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“One,” I said.
The pilot was quiet for a moment. “Your wife?”
“Yes.”
“Will you be traveling with her?”
“No.”
“Does Don Raffaele know?”
“He’ll be informed when the plan is ready.”
I gave him the passport name, the security requirements, and the instruction to keep the flight off the normal Bellandi schedule. He agreed because men accustomed to criminal families knew when questions became dangerous. When the call ended, I stood alone inside the empty office.
I had promised Alessia I would never let my own fear make decisions for her again.
I had lied.
CHAPTER 26
Alessia
Sergei said very little during the drive back to Beacon Hill.
I sat beside him in the armored car, my shoulder touching his, and watched the city move through the windows. When we got back to the townhouse, I stepped inside, removed my coat, and draped it over the chair in the entryway. Sergei locked the door behind us and began his usual security check.
My hands were clean, but I could still feel Arsen’s blood beneath my fingernails. There was blood on my shirt. He had died less than a foot from me after giving me what I needed to know about my mother in his final hour.
For eleven years, I had imagined my mother alone inside that car, frightened and taken by surprise. Now I knew she had fought for her life. She had broken a man’s jaw, spat blood into another man’s face, and chosen me in the last decision she ever made.
I needed a moment with that knowledge alone.
“I’m going upstairs to change,” I murmured.
He just looked at me, and I got a sickening feeling in my stomach all of a sudden.
“What is it?” I asked.
His jaw flexed. “We need to discuss something.”
“Then give me five minutes.”
Without waiting for a response, I walked upstairs and went into our bedroom before he could answer. A small black bag sat in the center of our bed.
It had already been packed. I opened it up and looked inside. My black trousers were folded into exact rectangles. Sweaters sat arranged by weight. Underwear, socks, toiletries, medication, two secure phones, body armor, cash in three currencies, and the deep green dress Amy chose for me sat in separate compartments.
A sealed folder rested on top.
I opened it. Inside were my passport, a travel authorization under the name Alessia Caruso Morozov, and a guarded flight plan from Hanscom to Palermo, departing at six the following morning. Six Bellandi personnel were assigned to accompany me, and an armored transport would be waiting at the airfield near Raffaele Bellandi’s estate outside Palermo. No return date was listed anywhere. The final page listed alternate airfields, emergency landing sites, and a communication schedule. At the bottom, beneath the security authorization, was Sergei’s signature.
I swallowed hard as I heard him enter the room behind me.
“Was this your doing?” I asked, my voice soft.
He closed the door behind him. “Yes.”
I looked down at the bag. Some ridiculous part of me had been prepared to blame my father. To imagine the two men speaking privately and deciding together that the troublesome daughter could be moved like a crate between their territories, but Sergei had done this alone, which was far worse.
