Chapter 6
Sam, aka Leo, aka Saint
Back at the hotel, I stop at the bar and order a bourbon on the rocks. It’s no Macallan, but it’s needed. What a long fucking day.
Before Nick knocked them down a peg, the Lupi Grigi were the most formidable of the Italian mafia. The Russians, as a whole, are worse, but they’ve been preoccupied with war in recent years. They’ve also been forging alliances with China and Iran. Gagliano’s expansion into the shadow fleet means the Russians are bolstering European alliances too.
There was a time when the mafia and cartels stayed in their own cities and most of their income was derived from alcohol or drugs. Now they hold influence across every political spectrum. In some countries, they are the leadership. Powerful leaders, the ones who influence events under the banner of maintaining a strong worldwide economy, will never eradicate them, because they serve as soldiers on the ground.
“Would you like another?” The bartender asks.
“ Si, grazi .” I have another while catching up on the news. There’s a television behind the bartender, but I don’t watch it. I can’t stand talking heads who dilute a complex issue into a thirty-second sound bite. In-depth articles, if written well, provide the details needed for any understanding of the reality of a situation.
“Would you like another?” the bartender asks. I’ve no idea how much time has passed.
“No. Grazi .” After scribbling out my room number, I push back, ready to call it a night. Three drinks are plenty. A headache in the morning would make tomorrow unbearable.
As I approach my room, I slow. The wire I laid out is broken. The Do Not Disturb sign dangles off kilter from the knob where I left it. And I don’t have my fucking gun.
I knock on the door and announce in my best Italian, “Room service.”
I give the intruder time to hide, press the plastic key to the door, stepping to the side should bullets fly, and push open the door with my foot. My SIG rests on the entry table where I left it.
No one is behind the door, no one down the hall. I step in, snatch the gun, check the chamber, and my muscles relax as my fingers wrap around the smooth grip.
If someone’s in here, they’re a novice. Would explain the broken wire. Maybe it’s a common thief.
I’m in a suite, but since I’m by myself, my carry-on is open on the bed. I checked in this afternoon. Nothing appears out of place.
A rustle near the curtains has me flicking the lights. Behind the drapes. Common thief.
I whip the curtain back.
A blood curdling scream rips through the room.
Hands thrust sky high.
Blonde hair.
Floral dress.
It’s the girl from earlier.
“Why are you in my room?” I lower my gun, but I’m not about to set it down.
“I need to talk to you.” Fear ripples through those wide eyes.
She’s pressed herself against the glass, as if I’m going to strike and she’s trying to get as far away from me as possible.
“So you broke into my room?”
She tracks my gun. In the moonlight, earlier tonight, her irises had appeared black. Under the fluorescent lights, they’re bright blue against flawless, milky skin.
She’s young. What the hell is she doing breaking into my room?
She’s too slight to be much of a risk. I stretch my fingers, holding the piece with my thumb and index finger, pointing it to the side of the room, a universal symbol for “I’m not looking to blow your brains out right now.”
“Why are you in my room?” I step back, giving her space but still unwilling to set the gun down just yet. “And how’d you do it?”
“One of the hotel staff was doing turn down service. I asked if she’d open my room for me. I told her my father had a migraine, and I didn’t want to wake him, but I’d lost my card.”
“And she let you in?”
“He did.”
Ah, a man. He’d probably been taken in by her innocence. “Why not call up to the room?”
“You didn’t answer, and…I couldn’t risk being seen.”
I narrow my eyes. “By whom?”
She swallows. “Anyone.” She pulls the drapes closed. When she turns, faint bruising along her neck shows. The bruising will likely be darker tomorrow.
“Are you hiding from that man?”
She tucks her hair behind her ear, then bites her thumbnail. I haven’t seen anyone bite her nails since… ah, I can’t think about them. I need to deal with this and get some shuteye.
“Are you gonna speak? Surely there’s a reason you broke into my room. Which, how did you know where I’m staying?” Three drinks and my brain isn’t as sharp. I’m getting too fucking old.
She drops her hand from her mouth and wipes her palms on the front of her dress. She turns, passes me, and sits on the end of the bed, feet flat on the floor, dress spilling over her legs, making her look like one of Sloane’s china dolls stored on a shelf. Her hair is wild and uncombed, just like one of Sage’s dolls. I should not be thinking of my sisters.
