I squint my eyes at him, taking in his huge form looming over me. He’s wearing khaki dress pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the black ink covering his forearms. The first few buttons on the shirt are undone, and I can see fragments of another tattoo on his chest.
“I did,” I say as calmly as I can. “I tore up the check and flushed the pieces down the toilet.”
“The flowers, as well?”
“Nope. Those are in the trashcan in the kitchen. Didn’t want to clog up the sewer lines. Too big. And you can find the bracelet in your tie drawer.”
Rafael cocks his head to the side, staring at me intently. Dark aviator sunglasses hide his eyes, making it difficult to decipher his exact expression, but I don’t miss the way his jaw hardens.
“I have the details for that container I need you to reroute. Modify the freight shipping forms so it ends up in the Port of Shanghai.”
“The container was not a part of our deal. Feel free to play with your fricking steel box yourself.”
“You work for me. That means you’ll do whatever I need.” He removes his sunglasses and pins me with his gaze. “We’re operating from another location today. You have five minutes to get the laptop and haul your ass to the car.”
“And what if I don’t?”
“I don’t think you want to play that game with me.” He puts his glasses back on and strides away. “Five minutes.”
I squeeze my hands into fists with all my might and wait until the sound of his footsteps fades, then head upstairs to get the damn computer.
As I run out of the mansion five minutes later, Rafael is standing by the SUV, holding the passenger door ajar, as if he never had a doubt that I was coming. I guess, if you hold the power of life or death at your fingertips, and the lives of someone’s family hang in the balance, you’d expect that someone to dance to your tune. Damn him.
I throw the laptop onto the back seat, then press my temple to the passenger-side window, creating as much distance between us as possible.
The tension inside the vehicle could be cut with a knife. We drive in utter silence for a better part of an hour, winding our way on mostly deserted narrow roads flanked by olive groves and vast farm fields. Slowly, a few country homes pop up among the ever-present hills and valleys of the beautiful rural landscape. Rafael turns onto a lane that runs along the coast, descending into a quaint village. I slide down my window, gawking at little old houses squeezed right next to each other. The balconies facing the street are laden with a multitude of colorful flowers, some cascading over the railings and nearly to the ground below. The scent in the air is alluring. Near the doorways of a lot of houses, elderly women—sometimes alone, sometimes in groups—sit on either rickety chairs or ancient-looking recliners. Enjoying life? Or keeping their eyes on their surroundings?
We’re driving through the crossroads when Rafael hits the brakes so suddenly that the seatbelt almost rearranges my insides. I’m still coming to my senses while Rafael pushes his head through the open window and starts yelling. He’s so loud that I need to press my hands over my ears to prevent me from going deaf. It doesn’t help much.
“Ma che fai, stronzo?!” Rafael roars, waving his hand at the pickup truck that’s stopped in the middle of the intersection, blocking our way. “Vaffanculo! Sei cieco? Madonna santa!”
The driver of the other vehicle has also stuck his head out and is yelling back, while the man beside me keeps serving up what I’m sure are profanities. My gaze slides back to Rafael, taking him in with awe. He looks nothing like the cold-blooded killer I witnessed last night. Now, he’s acting just like a regular guy. Well . . . a very angry regular guy, one aggravated by a traffic fuckup. It’s . . . beyond cute. And sexy as hell.
“Coglione! Mangia merda e morte, porca puttana!” he snarls as he hits the wheel with his palm, then steps on the gas and surges through the intersection, barely missing the truck.
“Testa di cazzo,” he mumbles shaking his head, then looks at me. “Tutto bene?”
I gape at him, then burst out laughing. “I have no idea what you said in the last five minutes, but it sounded painful.”
A small smile pulls at his lips.
“Well, I told that idiot to go fuck himself in a very painful way. Sent him to hell because his brain is in his testicles. Called him an asshole and a dickhead, and invited the pig-whore to eat shit and die. Then, I asked if you were okay.” He stretches his hand and brushes my chin with his thumb. “Are you okay, vespetta?”
“Yeah,” I breathe.
Rafael steers the car to the left and stops outside an old one-story house. A massive shrub, or maybe a small tree, with vibrant purple flowers creeps up the walls of the structure, its vines twisting together to create a natural canopy over the front door. In its shade, curled into a ball on a doormat, sleeps a large calico cat. A woman with a long gray braid, who looks to be in her eighties, is knitting on the nearby bench. The moment she notices us, she abandons her work and eyes Rafael while he exits the SUV and tosses his sunglasses onto the dashboard.
“I’ll be right back,” he says and shuts the door.
The gentle breeze ruffles the hair around his face, tossing a few dark strands across his eyes as he approaches the house with long, confident strides. His shirt accentuates his broad back, the fabric straining across his biceps and shoulders.
Rafael brings to mind an image of a vengeful Roman god, but one who traveled through time to the present. The idea is bolstered by the gun he tucked into the waistband at his back. The scene from last night—him covered in blood—forms before my eyes, and my heart rate surges in alarm.
Is he going to kill the poor old woman?
I grab the door handle and fling it open. I don’t give a fuck what beef he might have with her, I will not sit back and watch as he kills someone’s grandma.
I’m out of the SUV and ready to run over there to stop him when Rafael crouches before the woman. She doesn’t seem to be alarmed by his presence at all. A small smile lights up her face as she leans forward and starts whispering in his ear.
It lasts for nearly five minutes. The woman speaks, and Rafael listens, nodding every now and then. Once she finishes, Rafael straightens and turns to leave. The woman suddenly grabs his hand. I stare, speechless, as she drops a kiss on his knuckles.
When she lets go of Rafael’s hand, her gaze meets mine. Eyebrows furrowed, she watches me silently for a second or two, then says something and gestures to the left. Rafael shakes his head. More serious-sounding words follow in rapid Italian, leaving her lips as she points to the flower pot by the front door. A sprawling plant with bright-red flowers. Sighing, Rafael looks toward the heavens, then approaches the planter and picks a single bloom from the lot.
My heart thumps heavily in my chest as he closes the distance between us and lifts the flower toward me.
“It’s a geranium. Thought of almost as a weed around here,” he says. “I know it will get flushed down the toilet, but she insisted.”
“And why would you assume that?”
“Well, that was the fate of the orchids. Why would a weed fare any better?”
I take the flower from his hand. “Think about it a bit, and the answer will come to you.”
Lifting the flower to my nose, I inhale the mild sweet aroma and get back in my seat.
“So, is she your family?” I ask when Rafael gets behind the wheel.
“An associate would be more accurate. If you want to know what’s happening around here, nothing beats the grandma surveillance network.”
