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“Did anyone get hurt?”
He shakes his head. “We got lucky.”
“You think it was the traffickers?” The ones I brought to Sirena?
“I don’t know. We’ve taken some major precautions tonight to keep the club and the surrounding area safe so we could open. But I’m not taking any chances with you.”
This is just like my father. You’ll take no chances with me but barrel into the danger headfirst. Who’s reckless now?
“What about you?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
That’s impossible.
“I’ll be back after the club closes, and I’ll be wide awake. I suggest you get some rest while I’m gone.”
27
RAFAEL
I put the saffron rice in the microwave and text Zé.
Rafael: Anything new?
Zé: Nothing.
I feel the anxiety slide off my shoulders.
Rafael: I’ll see you in an hour.
By the time I carry the food into the living room and uncork a bottle of wine, Lexie is dressed. It’s the same dress she had on earlier—when she undressed for me. I’m never getting to Sirena tonight if I don’t stop thinking about her naked.
“I’ll get plates and utensils,” she says, eyeing the flimsy plastic cutlery that came with the food.
I decide not to press her about why she’s in Porto. The Judite Furtado interview? I still don’t buy it—not with Valentina out of the country. But it’s likely to be a contentious conversation that doesn’t need to happen tonight. There have already been enough fireworks. Besides, there are other things I want to know too.
Lexie hands me a plate and helps herself, while I pour wine.
“Tell me what’s going on between you and your father that has you pushing back against him like a heavyweight champ.” This could shed some light on why she’s here, although I’m not hopeful.
She spoons rice onto a plate, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not sure it matters anymore.”
Like hell it doesn’t matter. If anything, it matters more now that those three traffickers are dead. I need to tell her what happened. Maybe it’ll put the fear of God into her.
“I’ll tell you why it matters. Someone like you, or even me, running around the globe without security is a recipe for disaster—and I’m a trained soldier.”
“I know, but—”
I hold up my hand to stop her. She’s going to hear me out before she starts with bullshit excuses.
“The traffickers, the two Czech guys and Misha, were killed while in custody.”
The color is gone from her cheeks before the last word is out of my mouth, and for a moment I regret relaying the information so callously.
“Was it an inside job?”
“I don’t know—I don’t know how much anyone knows about what happened.” I fill my plate and sit beside her on the sofa. “At least not yet. But our best guess is that whoever they were working for put out the order, and people from inside—inmates, and maybe guards too—carried it out.” I can’t protect you from people with that kind of power—not without your cooperation.
