Chapter Four Tyler
Chapter Four
TYLER
NINE HOURS LATER, I hit the elevator button, prepped and ready for whatever bullshit comes with dealing with my newly identified enemy’s offspring.
I spent a few of those hours in a much-needed comatose sleep.
Before I dozed off, I conducted a deep recon into Larissa, which yielded very little.
They covered up her true history with expert skill.
Unfortunately for me, before I can get a better dig in, I have to try to coax some valid record from her, which may be impossible depending on her agenda.
Stalking down the floor of the guest suites I reserve specifically for interrogation purposes, I jump back and pull my gun when Peter shoots out of the room I was just about to enter, eyes wide as a very irritated Italian tongue fills the air.
“Per l’amor di Dio!” For God’s sake! “Non voglio parlare con te.” I don’t want to talk to you. “Tell your idiot boss I will speak to him and only him,” Larissa hisses from inside the room.
Peter palms my chest, eyes narrowing. “Jesus, I’ve dealt with terrorists with better manners.” He stares back into the room, clearly rattled. “I think I’m due for a raise.”
Pressing my lips into a line to keep her from hearing me laugh, I nod toward the adjacent room and speak low. “Go on, I’ll take it from here.”
“Good luck with that,” he says, eyes darting back briefly in Larissa’s direction. “Who in the fuck is she?”
“Sit in and have a listen,” I tell him, nodding toward the door a room over.
Peter dips his chin before making his way toward the adjacent room, which houses the observation glass.
I take note of his confident gait despite his recent run-in with Larissa—his current state being a far cry from the feeble posturing of the kid I recruited from a jail cell.
He’s become as valuable as I thought he would be.
He’s brilliant in the theft department, and at tracking criminals of his own caliber.
He’s only honed his skills as the years have passed.
Pride fills me at the man and bird he’s becoming as he disappears inside the room, and I tap my earpiece.
“Roll call, everyone plugged in?”
“Ready to go,” Russell says.
“Julien?” I ask.
“Here, and en route to you tomorrow morning,” he replies from somewhere in France.
Pathetically, he’s still held up dealing with the leftover trash in Antoine’s ranks.
A cleanup of breadcrumbs that’s lasted far longer than we had anticipated.
But we’re nothing if not thorough. Our oversights in sweeping up messes of our past teaching us hard lessons.
This situation being a prime example, but in this case, unavoidable.
“Perfect. T, Cee, you on the line?”
“They are,” Russell interjects, “but the reception past Rio is spotty on the plane. If he doesn’t get it all, we’ll get them the replay when they land.”
“All right. Let’s do this.”
Stalking into the room, I see Larissa in the running clothes they picked her up in this morning.
A two-piece, dark purple, form-fitting running suit consisting of a long-sleeved shirt cut off just below her bra line and skintight leggings.
Both of which showcase her insanely toned siren figure.
Her dark tresses are tied into a messy knot at her crown.
The sight of her has me once again pushing away the image of her head thrown back and the feel of her tight pussy around my finger as I shut the door.
“I’ve been here for hours,” she states with an icy edge.
“You’ve been watered.”
“I’m not livestock,” she counters.
“That’s debatable because you’re acting like an animal according to my good friend Peter.” I tsk. “Really, Larissa, is that in any way becoming behavior for a protégée of a don?”
“That’s donna, and finally,” she sighs in relief that I have the intel on her. “Then again, and pathetically, I did have to fucking spell it out for you.”
“So, that’s why you started lying?”
“Precisely, and your friend Peter got reprimanded for eyeing me inappropriately. It’s a matter of respect.”
“Respect is earned,” I quip.
She scoffs. “Says the man who objectified me within a minute of seeing me, believing me to be something he’s entitled to rut his cock into.”
My earpiece fills with the laughter of my birds.
“I believe those were moans,” I remind her. “Not fucking objections.”
“I didn’t say I minded it.” She gives me a feline smile that I refuse to react to. “Why have you kept me here so long?”
“Because I wanted to piss you off for pissing me off. It seems it worked. A bit easy to get you rattled, isn’t it?”
“I’m not putting on airs, because it’s a waste of time. You’ve fucked everything up by keeping me here. If Ciro wasn’t onto me last night, he might be now. Getting into your car this morning has already endangered my life.”
“And that’s my problem how?”
“I told you I could help you, but your arrogance is annoying, and the one reason why I couldn’t take you seriously last night. That and the fact that you couldn’t control your cock.”
