Chapter 36
Five Days Later
Willow, aka Lily
The crew members are polite but distant. They’re all Jack Sullivan’s employees, and Sam says we can trust them, but by the same token, they’re trained to keep their distance.
Sam—it’s still strange to call him Sam—correctly forecast the pain level from the crash over the bridge and into the river. We spent the first few days taking pain meds and sleeping quite a lot, either in the bedroom or on the deck in the shade. Or, at least, I’ve been sleeping. Sam’s been in what he calls debriefs.
Today is my first day with no pain medication. My bruises are yellowing, and the rhythm of the sea has lulled my tight muscles into a serene state. With five crew members, we’re never alone, but that’s not the way it feels.
Named The Honey Pot , the yacht has a bright and airy interior with luxurious, neutral-colored accommodations, including five suites for guests, and quarters for the crew in three cabins.
Traveling day and night at a brisk pace, we’ve reached the Gulf Stream, a warm current that runs along the east coast of North America, and it’s warmer where we are. We plan to travel south of Florida and dock in the Gulf of Mexico at a private port. Today, the tropical sun beats down on the boat with a welcome intensity.
“Here you are,” Sam says, stepping right up to me and flattening a palm on my right butt cheek. “This is a tiny bikini.” I’m wearing a swim coverup, but it’s a stringy concoction that covers nothing.
“It’s what they provided.”
The approving hum next to my ear sends tingles down my neck and straight through me.
“Are you done with your meetings for the day?” I ask, hoping for some relaxing time with him.
“I believe so. Would you like to hang out on the deck?”
He’s wearing swim trunks that hang low, close to his knees, a decidedly American style, but an American stocked the ship with the clothes. He’s also wearing a short-sleeve button down, but it’s unbuttoned. My fingers trace the fading bruises along his collarbone and across his chest.
“Should I get some sunscreen? You can take this off and save yourself from strange tan lines.”
“Does this mean I get to apply sunscreen to you?” He fingers the lining of my swimsuit bottoms as he nibbles along my neck.
“Thomas already did that. But you can reapply in about an hour.”
“Thomas?”
Choosing to ignore the gruffness in his tone, I push up on my toes and press my lips to his chin. “You’ve been gone,” I chastise. “This would feel like a honeymoon if you hadn’t been working so much.”
He exhales what sounds like frustration. “Debriefings and…our funeral will be in a week.”
“That’s quick.” It feels quick, at least. Time has simultaneously flown and slowed out here with nothing but the Atlantic as far as the eye can see.
“Your family is speeding it along. At least once they agreed we would be buried on Nick Ivanov’s estate.”
“Why there?”
“He’s the closest Leo had to family in Europe. They debated flying our remains to the States, but the powers that be decided it would be risky to invite your family to my theoretical family home. It opened us up to unnecessary risks.”
“What do you mean?”
“Family photographs without me in them. Running into a real family member in town who isn’t aware Leo Sullivan exists. It’s a high-risk scenario.”
“How is there a burial without remains?”
“They have remains. After the storm, the search team found our bodies downstream from the vehicle. We were cremated.”
“My family agreed?”
“Nick insisted you would want to be buried with your husband.”
“Why?”
He raises an amused eyebrow. He’s teasing me because he knows I plan to be by his side for eternity. While he’s been absent during the day, our nights have been full of lovemaking, talking, and planning the future.
“No, I mean, why not have us buried in the Gagliano family plot?”
“Minimizing risk. We don’t want someone digging up remains and running DNA tests.”
“Who was cremated?”
“John Does.”
“Who?”
“Unclaimed bodies in the morgue.”
“But…”
“Anything can be had for the right price.”
“These precautions…are you still?—”
“I’m officially no longer a part of the operation.”
“Is it over?”
“It’ll never be over. At least, as long as countries distrust each other, intelligence gathering will occur.”
“How is it not over if you’re?—”
“My tour is over.” I open my mouth, full of questions, but he places a finger over my lips. “I’m no longer a part of the operation. That’s all you need to know.”
“You’re still worried we might be in danger?”
“I’ll probably always worry. At least for the next couple of decades.” He presses his lips to my forehead and muses, “I’ve seen the worst in humanity. Power and greed lend justification to vile acts. Many criminals have no option other than prosecution. But with a certain level of wealth, options exist. And if faced with losing everything…”
“They do bad things.”
“Yes.”
“My father isn’t a dangerous man.” I’ve seen the men who kill regularly, mostly the ones who keep businesses safe and members in line. My father isn’t anything like them. Interestingly, the brutal men are the workhorses and rank lower in the organization.
“Few men are truly evil. Most men possess morals, but ethics vary. Your father is better than most. He grew up in a criminal organization, but he runs a mostly legitimate, global business.”
“My father doesn’t like… He didn’t want us touching drugs. He once told me there’s been a market for drugs for centuries and there always will be. That what our family does is bring discipline to the market and safety to our communities.”
“Some criminal organizations are more successful than others at maintaining peace.”
The skin on his outer arm has a lighter tone and is slightly raised in an uneven pattern, something that’s more noticeable with his tanned skin. I run my fingers over the area. “Were you injured here?”
“I had a tattoo. Had it removed.” He grins, glancing at the area fondly as if he can still see what he’d once had inked on his skin.
“Why?”
“It’s not a good idea to have an easily identifiable marking. Especially one that screams U.S. Navy.”
I bend and press my lips to the area, kissing both his skin and the starched hem of his shirt.
“What was it of?”
“A frog.”
