I grin down at my phone, feeling something akin to glee for the first time in a long time. What I’d give to see that panicked expression on her face again, to have a view into what she’s going to do now that I’ve told her I know where she is.
I shouldn’t have said anything. Telling her I know she’s in Barcelona means she’s going to run now.
But I just couldn’t fucking resist.
She looked downright edible in her fluffy sweater and pink barrette. I wanted to see the way her skin flushed when she realized I’d one-upped her, wanted to see her reaction when she found out I was coming for her.
She didn’t disappoint.
Her mistake was taking the video call outside. She’d shifted when I’d talked about how much I wanted to fuck her, accidentally revealing more of the background behind her. It was day, so she was in a similar time zone to me.
Discreetly, I screenshotted the tip of a spire above her right shoulder and the facade of what looked like a building with Gothic architecture to her left, and forwarded the picture on to tech. Julio, who we used mainly to hack into legal documents and to hide our money trail, used image recognition software and satellite imagery to map the photo and triangulate where she was.
It’d taken him less than ten minutes to come back to me with an answer.
Spain.
Better yet, a specific neighborhood in Barcelona.
I didn’t have an exact address but it didn’t matter.
I’d find her once I was there.
✽✽✽
Four hours later, I jog down the steps of my private jet and set foot on the tarmac at the Barcelona-El Prat Airport. I’m accompanied by Marco, a reluctant Arturo, and five other men. Arturo insisted I bring additional security since we were operating without a plan and going into a country where we had no foothold. I’d have opted to travel with a smaller crew but had acquiesced if it meant he’d stop bitching in my ear.
Plus, the manpower was going to be useful in helping to actually track Tess down.
The second I alight from the plane though, I know she’s gone.
Inexplicably, I can feel it in my bones. Taunting her cost me, but now that I know she’s going to call again and isn’t going completely off the grid, the disquiet in my body lessens.
I can play this cat and mouse game with her if that’s what she wants. Better that she get it out of her system now, because the second I get my hands on her, I’m never letting her out of my sight again.
Three black cars take us to her neighborhood. I stare at it appraisingly. It’s got narrow, twisty, pedestrian-only streets, hanging laundry lines between old-fashioned buildings, and small businesses with owners you can tell were born, raised, and will die there.
It’s quaint and quiet and homey, the opposite of a sweeping mansion or a bustling London high-rise. It makes sense why she’d come here to escape.
I turn towards my men. They stand at attention, expectantly awaiting orders. “Show her photo around the neighborhood. See if people recognize her. This is the type of place where neighbors know each other by name.”
“Yes, jefe.”
They disperse just as my phone starts to ring. Pulling it out of my jacket pocket I see it’s from someone whose calls I always pick up.
Bringing the phone up to my ear, I answer.
“Valentina.”
“Where are you? I stopped by the house to do my check in with Turo but he wasn’t there. Diana told me you were both gone.”
Diana is my housekeeper and house manager. I’ve known her for years; she’s part of the staff who came with me from Colombia when I moved to London.
“He’s with me. Something came up,” I answer, keeping it vague.
“Is this really the time for you to take a holiday?” she asks, misunderstanding. Irritation seeps into her voice. “We have more pressing things to deal with, Thiago.”
My eyes narrow, my voice dropping to icy levels.
“Careful, Valentina.”
She sighs. “Lo siento.” She sounds tired, weary beyond simple sleeplessness. “I’m on edge. I feel like I should be doing more.”
I take a breath and work to reign in my temper. Valentina is, or was, my sister’s best friend. She was with Adriana the night she disappeared; she’s the one who’d convinced her to go to Firenze that night.
They’d danced and drank and partied until Valentina whispered in her ear that she had to use the bathroom. She told Adriana she’d be right back and to get shots for them while she waited.
She was in the bathroom for less than ten minutes.
When she came back, Adriana was gone.
