Chapter Ten
S even years ago
The border crossing into Moskra was exactly what Giancarlo had promised: quick, discreet, and surprisingly mundane. No dramatic chase scenes. No gunfire. Just a quiet exchange of papers, a knowing nod from a guard whose silence had been bought with more money than Justina had ever seen, and finally, freedom.
Giancarlo had given her more than what she needed to start a brand new life anywhere in the world. And while the whole world believed her missing, Giancarlo had arranged to leave behind fabricated clues that only people like her abductors would recognize.
And those clues would suggest she had died an accidental death, in order to prevent them from going after the loved ones she had left behind in America.
Keep going, and never look back.
Because the people who had almost succeeded in selling her off were still out there somewhere, doing what they do best, and that was to steal and ruin other people's lives.
But as much as she appreciated Giancarlo's warning—-
The money he'd given her didn't go toward a new life in some distant paradise. Instead, it bought Justina training. Weapons. Information.
In a country where criminal families held more power than the government, everything was for sale—including the skills she needed to ensure she would never be a victim again.
In Moskra, she forged for herself a new identity, and the old Justina was buried permanently in the past. The girl who used to work in a salon was gone and never to be seen again. In her place was a faceless spy who now used scissors for cutting body parts other than hair. And one whose loyalty only belonged to the highest bidder.
The jobs she accepted might seem random to most. But in truth, every job she completed also gave her a new clue about the people she was after. Every day was either an opportunity to learn something new—-or apply what she learned with bloody efficiency. And at night, she found it strangely entertaining and relaxing at the same time to read about people's reactions to the documentary that had made her name - once upon a time - trend higher than all the juiciest scandals from Hollywood.
When news of Giancarlo's disappearance reached Justina years later, she had wasted no time in heading to the crash site and barely managed to beat Viktor Biancardi's men in finding him. She owed Giancarlo Marchetti everything, and if she had to die protecting him so be it.
Whatever he needed, she would make it happen, and with Giancarlo's fall from a cliff leaving him severely injured and comatose—-
"I'd like to speak to Sheikh Nassif Al-Mansouri, please. I'd like to collect a debt on my friend's behalf."
JUSTINA REALIZED SHE had lost herself in the past once more and forced her thoughts back to the present with some effort. Giancarlo was the one talking this time, his voice stiff, his accent stronger than usual.
As expected , Justina thought, since Giancarlo was now explaining to his former fiancée the reason behind their marriage.
"Justina's network of contacts will never work with me in uncovering who was pulling Viktor's strings from the shadows. All of them were too well aware of my reputation. They would never trust me even if I were to tell them I was willing to break the rules to get what I wanted. But if, on the other hand, the two of us were to marry..."
"She would become famiglia ," Sarica finished for him in a strained voice. "And of course everyone knows the lengths you would go to protect the people you consider your responsibility."
"Yes."
Sarica gnawed on her lip. "May I ask one more thing?"
Giancarlo nodded.
"How bad were your injuries?"
Sarica's question was all Justina had to hear to know the truth between the two. Sarica's mind had to be reeling from the extent to which Giancarlo had deceived her. But instead of lashing out...all the girl cared about was Giancarlo's injuries.
It almost made Justina feel bad about what she intended to do next.
"Sarica?"
Almost being the operative word, but because Justina no longer had any softness left inside of her—-
"May I have a moment with my husband?" She waited until Sarica turned to her before placing her hand over Giancarlo's in a casual claim of possession.
"O-Of c-course."
Sarica's stammer had Giancarlo stiffening next to Justina, and she squeezed his hand in warning.
Let this play out.
She turned to him, her gaze meeting his unflinchingly.
Or I'm going to make you regret it.
Sarica was now on her feet, but she was unable to look at either of them as she spoke in a rush. "I should...I, um, I actually have somewhere to go. And I t-think we discussed everything we had to."
Justina waited for Sarica to turn away before speaking again.
"I don't understand, Giancarlo."
And of course, she made sure that Sarica was still near enough to hear her every word.
"Why did you make it sound like nothing happened between us?"
Giancarlo's chest tightened at the way Justina's words made Sarica stumble. While he knew it could only be a good thing for Sarica to have more reasons to hate and forget him—-
He waited until Sarica was completely out of sight before turning to Justina. "What do you think you're doing?" It was one thing for him to hurt Sarica for her sake, but he had never asked Justina to do the same.
"You told me before you didn't want to be a brick around their neck and would never go back after it. Has that changed?"
A muscle started ticking in his jaw, but Giancarlo could not make himself deny the truth. "No."
"Then don't you think I've acted as you needed me to?" Justina asked with a shrug. "And besides, don't forget you have another mystery to solve. Or should I say who?"
Justina saw the shift in his expression, the way his jaw tightened at the reminder. Her next words came out more soberly: "I tried looking for information about Tueur, too, but he's like a ghost." Her fingers drummed against the table, a rare display of frustration. "I can't even figure out how Sarica got to know someone like him...unless, of course, it's the other way around."
Giancarlo knew what Justina was suggesting in not so many words, and as much as he despised acknowledging such a possibility—-
Of course it was possible that Dauphin Teuer had been the one to approach Sarica first.
Of course it was possible for another man to fall in love with Sarica...and be as obsessed with her as Giancarlo still was.
But regardless of who approached whom first—-
"Tueur has nothing to do with either of us," Giancarlo said flatly, "and as long as he doesn't do anything to hurt Sarica or my famiglia, it's a waste of time to even think—-"
The buzz of his phone inside his pocket interrupted him, and Giancarlo answered the call when he saw Nassif's name on the screen.
"Your target has taken the bait. He'll be flying in tomorrow." A pause. "Maybe this time, my new vest will be of some help."
"I doubt it." Kivr's airport was recently declared a no-firearms zone and employed a comprehensive security system to ensure the rule applied to everyone flying in and out of their territory.
"One can always hope," Nassif murmured.
"Your concern for my well-being is unmatched."
"Just making the most out of a situation, my friend."
Giancarlo turned to Justina after dropping his phone back in his pocket. He considered telling her about Viktor but decided not to. The fact that she didn't like talking about her past was telling, and there were times when it was better for one's demons to simply disappear without having to face them.
"I need your help with something," Giancarlo said finally. "Nassif needs me at the palace tomorrow." Justina would demand to be involved if she knew what was going down tomorrow, and this was the best way to distract her from thinking anything was amiss. "And I'm starting to think you're right about being suspicious towards Tueur. Do you think you can keep an eye on Sarica while I'm away?"