Indignant is more like it.
It makes sense, however, that Remus picked this neighborhood as his hideout. Lots of people come and go around here, giving him the perfect cover. Well, almost perfect. Finding him wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for Maksim Novikov, the Bratva’s head of security.
Peering down at the phone in my hand, I keep to the shadows of an apartment building, squinting from the incessant sun. Yep, this is it. The place Remus is seen walking in and out of every few days.
I have to give him credit for making it so hard to pinpoint the apartment number, though. Turns out, he sent an entire familyto Sicily to set up shop in their home, an unconventional route to stay hidden. Usually, you’d expect a rental or an abandoned something no one gives a fuck about. Then again, those are usually the first places you’d look for a man like him.
Checking my surroundings one last time, I pick up the coin Cecilia gave me and flip it in the air once.
Heads.
Looks like I’ll buy her peonies, not lilacs, when I get home. Not because I want to prove something, but because she deserves it after letting me memorize every delicious part of her.
I think that to myself, yet something rages at the falsehood of the thought. I want to buy her flowers just because—that’s the simple, honest truth.
I stop by the entrance, aware of the cameras tracking me—Maksim already watching from his office in Alemont. The green LED on the keypad flickers and then disappears entirely, as if the system has stepped away from itself.
The door opens at my pull, unlocked. I take the stairs to the second floor, walking like I have nowhere urgent to be, until I reach the empty apartment next to Remus’. I already have a key, so I slip inside like a regular tenant. By the time the system downstairs shifts back on, Maksim will have wiped me from the cameras altogether.
A faint smile sketches my face. I’d forgotten the thrill of these break-ins. I’ve always been better at walking into danger than waiting for it to knock. Last time I did this, I was breaking into a shrink’s office, eager to sniff out the secret Antonio desperately wanted to hide.
As I spot the doors to the balcony, my thoughts go back to yesterday, when a flicker of my wife’s memory appeared out of nowhere at the breakfast table, taking her mind by storm. I fucking loved how she sought me out for comfort, even though she was still angry from the night before.
Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about what remembering might do to her.
She’s strong, yes, but if anyone understands how torturous demons of the past can be, it’s me, and I hate that one day soon, she might have no choice but to confront her own.
I crack my neck, perching on the balcony’s balustrade and jumping to the one next door. Here, I don’t waste any time being out in the open, so I slide the glass doors and enter the apartment.
My thumb brushes the earpiece secured in my ear. “I’m in.”
The place is a fucking mess.
It looks as if the family living here was dragged out into the streets in the middle of the day and forced to evacuate. Which, I imagine, is exactly what happened.
Sketchbooks, paint, and brushes clutter the coffee table, kitchen counters, and couch. The portrait of a young woman stares back at me from the corner of the room, half-finished.
The other side of the room is different. Controlled.
A bunch of papers stacked together on an office desk tells me where to look first. I don’t know this Remus guy much, but when you’re born in chaos, you either grow up to be a menace, or you cling to order like it’s a teddy fucking bear. This might very well be the desk he uses to coordinate the behind the scenes of Antonio’s business takeover.
I run my fingers across the pages, a bunch of Italian words scribbled down.
Bingo.
A satellite view of the San Maleno estate appears, and then another one, of the entire coastal town, a few alleys markedwith words likeentrata,uscita, and what looks like numbers identifying groups of people. Soldiers, perhaps. I take pictures of everything, sending them to Maksim for translation.
As I flip through the pages, a smaller note slides out, landing at my feet. A list. Stooping to pick it up, I find two of the names are crossed—Massimo Bellini being one of them—indicating the twoCapiAntonio mysteriously lost before I married Cecilia.
I rake my frowning eyes down the page, scanning the uncrossed individuals. The paper scrunches in my hand from how hard I’m gripping it, but the second I realize Cecilia isn’t mentioned, I relax.
So he’s not after her, then. Good.
After all, she’s not the one who abandoned him. Antonio is. For all I know, though, this guy could be fucking crazy, so getting confirmation he isn’t targeting my wife is a big plus.
“Found any dates?” Niko asks in my earpiece. I snap a final picture, turning my attention to the cork panel on the wall.
“It’s not like he’s going to leave that kind of information out in the open for us to find,” Rodion protests.