“I have a proposition for you.”
I pause, unsure I heard her, and bite back a smirk. This, I did not see coming.
“Baby doll, this might surprise you after what happened out on the beach, but there are men in this world who believe you are too young for them.”
Her cheeks flush. In this light, it’s clear she dyes her hair blonde. Black roots deepen the color along her center part. There’s something about the switcheroo, from blonde to black, that appeals to me. Or maybe it’s simply the overall aesthetic. She could shave her head, and her natural beauty would shine through.
“That’s… What I’m going to propose might sound crazy. It is crazy.” She fists the edge of the comforter, holding on as if she’s at risk of falling off the bed. She’s scared, but she’s got balls. She’s here. That deserves admiration and a second to hear her out.
“Go on.” I hope my southern twang calms the girl. Sometimes it works, but I haven’t tried the good ol’ boy dialect in Italy. It might make it impossible to understand me.
“That man, the one from tonight, his name is Leandro, and he’s a psychopath.”
“Leandro De Luca. Massimo’s brother?” I knew the fucker looked familiar.
“Yes. He’s cruel. To animals, to women.” I nod, as he probably would’ve raped her if I hadn’t come along, but I need her to get to the reason for breaking into my room. Does she want me to kill him? Did someone tell her I’m an assassin?
“And, well, I know it’s crazy, and I don’t know why, but apparently, he wants to marry me, and my brother, Orlando—you met him—he thinks Papa will agree, which is crazy because these are modern times, and I should have choices. I am college educated. I should have options, but I don’t. If I leave, they’ll find me.”
Who told her I’m an assassin? How did I go from arms dealer to assassin?
“And, well, it’s my understanding that you are a homosexual.”
Come again? She’s staring at the ground and keeps rambling.
“I could be your beard. You could save me from having to marry him, and I could make you more presentable around the world. You know. When you go out there selling bombs and guns and whatever arms dealers sell.”
Her words blur together, and I swear I get a little dizzy. How many glasses did I drink down at the bar?
A fist pounds on the door to my suite, and Willow jumps.
“You expecting anyone?”
She shakes her head. The terror in those eyes…Fuck, I hate seeing that in a girl so young.
“Leo. Open up.” Whoever is at the door sounds pissed. “I know my daughter’s in there.”
You have got to be fucking kidding me . I twist my head, perplexed.
There’s a gold locket around her neck, and it all clicks.
“Is that necklace a tracker?”
Her fingers clutch the locket and her eyes widen. I’d tell her to hide in the bathroom, but there’s really no fucking point. Her father clearly knows she’s here, either because she’s got a tracker on her or she purposefully led him here.
The pounding gets louder.
I narrow my eyes at her. What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
“How old are you?” If she says anything lower than eighteen… I grit my teeth, waiting.
“Twenty-one. Twenty-two in a week.”
“Willow. I know you’re in there.”
I glance at the door. “I’ve got to let him in.”
“Please.” Her plea is breathy, filled with desperation.
“I’m around two decades older than you.” But as I say it, I realize it’s all relative because Leandro must be forty years older.
The pounding at the door halts and other male voices mix in. The hotel staff must’ve been called.
I feel for the girl, but she’s latched on to the wrong guy to get her out of a shit situation. Technically, I don’t exist.
My boots pound on the floor as I approach the door, much like my fucking mood. All I wanted was to get a little buzzed and crash.
I sling the door open. Sweat beads across Alessio’s forehead and red tinges his flesh. A skinny kid in shorts and a t-shirt stands at his side with a sheepish expression. It’s the kid from earlier on the beach.
Two uniformed hotel employees stand on the other side of Alessio. “Sir, Mr. Gagliano needs to see you. I would appreciate it if you could keep the noise down out of consideration for our guests?—”
My phone rings in my back pocket. When I reach for it, the hotel employee glimpses the gun in my other hand.
“We don’t want any issues,” the employee stammers.
Alessio pushes past me, ignoring the men.
“It’s fine. I promise you, there won’t be any issues.” I hold the door for Orlando, who appears far too pale for a teenager living in the Mediterranean. “Come on in. I’ve got to take this.”
I hold up my phone and slide to answer before it goes to voice mail. It’s Nick, and he doesn’t do well if his call isn’t answered.