I crinkle my nose, and he laughs.
“Yeah, my sister didn’t like it too much either.”
“Were you drunk?”
“Pretty sure I would’ve failed a sobriety test.” He caresses my cheek. His grin has settled into a relaxed, warm expression. With each day that has passed, our bodies have healed, and I’m sure that’s partly responsible, but it’s also like he’s letting Leo the syndicate member go, and he’s remembering who he was. Who he is.
The sun sparkles over the water, and it’s a nearly perfect day with calm, rolling waves, but an exhaust smell circulates in the air where we’re standing.
“Want to go sit?” We’re on the lowest deck, but the higher one is free of the engine’s smell.
“Sure.” He links his fingers through mine, leading me to the narrow stairs. He steps aside and lets me pass.
On this deck, there’s a curved white sofa that looks behind the boat. A circular table fits perfectly in front of the sofa, and there’s a hidden panel which can pull out to turn the sofa into an oversized lounge chair. Sam bends to adjust it for us, and the door behind us slides open.
One of the crew, a woman named Marta, exits and takes over. Thomas follows, arms full of thick white towels, and they set up the area for us.
“Would you care for anything to drink?”
“Iced water with lime,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Same,” Sam says.
I remove my swim cover-up and sprawl on the plush towel.
“Come here. Grab that sunblock.” He does as he’s told and sits beside me, giving me his back. “Do you burn easily?”
“No. And if I do burn, it’s usually a tan the next day.” He glances over his shoulder, and I feel his gaze roam my body. “What about you? How well do you tan?”
“I tan easily, but I also wear sunblock religiously. A young woman has to take care of her skin,” I say, imitating my mother. It’s hard to believe I won’t see her again. I haven’t debated with Sam as I don’t want him to think I harbor regrets, but I have to believe that with enough time, I can see my family again. At least my mother, father, and brother. If they’re too much of a danger thanks to their position in the Lupi Grigi, then I should be able to see Scarlet again. She will always prioritize me over the family she hates. She’d never rat us out.
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to change your hair color after we’re stateside,” Sam says, bending his head as I massage lotion into his shoulders, oblivious to the emotional wave that swept over me and my train of thought.
“Will I be in disguise?” I tug on him, forcing him to turn. “Are you in disguise now?”
He chuckles. “No. But it wouldn’t be a bad idea for us to change a few things, so we’re not instantly recognizable. I was thinking about growing a beard. I stayed mostly cleanshaven before, so I could easily attach facial hair as needed to alter my appearance. Growing a beard will be a welcome break from shaving. If my wife wouldn’t mind it?”
I scratch my nails through the short growth darkening his jaw. “I think I’ll like it. I love you in any form.” I wiggle my eyebrows, and he grins. “You could grow your hair long,” I say, moving my nails to his scalp and earning a low moan. His dark hair has a natural curl to it, and as it’s grown longer, it’s gotten wavier.
“Do you have a thing for men with long hair?” I still, thinking of my first boyfriend…my only boyfriend. He’d had straight, shoulder-length, sandy blonde hair that he either pushed behind his ears or held back in a man bun, out of the way when he painted.
“I don’t mind long hair.”
“Hate to break it to you, but if I grow this out, it’s closer to a seventies Afro than sexy Italian.”
I snort then press my lips to his shoulder. “You’re sexy to me, no matter what.” I tap him, letting him know I’ve finished his back. He takes over, applying lotion to his front.
“I would like to take care of my roots before I meet your family.” I’ve been dyeing my hair blonde since my eighteenth birthday as an act of rebellion. Or maybe not rebellion, just a statement that I would not be like the other women in the Lupi Grigi. I’d been determined to make my path, to choose my hair color, my clothes, and my education. This turn of events is unexpected, but it’s also a choice I pushed.
“Your roots are getting pretty long.”
My hand flies to my part, not that I can exactly hide it. I am overdue. I like having some roots showing against the blonde, but… “Do you hate it?”
“No.” He’s smiling, genuinely smiling. “You’re beautiful. With straight hair, wavy hair, any color…with those eyes, you’ll always be stunning.” He caresses my cheek, warm brown eyes thoughtful. “In any form, you’ll always be beautiful to me.”
The door slides open, and our drinks are delivered to us, and just as quickly, Thomas disappears back inside the boat.
“I imagine your natural dark shade contrasting with the blue in your eyes will be heart-stopping.”
“Straight, dark hair,” I say, fingering a section of the windblown salty strands. “I get the waves from braiding it at night.”
“Come here. Lean back with me.”
I do as he says, sprawling beside him. My sunglasses shield my eyes, but the sun’s heat sizzles my skin and relaxes my muscles. This is the first day on our journey the air has been warm enough to lie like this.
Sam’s fingers and the sun work in concert on my skin, scattering tingles across my limbs. I close my eyes, reveling in the ease of the moment.
My bikini strap slips from my shoulder and cool air circulates over my breast, and a hot, wet warmth encapsulates my nipple. Sam slips a hand beneath my bottoms and fingers my folds. My legs spread wider, giving him ample room.
The breeze, the sun, the salty air, and his fingers and tongue feel amazing, but we’re outside.
“The crew,” I gasp, attempting to push up to see inside the cabin.
“If they come out here, they’ll leave.”
“But…”
There’s a tug on my top, and the stringy piece falls to the side. He sucks in my other nipple, circling his tongue as his fingers press against my mound, massaging in a way that feels incredible.
“Mrs. Watson?”
“Hmm?”
“What do you say we officially begin our honeymoon?”