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“Sounds like you’re an expert. One would think that you’re always in trouble with Daniela.” He is, although he’s mellowed a lot over the years.
“You don’t need to be an expert. She’ll tell you exactly what you need to do to get out of the doghouse—or, in your case, the Intercontinental. But listen carefully, because she won’t draw you a fucking map.”
23
LEXIE
Rafael glances from Tamar to me. His features are tight, regret scrawled all over his face in red ink. “We need to send all the information you’ve amassed to Bruno Russo.”
Tamar and I have been at this for the better part of a week, and while we’ve been able to confirm all the data I gathered, we don’t have a lot of new information. It’s a huge disappointment.
Tamar nods, and while I’m sure she’s not happy to be passing off our findings, you’d never know it from her expression. One day I hope to be like her.
“We need more time,” I plead, not just with my words, but with my tone, my eyes, every cell begs for more.
“I can’t in good conscience hold it back any longer,” he replies. “I suspect the Italians have their own cache of evidence, and together with what we have, they might get somewhere before the bastards strike again.”
Their information might be useful to us too. Maybe I can convince Rafael to let me continue to work on it. “Will they give us their information in exchange for ours?”
“Possibly. I’m pushing for it, but if my daughter had been murdered, I’d want revenge. And if I thought sharing information would endanger that, I wouldn’t give it up. I’d be surprised if Russo feels differently.”
Russo should be more worried about his people oversharing. His administration leaks like a sieve—at least according to the news reports. “You don’t think everything we have will get leaked, and the traffickers will go into hiding or change their pattern?” I ask, watching him carefully.
He grimaces and shakes his head. “It’s possible, but I don’t see it. Russo’s the prime minister of Italy, not some chump who runs a card game in the alley. He’s accustomed to covert operations and handling classified material. And he’s fully aware of how important it is to limit this information to a few select aides. He wants to destroy those animals more than we do.”
I can’t argue with the last part, although I’m not sold on Bruno Russo’s posse.
“Tamar, make sure that nothing you send points back to either you or Lexie. I don’t anticipate an issue, but if for some reason it gets into the wrong hands, I want to protect your anonymity as well as Lexie’s. When you’re through, send it over a secure channel. Russo’s expecting it.”
“Right away,” Tamar replies as she prepares to leave.
“I hate this,” I say quietly when she’s gone. “I’ve protected it for so long. It’s like sending my children into a wolves’ den.”
“I know it’s difficult to hand over your work to someone else. I’m sure you want to see it through to the end. But sharing what we have doesn’t mean that you and Tamar are finished.”
I was hoping that was the case. “It’s not that,” I explain. “If I was sure Russo wouldn’t screw it up, I wouldn’t have any issue turning it over. But he’s under duress, and the people around him are not the brightest bulbs in Italy.”
He smiles. “You’re not entirely wrong, but the Italian press is ruthless on the administration because they don’t feel they give them enough access. Don’t believe everything you read.”
“I don’t,” I say with a bit more huff than warranted. “I’ve heard one or two of the dimwits speak.”
He leans over the table and takes a lock of my hair between his fingers, letting them glide to the ends. “You’re a tough audience.”
“And well informed,” I reply in a voice that’s much too breathy.
“Is that so?”
I nod. “My father and I have been debating politics for years.” Some debaters argue until the bell is called. But “fight to the death” has always been our approach.
“Smart and beautiful is a lethal combination. At least I’ve always thought so.”
His mouth twitches at the edges, and his eyes are flickering not with that I want to fuck you look he gets right before he owns my mouth, but with something more tender. More deadly. I look away so I don’t succumb to his charm.
“I spoke with Russo myself,” he assures me. “There are no guarantees, of course. Although I’m confident they’ll handle the information carefully and that they’ll give us something in return—although I doubt it’ll be everything they have. But I can’t promise Russo’s team won’t fuck this up. I can only vouch for my own people.”
I adore this about him—no insincere promises to placate me.
“This is about defending his honor, isn’t it? His daughter gets killed so he gets first dibs on retaliation so that everyone knows his dick still functions.”