“Can I call you back?” I mutter as Orlando slinks past me into the room. I shut the door on the two bewildered employees.
“What is this?” Alessio shouts.
“Mate?” Nick asks, clearly confused as fuck.
“You have my daughter in your hotel room?” Alessio’s livid. Possibly rightfully so, but if she’s twenty-two…or almost twenty-two…Jesus I hope she told me the truth about her age.
“I have a situation,” I say to the phone.
“Sounds like it.”
I hold up a hand and add a stern glare. This man will not intimidate me. I am not at fault here. He can handle his daughter.
“I’m going to take this call. Your daughter can explain what’s she’s doing here.” I pointedly scowl at the two of them and slip into the en suite bathroom where I can close the door.
“Sleeping with a mafia member’s daughter isn’t the smartest move, mate.”
“I didn’t sleep with anyone,” I bite out, loud enough I hope Alessio hears me. “What’s up?”
“Got your note about submersible manufacturers. Does he want nukes?”
“Not on the wish list. He’s looking to move sanctioned products.”
“For the Russians?”
“Yes.” I stare at the closed door. Alessio isn’t yelling anymore, and the silence distracts me. “When I’m back, I’ll share my thoughts.”
“No need. We don’t want that connection to strengthen.”
“Precisely.” I step closer to the door, listening.
“Can they hear you?”
“Possibly.” Although, based on the mishmash of angry tones reverberating through the panel door, I don’t think Alessio particularly cares about my conversation. “Hey, are the Grigis one of those conservative mafia groups? Like do they arrange marriages?”
“They’re one step above Neanderthal.” Over the years, I’ve learned Nick doesn’t think much of the mafias or cartels. “Why?”
“What is this? Hiding in the bathroom?” Alessio’s booming voice comes through clearly, so articulate he must be standing by the door.
“Do you need help?” Nick asks.
“Hold.” I open the door, and sure enough, Alessio blocks the doorway with his broad shoulders and extended midriff. But I’m taller than him, and I can take him. The guy’s in decent shape for his age, but he’s got to have twenty years on me, and he doesn’t have my training.
“Business. Can you give me a minute?”
“No man is going to want her if she’s seen coming out of hotel rooms. You stain my daughter, and you dare to tell me to wait while you do business?”
I open my mouth, ready to lay the truth out there, but glassy, tear-filled, terror-stricken eyes stop me.
Behind him, Willow mouths, “Please.”
The thing is, I don’t see the young girl I saved earlier today. In that moment, I see my youngest sister in a hospital bed, and I would’ve done anything to help her.
“What wasp nest did you kick?” Nick asks in my ear.
“Can you give me a moment? This is the syndicate. You can help yourself to a drink.” I gesture to the open bar in the sitting area and half-expect the angry old man to spit in my face, but I slam the door before he can.
“What, exactly, have you done?” The wanker sounds thoroughly entertained.
“Alessio Gagliano’s daughter broke into my room and asked me to marry her.”
“Don’t play tickle fuck with me.”
I bark out a laugh. “I couldn’t make this shit up. She’s pegged me as a better match than Massimo’s brother…what’s his name?”
“Leandro?”
“Yeah. He was about to rape her on the beach, and I intervened.”
“Of course you did.”
“Didn’t know who he was.” Truth is, I still would’ve stopped him. There are lines I will not cross, and allowing a woman to be assaulted is one of them. “What am I dealing with here? I mean, I’m not Italian. I don’t believe in their shit. He wouldn’t even want me to marry her, would he?”
“You’re in the syndicate. Leandro has a reputation. No sane man would want his daughter marrying her. You might be the best option. Hell, maybe he put her up to it. She broke into your room?” The bastard chuckles.
“Be serious. I don’t have all day. I’m locked in the loo.”
He sobers up, and I scan the ceiling, seeking calm.
“You’re a member of the syndicate. They won’t fuck with you. Sort it however you want. To them, you’re untouchable. If they do anything to you, the wrath of the gods will rain down. Those guys aren’t the highest educated, but they understand world order.”
I scratch my forehead, envisioning those watery blue eyes pleading. “If I were to marry her, if we got divorced or I died, what would happen to her?”
“God damn. You are such a noble bloke. You’re thinking you’ll marry her, bring her to London, and set her up to live on her own. Playing the knight in shining armor once isn’t enough, so you’ll do it twice?”