Valentina never moved on from that night almost a year and a half ago. She blames herself for making my sister go out, for leaving her. It eats at her even more than it does me.
When it became clear that Adriana was dead, Valentina refused to let the cartel handle the retribution without her involvement. She came to my office every day demanding that I let her work for me.
I refused time and time again, not because I didn’t think she was capable, but because I knew it was a business that would get her killed. Valentina grew up with my family from the time she was a toddler, so she’s like another little sister to me. I had, and continue to have, a responsibility to keep her alive.
A couple of months after the kidnapping, we had to rescue Vale from a confrontation in a bar with two Armenians. By the time we got there, she’d rendered one unconscious but the other was about to kill her. We intervened just in time.
I tried to get her to see sense, to get her to stop and protect herself and let me and my men find Adriana’s killers, but she told me to fuck off in not so many words and got herself stabbed a week later in another confrontation.
When it became clear that she was going to get revenge with or without my blessing, bringing her into the fold of the da Silva cartel became the only way to keep her safe.
She’s flourished since and is one of my most trusted soldiers and advisors, but to this day I still have to spend an inordinate amount of time making sure she doesn’t get herself killed.
Which is why I always answer the phone.
Valentina’s continued survival has become a proxy of what I should have done for Adriana. I should have protected her, saved her, but I failed.
I won’t fail again, with her or Tess.
“We’re making progress, Vale. There’s nothing else for you to do. We’ll find him soon, we’re getting close.”
“So, what? I’m just supposed to sit around twiddling my thumbs, waiting for you to come back from whatever side mission you’re on right now?”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
“You’re not here to stop me,” she challenges.
I give my own world-weary sigh, massaging my temples with my free hand. Sisters, even adoptive ones, are impossible to deal with. Especially the ones who know how to shoot a gun and are reckless with their lives.
“Go find Fabian,” I instruct. “He’s down in the death room.”
The death room is a padded, soundproofed section in the basement of my home where we carry out interrogations and executions of captured prisoners. My house acts as something of a base for some of our operations in the city and the death room is a perfect place for extracting information without being disturbed.
Fabian is one of the cartel’s Butchers and my personal favorite. He’s endlessly creative and always goes the extra mile when it comes to torture methods. I like a man who doesn’t let something as gauche as squeamishness hold him back when it comes to getting the information I need. That’s real loyalty.
“Who does he have down there?”
“Riccardo Leone.”
A shocked gasp rips from her lips.
“You have a Leone cousin down there and you didn’t tell me?” she cries out, upset.
“Valentina…” I caution once more.
“Sorry, sorry.”
“Tell Fabian I allowed you access to Leone and you can ask him whatever questions you want before he kills him.”
Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll get anything out of this particular cousin. He was at university in Rome when Adriana was kidnapped and hasn’t shown any clear ties to the family business.
The main purpose of killing him is continuing to work through the Leone family tree until we get to the perpetrator. If they want to put an end to the deaths before their family reaches extinction, they’ll turn the killer over to me.
That’d be the smart thing to do, but then again the Made Men are no longer known for their adroitness in intellect.
In the meantime, it’ll distract Valentina long enough for Arturo to go back to London and keep a watchful eye on her.
“Thank you, Diablo,” she says, sounding relieved. “Where are you anyway? Or can you not say?”
“Spain.”
“So you are on holiday?”
“Every time you give me lip, I’m knocking one question off what you’re allowed to ask Riccardo Leone.”
“You’re a monster. No wonder your fiancée ran from you.” She pauses. I can almost hear the moment the lightbulb goes off. “Wait a minute, is that why you’re in Spain? You’re looking for her?”
Valentina is one of the few people I trusted with the information that I got engaged. To say she was greatly amused by the development that Tess had subsequently run away from me would be an understatement. I put up with it because it occupied her and kept her out of trouble.
Now I wonder if she can help me get inside Tess’s head and figure out where she could be going next.
