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“I’ll send word to the pilot to file a new flight plan,” my father says after several tense moments. “Lexie,” he continues in a no-nonsense tone. “I expect you home for a late dinner tomorrow evening.”
That wasn’t so hard. I blow out the breath that’s been caught in my chest. “I’ll be there. One day should be enough to do everything I need to do.” I hope.
After we hang up, I leave Ivy and Callum to manage the details and go back to my seat. When I’m settled, I pull up a photo of Lydia, Valentina, and me from my thirteenth birthday. We had a spa day, and she had tickets for us to see Lady Gaga in concert. We were spending the night with her. I look so young. And so happy. We all look happy. It was the last picture we took together.
Happy birthday, Grandma. I love you. I wish you were here. Valentina needs your best advice. I could use some too.
56
RAFAEL
We’re on the way back to Porto when Zé contacts me. Prime Minister Russo’s assistant is trying to reach you. Says it’s urgent.
Russo must have news about the traffickers, otherwise he wouldn’t be trying to reach me at this hour.
Send me the contact information.
I call the number and a man answers immediately.
“This is Rafael Huntsman. I understand the prime minister has been trying to reach me.”
“Good evening, Mr. Huntsman, although it’s long past evening in Rome. My name is Gio Ardente, Prime Minister Russo’s personal assistant. The prime minister asked me to inform you that his daughter was killed earlier today.”
My heart stops. “Francesca?”
“Yes, Francesca. I apologize. It’s been a rough evening.”
More than just a little rough, from the sound of his voice.
“Do you know how it happened?”
“It’s too soon to know all the details with any kind of confidence, but Francesca’s sister believes she was meeting her boyfriend.”
The bile begins to rise in my throat. “Paolo?”
“I believe so.”
Fuck. “Did she have security with her?”
“She was with a seasoned guard, who was also killed.”
I pound my fist against the seat beside me. They took out an experienced guard to get to her. It’s those fuckers. It has to be.
“Did it happen in Rome?” I’m sure he doesn’t have time for my questions, but I need details to understand the kind of danger Lexie’s facing.
“Less than a mile from the prime minister’s residence. I really don’t have any more to share, but the prime minister will call you after the funeral.”
“Please send him my deepest condolences. If there’s anything I can do, don’t hesitate to contact me.”
Lexie’s in danger. The words are pounding in my skull.
I pace while trying to reach Will. The phone rings and rings, but he doesn’t pick up, and he doesn’t have voice mail set up. Of course not. Why would he have voice mail? Goddamn it.
I try Lexie next, but the call goes straight to voice mail—which is full. What the hell is wrong with these people? No one needs to receive a goddamn message?
I send them each an urgent text. But I can’t tell if either message was received. Communicating from forty-one thousand feet is a bitch. Why am I always on a damn plane when there’s a crisis?
The prime minister’s daughter killed—murdered is the correct word—with an armed guard protecting her. A mile from home. Lexie’s next.