“What happens to her?” There are no sounds through the door, and I’m on edge. I crack the door and relax when I see her sitting on the bed. Crying. She’s so fucking young.
“You bring her to London, and if you set her up financially, there will be no reason for her to return.”
“The same protections afforded to me would extend to her?”
“You’re planning on marrying her and divorcing her, aren’t you? So bloody noble. You haven’t even fucked her either, have you? What a fucking saint you are.”
“I’ll call you.”
“If you need a best man, say the word.”
I end the call and open the door.
Orlando sits on a velvet bench, head down as if in prayer. Alessio holds a highball glass, and there’s so much anger soaking his glower I half expect I’ll need to duck.
“Are you going to do the right thing?”
“I haven’t touched her. You can’t force me to marry her. I’m not Italian.” This probably isn’t the best way to go about negotiating for her hand, but I won’t be cornered.
“You want me to call your boss?”
“Be my guest.”
He mutters a string of expletives in Italian. He steps up to Willow and slams his palm against the back of her head. She cries out in pain, and a second later, I have the fuck up against the wall.
What is it with these men?
“Where I’m from, you don’t hit women.” My forearm jams his neck. If he fights me, the pressure will crush his windpipe. Through gritted teeth, I repeat, “You don’t hit women. Capisce ?”
Fury blazes in his eyes.
I lift my arm and make a show of straightening his shirt. He brushes my hand away and his lips curl into a snarl. If he was a dog, he’d be growling, and his hackles would be straight up.
“You have my daughter in a hotel room. And you dare to touch me?”
“Papa, let’s go.” A single tear falls down Willow’s cheek, and I look to the heavens for strength.
I’ve lived a lie for five years. What’s one more in the mix?
“Willow, if you will have me, I would be honored to be your husband.”
Hope radiates from her big baby blues, and I don’t want to think about how good that feels, so I look away. Orlando’s head lifts and beams like he hit the jackpot.
A shove to my shoulder knocks me back. “You think that’s the way you win my daughter’s hand? With your hand on my throat? She’s a Gagliano. You don’t ask her. You ask me. I am the father.” He rubs his neck and his face wrinkles. “And no. After what you just did?—”
“Papa,” Willow exclaims, “I love him. Please.”
“Love,” he scoffs.
Yeah, she’s not a talented actress, and he’s not buying her show, but at least I’m pretty sure this wasn’t some complicated scheme he put her up to. He opens his mouth, catches my warning gaze, and shuts it.
“If I give you my daughter’s hand, I want wholesale rates. Better than network pricing. You understand? The best pricing anyone in the world gets. None of this percentage to the syndicate. Nothing on top.” He glares at me. “ Capisce ?”
I nod, incredulous that I’m in this situation. She peers up at me like I’m her savior. Will she be of the same opinion when I disappear? How she views me doesn’t matter. This insane action saves her from a fuckwad, and I’ll leave her in a better place.
“When should we set the date?” Alessio has his phone out, checking his calendar.
Fuck me. “What’s a normal engagement period?”
If he says six months or a year, then it won’t be any use to Willow, as I plan to be long gone. My exit is overdue.
“When are you returning to London?”
“Sunday.”
“Let’s do it Sunday. We’ll make it a small affair, immediate family only.”
The shock on Orlando’s and Willow’s faces tells me this isn’t normal, and skepticism stirs. “Is Massimo going to have an issue with our arrangement?”
“No.” Her father smiles, but it’s more of a nasty leer. “Because you’re going to promise that the connection will prove lucrative to our family. By the time Leandro finds out, it will be a done deal.”
I could be reading my young fiancée wrong, but she looks as shell-shocked as I feel. She sidles up to me, giving me an eyeful of her breasts, thanks to the low-cut top she’s wearing. Fantastic tits. Perfectly shaped. Natural. Her bra must be pushing them up, holding them just so, as if on an offering plate. She has no business wearing such a low-cut dress.
Her father emits a guttural noise, reminding me of the present predicament. A young woman pleaded with me to help her, and bringing her back to London with me is an easy enough fix. I’ll set her up well before I split, and she’ll be safe. If it were one of my sisters in this fucked up situation, I’d want someone to step up for them.
“All right. Sunday it is.”