9. Mia
9
MIA
I descend the staircase of the brownstone on Saturday evening, still attaching a gold hoop to my ear. Late, late, late.
Leon messaged me to say my equipment had arrived this morning, but I’d lost the day compiling as much information as I could on the Rubios. By the time I’d shown up at the door, I was already behind schedule.
Carmen had texted me the address of her apartment so we could ride in together. It was halfway across town, and I had exactly eighteen minutes to get there.
“The camera took forever to charge,” I say to the back of Leon’s head—the man has apparently been pacing since I arrived. “I’ll keep it plugged in on my way over and turn it on when I arrive.”
“You’ve got the…” he turns just as I take the final two steps. My gold heels click along the wooden floor as I approach. “Um…”
I push my hair over my ear to conceal the earpiece and brush down my dress for good measure. It’s a simple black number, with a long slit in the side that allows me some semblance of mobility.
“Um?” I press. I really am running late.
His eyes snap up to meet mine, his mouth a little wide. Was he just… “Tracker,” he blurts out. “The tracking deVitale, did you manage to?—”
I turn to my side to hoist up my dress a little to reveal the garter underneath. Knife, tracking deVitale, and three doses of GHB.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I swear I hear him mutter as my eyes snap up to his. By the time I look at him again, his back is straighter, his face unemotional.
“I’m on channel three.” I indicate my ear before checking the slim, gold Cartier watch on my wrist. “And I’m late, so…”
“Right.” Leon steps to one side, clearing his throat as I pass him. “I’ll be here, keeping an eye on everything. Dante is–”
“A half mile away if I need an extraction, I know.” I tap my foot impatiently. “Can I go?”
I don’t miss the way Leon swallows, dark chocolate eyes taking me in unashamedly. I notice the whiteness of his knuckles as he clenches his fists. He doesn’t like this, that much is obvious. But he’s letting me go anyway.
“Be careful, Mia,” he sighs.
A shiver runs down my spine at the soft caress of my name.
“I will.”
“Oh! And horses,” Carmen says as we walk up to the front door of the mansion in Bayswater.
The Cartel debutant is in a breathtaking golden gown, fiddling with the tiara resting on top of her beautifully defined curls. The headgear might have looked a little tacky on anyone else, but it’s a simple, modern band that’s definitely sporting a few diamonds and it suits her.
“Horses?” I repeat as I reach over to settle the tiara on her head, pushing away her fussing fingers.
She relents and allows me to help her. “I was a part of the equestrian team at Princeton. Do you ride?”
“No,” I admit, taking a step back to admire my work. “But I would have come to see your shows. Dressage, right?”
Carmen nods eagerly, but thankfully, the tiara stays exactly where it should. She sighs and throws her hands out a little awkwardly. “How do I look?”
It’s very hard not to feel a sense of fondness for the girl. Well, woman, really. She looks so nervous, yet there’s a twinkle of excitement in her eyes, and that same enthusiasm is evident in the way she bounces on her heels slightly as if she can’t quite stand still.
“You’re going to knock them out,” I tell her, not needing to lie even a little.
She’d confessed on the ride over that it’d been four years since she last saw most of these people. Back then, she’d barely been a footnote in the life of the Cartel, always kept behind closed doors, always just hidden from view.
Now, as I open the front door of the mansion for her, every single guest turns to take a look. Each seems more curious than the next to see how Amos’ precious Princeton grad grew up.
Carmen stands for a moment in the foyer, looking more than a little overwhelmed at the sudden attention. Not that I blame her. There must be fifty people ogling her right now.
“I need faces,” Leon suddenly murmurs in my ear. It’s an unsettling feeling. He must have spent an ungodly amount of money on my gear. The clarity of the sound in my earpiece makes it seem as if he were standing right behind me.
I give myself a second to breathe, smile, and then approach the bewildered Carmen, casually looping my arm through hers. “Oh my God, Cammy! This place is gorgeous!” I gush, squeezing her arm twice.
One for bad, two for good. We’d decided in the car.
I make sure to look around at our audience, catching them with my concealed camera under the guise of admiring the extensive entrance hall.
I feel her instantly relax at my side. “You should see the ballroom.” She tugs me forward. “Come on, I’ll show you.”’
We natter on as Carmen leads me through the ground floor. We look for all the world like two excited women squealing about the grandeur of a party after four years of student living.
A couple of people stop us to congratulate Carmen. I make a mental note of their names and their faces as I quietly wait for my companion to politely thank them or regale them with a tale of late nights at the library and hard work paid off.
By the time we reach the ballroom, Carmen seems to have completely settled into her role. She’s a natural at this, a huge smile on her lips despite the excruciating politeness.
“My Papi should be around here somewhere,” she mentions as we begin to wander through the hall.
It’s also magnificent, adorned with all the fixtures of wealth one might find in some kind of castle. High ceilings, gallery feature walls, and humongous chandeliers are everywhere.
I let out a whistle as I take it all in, thoroughly distracted by what Carmen just said.
That is, until we come to a halt in front of a very large, very intimidating group of men. They part at the sight of Carmen, many wearing appreciative expressions as they appraise her. I try not to let my toes curl. No wonder she wanted private backup.
“Maji?” a deep voice calls out from the very center of the pack.
Before my very eyes, Amos Rubio steps forward.
It’s strange because I’ve known about this man for so long. I've seen his half-blurred face in CCTV footage, been shown his mug shot from twenty-odd years ago. But I’ve never confronted him in person.
I think I imagined he’d be taller, this intimidating force of a man that has overshadowed the Guild for years. But in reality, he’s just a normal man in an expensive suit. Tattoos creep out of his sleeves across his fingers. His dark hair shaved short.
