Yaroslav pulled out a small card and a pen, quickly scribbling something on the card.
“Kareem Fadel.”
“What?”
“The man in charge of the manor, Kareem Fadel,” he said, slipping the card toward me. “Go to that address tonight at nine o’clock. You’ll find the woman who wants to meet with you. She’ll also have some intel on this Kareem fellow.”
I watched him carefully. “Are you playing a game, Yaroslav? I’m pretty sure you know better than to mess with me.”
“That I do, is why the intel she has on Kareem is another small favor I owe her.” His lips curled. “You’re welcome.”
I didn’t take my eyes off him as I got to my feet, swiping the card from the table. “If I find out this is a trap, you won’t live to see ten o’clock.”
He scoffed. “Always with the threats, this one. Is why is never a pleasure doing business with you, Faizan.”
Ignoring his comment, I turned away from him and walked out of the office, wondering who the hell this woman was, and why she wanted to see me.
My phone buzzed again, and I pulled it out, checking the text I’d received.
Upper:
Um… Zahra? Why the fuck did my system just log a facial-recognition hit on Enrique Daniels currently stepping out of a hotel in North Macedonia?
Shit.
Upper:
Who the hell are you meeting?
For fuck’s sake.
I started typing the lie as my brain spat it at me. Sending it quickly.
Me:
I was shocked too. He sent his associate, I guess. I’m out though, and I’ve got a name. Kareem Fadel. Run it through ur systems. Be with u soon.
CHAPTER THREE
Zahra
“So the man is an Arab philanthropist,” Upper said, reading from his tablet. “And he takes it to the next level. This guy participates in, like, twelve to fifteen volunteer projects a month. People love him.”
The short let was warm, the ceiling fan creaking as it rolled, doing little more than stirring the smell of burgers and beer around.
Dog snorted. “Let’s hope he loves people, too, because now that Marino has booted us out, he’s our only in for getting into that manor, and getting that cursed painting,” he said, biting into his burger, half listening to us and half concentrating on the telenovela currently playing on the TV at a low volume.
I was no better, my mind was split between the card burning a hole in my pocket, and the man I refused to think about.
Milk let out a sigh from her position on the couch as she swallowed the burger she’d taken a bite of. “It still baffles me to think that we’ve been traveling the world looking for this painting, and it never even left the mansion. It’s like the most obvious place it could have been, and we didn’t even think of it.”
“Bloody quest twists. They’re never fun,” Upper said.
Who could the woman be? How does she know me? Why did she want to meet? Why am I trying so hard to block off thoughts of Elio? Why am I upset?
“Zahra.”
Should I have said more in that interrogation room? Tried toexplain to him that what he thought happened wasn’t what happened? What would have changed if I had done that? Would we still be in Milan?