More laughter over the line tempts me to kill all feeds, but it’s the recognizable addition of Tobias’s chuckle that has me keeping it live.
“I assure you my cock is under control. Now, one more time, and I’m not asking again, what do you want, Larissa?”
“I told you, stupido,” dumbass, “I want my fucking freedom.”
“And how am I supposed to give you that? You lied to me about who you were.”
“For good reason,” she harrumphs, taking a seat at the edge of the couch.
My ‘guest rooms’ meant for bird-related interrogations have every modern convenience—a couch, bathroom, bed, kitchen, and TV.
Windowless, aside from the two-way that is utterly undetectable.
The accommodations aren’t a punishment at all, but more like a luxury hotel room.
“My lies about who I am and the fake profile,” she drawls dryly, “were a test to see how skilled you were at uncovering the truth and if you were qualified to help me. You failed miserably.”
“I had been drinking and was under the impression—”
“That I was your entertainment. We’re past that, but that was only partially through our conversation. You turned a deaf ear to me after the fact.”
“If you think me so inept,” I ask, shrugging off my jacket and unbuttoning my sleeve to roll it up, “why come to me?”
She eyes the workings of my hands before darting her gaze back to mine. “I told you it was a mistake, but I’m still willing to have a conversation because it’s likely now you’ve ruined my chances of doing this alone.”
Inching my shirt up to expose my ink, she eyes my arm in anticipation, which confirms one of my suspicions.
“Looking for something?” I ask.
“It’s been a long time,” she says simply, not at all skirting as I reveal a whisper of my tattoo.
“So, you’ve decided you know who I am”—I start on my other sleeve—“and I’ll admit I’m having a hard time finding some of your details, but it’s only a matter of time. Until then, how am I supposed to believe a word you say?”
“Turn on the news,” she says simply, her eyes lingering on my ink.
I tilt my head. “You’ve been here all day. How could you have possibly done anything newsworthy?”
“Like that matters,” she huffs.
“Peter, give it some juice,” I instruct a second before the TV clicks on.
“I thought it was broken,” she snaps sarcastically as she snatches the remote from the coffee table before pausing and expelling a stressed breath.
She looks up at me, her eyes a mix of imploration and impatience, to reason with me.
“You know that idiot in the movies who always costs precious time when they don’t listen because they’re too busy being arrogant and making assumptions? ”
I nod.
“Right now, that idiot is you. As intelligent as you are, you’re making a big mistake with this bad-cop routine and wasting both of our time. You’ve probably cost yourself something valuable as well.”
“And what’s that?” I ask.
“Access,” she snaps as she flips channels.
“I’m listening,” I tell her.
“Not sure you are yet. There.” She points to the TV, and I read the headline banner running beneath the anchor reporting.
Smoking Gun Suspects in Custody.
She turns up the volume as the reporter addresses the camera. “—the two men were arrested after coming forward claiming responsibility for the murders of the military officials—”
Larissa mutes the TV as heat radiates up my spine, and Russell says a quick “I’m on it” in my earpiece as the implication of what she’s done sinks in.
“It’s a gesture of good faith,” she relays.
“You might have temporarily planted a red herring to redirect attention,” I say, “but you most likely got those two men killed.”
The red herrings she planted temporarily protecting me, because I’m the one who put a bullet in both their heads.
“Only if I order it so,” she interjects. “Give me my phone.”
“No.”
“Tyler,” she grinds out in frustration, “I need to make my point. Give me a phone. A burner. Any phone, and quickly.”
“Do it,” Tobias weighs in over the line.
I nod toward the wall, and a second later, Peter stalks in with a burner, glancing at Larissa warily before giving her a look and shutting us back in.
“You owe him an apology,” I say, handing the ordered phone to her.
She looks directly into the two-way mirror, which stuns me briefly. “Peter, I apologize that your boss is an idiot.”
More mixed chuckles rumble in my ear.
“How will you explain the number?”
“Has it been used?” she asks, ignoring my question.
“No,” I say, taking a quick sip of water, “but let me make myself clear. If you give them any indication—”
“I’m fully aware my life is on the line,” she says without care, as if she’s talking about calling for dinner plans. “And you aren’t the only ones who use burners,” she adds with an eye roll before dialing.
A few rings later, she speaks up. “Papa … I know.” I tense instantly. “That’s why I’m calling. I’m onto something.”