“I need your help thinking like a woman.”
Her response is equally as dry as it is flippant. “Shouldn’t be too much of a reach for me seeing as I happen to be one.”
My eyes close in exasperation. “Maybe it’s time I find you a husband so you can have a built-in audience for this ongoing little comedy show of yours.”
“Ha, you know no man can handle me.”
“Exactly, it’ll give me a well deserved break from having to deal with you myself. I have my own woman to tame.”
“Tell me about her. I like her already, by the way. Any woman who can make the great Thiago da Silva lose his nerve and chase after her across the continent is a friend of mine.”
“I haven’t lost my nerve.”
“You’ve been in Europe for over a year. The farthest you’ve been from the UK is France, and only because you were inspecting shipment lines. Then your fiancée runs away and now look at you. In Spain. Looking for that nerve you lost.”
A muscle ticks in my cheek. “Finding you a husband just jumped to the top of my priority list.”
“Okay, okay. You don’t always have to resort to threats you know?” she says, hurriedly. “Before you say my name in that authoritative tone of voice again, I really will shut up this time. What do you want to know?”
“Where would you go?”
“If you forced me to marry someone?”
“Yes,” I grit out.
“The moon, probably.”
“How about I tell Fabian to put you on the table next once he’s done with Leone?”
“You know, if you’re going to start cracking jokes out of the blue after almost thirty years of being humorless, you really need to learn to modulate your tone a bit. That morbid delivery of yours makes it sound like you’re being serious.”
The silence stretches when I don’t answer.
She laughs uneasily in response.
“I see now that you’re not in the mood for laughter when it comes to her,” she says nervously. “Noted.” Her voice turns thoughtful. “I didn’t realize this was about more than just hurt pride.”
“I want what belongs to me back.”
“You want her back.”
There’s no need for delineation in my eyes. Tess is mine, nothing more, nothing less. “Yes.”
“Then let’s get her back,” she says determinedly. “I don’t know her so it’s hard for me to guess where she’d go.” She pauses before adding. “But if I needed help, I’d go to you.”
I’m not surprised that Valentina would choose to come to me for help. I meant what I said to Tess — I always protect what’s mine.
The answer is so obvious all of a sudden, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.
Actually, I do. It’s because I can’t think clearly when it comes to my fiancée.
“Does Tess have a brother?” Valentina questions, unknowingly echoing what I’ve just figured out.
“Yes, she does.” Turning around, I see Joaquín walking back up the street towards me. “You’re a genius, Vale. I have to go. Stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”
“No promises.”
I’m putting my phone away in my jacket pocket when Joaquín comes level with me. “Put a full time falcon on Tess’s brother. He’s somewhere in Switzerland. She’ll go to him at some point.”
“You got it,” he assures me. Joaquín is a couple years younger than me but has quickly climbed the ranks to become an invaluable part of my core team. It’s not easy to get noticed, especially by me, but he’s smart, fast, and strategic, all skills I rely on to survive.
“What do you have for me?”
“Caroline Mason,” he answers.
I frown. “Who?”
“We showed Tess’s picture around and a bakery owner two streets away recognized her as being Caroline Mason, a remote worker from London.”
I’m already halfway to the car to go interview this bakery owner myself when he stops me.
“That’s not all.” I turn around. “The owner also told me she has an apartment she rents out by the week. Guess who the most recent tenant was?”
A delighted smile pulls at my lips. “Tess.”
I don’t like thinking of her by any other name but her own.
“Bingo. Apparently she abruptly moved out a couple hours ago. The owner says she came in carrying a suitcase and a backpack, paid for the last week in full and then ran out.”
“Credit card?”
He shakes his head. “Cash.” He hands me a set of keys. “The address is on the keychain.”
My fingers close around them until I’m clenching the keys in my fist. Satisfaction curls inside me, following the movement of my fingers.
“Well done,” I say. It’s rare praise and it’s deserved.
