That is, until Tommaso follows behind me and catches up to walk by my side.
“Why poppies?” he asks.
My heart squeezes in my chest. “They were her favorite.”
It’s quiet as we reach the gate, until he speaks again. “How did she die?”
I stop right at the gate and my body goes tense. “A fire.” It’s the only thing I can say. It’s true, but it’s not the whole story.
His eyes scan up and down my body again, as though he’s looking for something. “That explains some of your scars.”
“Do not look at me,” I huff and continue walking. I pull out my phone and begin to arrange for a car to take me to the airport.
I don’t intend on helping Tommaso get back to Italy in any way, shape, or form, but when he gets into the back of the car with me, I don’t stop him.
It’s quiet on the drive to the airport, and I almost hate it. The silence is uncomfortable and gives me too much time to think about everything.
For a second I’m back there, in the fire, listening to the screaming of not only my wife but all the others in the room. In the building.
The roaring of the flames.
Then Tommaso’s voice breaks through all of it.
“How often do you come back here?” he asks.
My brows furrow. “Why are you asking so many questions?” I ask in return. “Should you not be asking about the Bianchis instead of me?”
His eyes remain out of the window to the right of him, his arm on the side of the door. “Screw me for trying to make a car ride more enjoyable.”
“I am not getting into your business, stay out of mine,” I sneer at him.
He turns to look at me finally, gaze hot. “I’ll do whatever I want.”
I stare back at him, and we continue to look at each other, waiting for the other to break—until the car finally stops at the airport. We’re forced to look away from each other and get out of the car.
It’s going to be a long flight.
We part ways after the flight back to Italy. Not a single word spoken to the other. I’m curious about how we’re going to plan a meeting to talk to one another when we haven’t exchanged information, but my wonder is quickly replaced by irritation the next day when I get a text from an unknown number.
I want the information today.
“And I want a billion dollars,” I mumble to myself as I lay in bed, shirtless and staring at the ceiling above my phone.
I sigh.
The agreement I made to work with him isn’t exactly some contract signed in our blood, but I know if I don’t keep my word, I’ll regret it. My other only option at this point is to take him out to get him to leave me alone, and I don’t need the entire Dresvanni family on my ass. I’m here to take down the Bianchis, and until that’s over, that’s all that matters.
I need to keep my head on straight.
After a moment of contemplation, I text him back.
Meet me here.
I send him the address to one of the safe houses up top, then I haul my ass out of bed and get dressed. Not the uncomfortable, black, tight outfit I wear when I’m on a stealth job, but a pair of black jeans, dark t-shirt, and a winter coat. As much as I’m used to the cold, I don’t need to get sick when I have work to do.
I head out into the early morning and to the safe house. I go by foot, getting a nice walk in on the way there, but also I’m trying to avoid being followed. My car is an obvious choice for following, so walking instead of driving will keep me in the shadows.
When I get to the safe house by the shore, I see a familiar car. The same one in the parking lot at the restaurant. Tommaso’s.