His leathery skin wrinkles when he smiles at the sight of his daughter.
“You look beautiful,” he says as he pulls her in for a tight embrace.
I watch with the reunion with a placated smile, trying to ignore the prickle of curious attention beginning to be directed my way.
“ The one on the right, red tie. That’s Ivan. We caught him on CCTV planting ? —”
“Who is this, Mija?” Amos Rubio pulls back from his daughter to appraise me. It’s a calculating look, but not one that seems overly suspicious.
I step forward with a bright smile, flicking my hair back as I hold out my hand. “Holly McDonald, sir. But everyone just calls me Red.”
“Remember Papi? I told you she’s my friend from school.” Carmen rolls her eyes.
Then suddenly, I’m shaking hands with Amos Rubio. In the middle of his own house. Surrounded by the enemy.
“So pleased to meet you!” I lay it on a bit thick. “I owe your daughter a life debt, you know. She saved me from getting trampled to death by a rogue stallion back in Princeton.”
To her credit, Carmen easily plays along. “I just nudged you out of the way,” she says, words laced with false modesty.
Amos drops my hand, seemingly placated. “Carmen has a habit of bringing out loyalty in people. Did you also major in Bioengineering?”
“Red is a business major,” Carmen answers for me.
This seems to capture his attention somewhat. “And what kind of business do you see yourself running?”
“ Hopefully, not a drug empire,” Leon says in my ear.
I try to make the quirk of my lips at his words seem related to what I say out loud. “I actually make soaps and bathroom accessories. Bath bombs, ambience sprays, candles, that kind of thing.”
Unintimidating, unassuming. A novelty. Don’t look at me too hard.
It works. Amos instantly loses interest and refocuses on his daughter, telling her about all the people she needs to meet when he’s expected to give a speech. I listen for the practical facts, but nothing interesting is said.
I’m also too distracted by the thought of strangling Leon for almost making me break my cover.
Finally, Carmen kisses her father and returns to my side, saying her goodbyes.
“Thanks so much for the invite!” I call over my shoulder toward Amos as we walk away.
“That went well!” Carmen chirps happily at my side. “He definitely bought it. Nice touch with the bath bombs.”
“In another life, I think I would have made a pretty good artisanal soap maker,” I say wistfully, earning a laugh from my client as we glide across the room again.
“Red’s Apothecary has a good ring to it.”
I’m about to reply when someone reaches for Carmen’s arm. My knee-jerk reaction is to snatch at it, to yank them away from my charge. But I squash the urge quickly—there are far too many people in this room for theatrics.
“Carmen,” he says, and my eyes snag on his red tie.
Carmen jolts slightly at the contact but seems to relax when she realizes who has caught her. “Ivan.”
“Can I talk to you?” He’s wearing a strained expression, dark eyes darting to me, then back to Carmen. “Alone?”
The debutant reaches for my hand, squeezing it twice. One for bad, two for good.
I take my cue gracefully. “Sure thing. I was just going to go find a bathroom. I’ll see you in a bit, Cammy?”
“What are you doing? I need intel on Ivan.”
I ignore him, wandering out of the ballroom and snagging a glass of fizzy alcohol from a waiter’s tray as I pass by.
This might be my only chance to get away from Carmen safely all night without jeopardizing my cover. I’m going to make the most of it.
When I enter the next room—a gorgeous conservatory-style dining hall—I make sure to stumble a bit, giggling as I right myself.
“Excuse me.” I approach the closest couple I can find. “Do you know where…where…the er…bathroom is?”
Predictably, they both move out of the way as soon as the amber liquid from my glass slops lazily onto the floor.
“Oops,” I mumble to their retreating figures. “I’ll go find someone to clean that…up.”
“What are you doing?”
I want to tell him that I’m collecting a few eyewitnesses to the drunken redheaded friend making a fool of herself, who can place me stumbling around the ground floor if anyone were to ask.
I dip out with another laugh and beeline it for the staircase I saw on my way in. I keep up my drunken act as I ascend. No doubt there are more than a few eyes at the party keeping a lookout for suspicious behavior.
But as I make it to the landing, there doesn’t seem to be anyone who follows me.
“ You don’t have time for this. Carmen will be looking for you soon.”
“You wanted information. I’m getting you information,” I hiss back as I make my way down the empty corridor. Pausing at a few doors to peer inside.
The first few places I check are entirely empty. Bathrooms, a long lounge that looks over the front driveway, a library of some kind.
It’s not until I’m halfway down the hallway that I begin to hear voices.
“... has already been moved too many times.”
I slow my pace, lingering by a cracked open door to try and listen in.
“I don’t care,” another voice replies. “Move it again.”
“There’s nowhere else, not unless you want to go private.”
“Then go private.”
“It’ll cost you a lot of hush money.”
“Money I have. What I don’t have is a safe landing spot for the shipment. Make the fucking call.”
In my ear, I hear Leon’s sharp intake of breath. “Holy shit.”
I take that as permission to leave, hurrying back toward the staircase before anyone can notice me missing.
Only to run straight into someone at the top of the stairs. “Oh! Excuse me,” I say automatically.
Hands dig into my shoulders as they stand me back up. “The hell are you doing up here?”
I blink up. Red tie. Ivan.
“Get the FUCK out of there.”
“Looking for the bathroom.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Have you seen Carmen? I was chatting with this gorgeous blonde guy earlier…hey, do you know if he’s single? Tall, dark suit. Fuck-me-eyes?”
He shoves me to one side, clearly unamused by the conversation. “The upper floors are off-limits. Please bear that in mind as you enjoy the rest of the party, Miss McDonald.”
“Call me Red!” I sing back as I make my descent, purposefully stumbling once or twice, trying to cover for the fact my voice is shaking.