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“I also let her fly without any of her credit cards or toiletries, including her over-the-top makeup. And I kept this.” I pull out Savannah’s cell, flipping it in the air with a careless flick of my wrist. “A little punishment for her snitching to Caleb Knox.” I unlock the phone and toss the phone to Sin. “I reprogrammed the passcode.”
We all know the passcodes. Whoever sets it, it’s the first four digits of our name. ENZO equals 5-6-9-6.
He unlocks it, the lines of his brow hardening. “Agent Knox,” he says, exhaling sharply. “So the FBI is not only watching you, they’re infiltrating your operation with a snitch. And a high-priced, high-profile one at that.”
Dante’s hand lands on my arm with a sharp smack. “You must be doing something right.”
“Knox,” Sin says, the name rolling off his tongue like it’s laced with bitterness. “Now there’s a guy I’d like to torture slowly. Just to find out what he knows about our family and the disappearance of your father.”
“In due time,” I assure him. “But I have bigger fish to fry.”
“We,” Dante says, slinging an arm around my shoulder. “There’s nothing the D’Angelos like better than a fish fry.”
“We’re all in this together,” Dory says, her tone sweet and delusional as usual. She links her arm in Sin’s, and we look so much like the quartet from The Wizard of Oz it’s embarrassing.
I wrench myself free from their clutches and jab a finger at their smug grins. “Look, I didn’t fly my ass halfway around the world to be suffocated by familial warmth. I need my space.”
And my privacy, because God only knows how loud Bella might get.
Sin sweeps his hand across the expansive landscape. “The grounds of the villa are vast. Two main houses. Seven smaller ones, if you can call ten-thousand-feet small. The furthest one is over that hill,” he points out. “Secluded, private entrance, lakefront views. It’s also far enough away that we won’t be disturbed by your victims’ screams in the night.”
I snatch the folder from Dory’s hand and snap my fingers. Instantly, my driver opens the car door. “Then that’s the one I’ll take.”
Chapter Four
KENNEDY
“Ahhh!”
I cling to my seatbelt for dear life, my knuckles turning white as Gio whips through the narrow streets of the Italian town at hair-raising speeds.
The engine roars as we pinch around tight corners, his occasional fist slamming against the steering wheel accompanied by what I can only imagine are colorful Italian profanities.
Of all the ways I imagined meeting my demise because of my association with Golden Eyes, this wasn’t one of them.
If this were an amusement park, I’d be thrilled. As it is, my pulse is thudding so hard in my ears, I barely hear his question. “You like Gio as your tour guide, eh?”
I nod in haste, surprised Truffles isn’t puking all over the back seat. “Uh-huh.”
We enter a traffic circle where a swarm of scooters dart past us like angry bees, their drivers shouting and gesturing wildly. Cars honk impatiently as Gio cuts across what would be lanes of traffic if there were any lines, and I have to shut my eyes.
His maneuvers are executed with such precision that I can’t decide if he’s a remarkably skilled driver or certifiably insane.
“You hungry?” he asks sweetly, one hand on the wheel and the other relaxed over the arm of my seat, as if navigating through the chaos of the streets is just a leisurely drive through the park.
Considering it’s taking everything I have in me not to upchuck last night’s meal, I simply shake my head.
We emerge in a corner of the city with cobblestone streets and a beautiful townhouse. Gio doesn’t slow, but somehow expertly squeezes into an impossibly tight space between two vehicles before coming to an abrupt stop. “Here we are.”
Huh? Is this Enzo’s place?
Before I can ask, Gio has already rounded the car, lets Truffles out on his leash, and opens my door. Swiftly, he presses the doorbell. “Now, this is for you,” he says in his charming Italian accent, handing me the leash, a credit card, and a business card that simply says “G.”
There’s a crazy long string of numbers beneath it, which I’m guessing is his local phone number.
“If you need me,” he says, “I’ll be nearby and can take you anywhere you want to go.” With that, he plants a kiss on both my cheeks and gently guides me towards the door.
I give the building another once-over, and I’m not sure why, but I imagined Enzo’s place to be colder somehow. All sleek and modern, with clean lines and sophistication, radiating an unmistakable aura of one-percenter wealth.
