemies that he’s untouchable.
I stop a foot away from his desk, my hands clasped together at the small of my back and my stance wide but respectful.
“Sir.”
Guido doesn’t look up at first.
He’s engrossed in something on his computer monitor.
The reflection in the glass is warped, like trying to read something written on stone at the bottom of a flowing river.
Yet another subtle precaution Guido uses.
A few clicks and he faces me with both hands on the desk. “You’re Falco Tierney, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You saved my daughter’s life.”
“Just doing my job, sir.”
“Ah.” Guido lifts one hand, pointing at me. “But it wasn’t your job.”
“No, sir. My apologies if I overstepped, sir.”
Guido’s jaw moves back and forth, sending his beard twitching as if he’s searching for something stuck in his back teeth. “They tell me you have a military background.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long?”
“Almost two decades.”
Guido whistles softly. “I served some time myself. My father thought it would toughen me up. Two decades. That’s impressive. You’ve got some balls.”
My tongue lifts to the top of my mouth while he speaks, and I direct the tip over each tooth in turn. Back and forth I weave, waiting for the inevitable reprimand.
“If I took you down to the dungeon, how long would it take for me to get all the details of your tours?”
“You wouldn’t, sir.”
