Chapter 93
Lucrezia
My brother was getting antsy. Adriano Rosolini had left the compound a few minutes ago – apparently by himself, since he was behind the wheel – and Cesare had been acting like a pissy little bitch ever since.
Now he was pacing back and forth furiously, his face twisted in anger.
“When the fuck are they getting here?” he snapped.
My Russian contact had sent me a text ten minutes ago. When I’d read it, I’d about shit a brick.
Delayed. Leaving now.
Which meant they’d be here in roughly 50 minutes.
“Half an hour,” I lied, just to keep Cesare calm.
“Fuck!” he snarled, and clutched at his head like he was having a migraine.
“Who’s coming?” Romeo asked as he kept watch through the telescope.
“I told you: need to know basis,” I said, but I didn’t look at him as I said it.
I was too busy watching Cesare with a sense of creeping dread.
I knew my brother. When he got like this, it was only a matter of time before he exploded and decided to do whatever the fuck he wanted, and damn the consequences.
His impatience had destroyed more of my well-thought-out plans than I cared to count. It was a miracle I’d been able to contain him for four whole years until the raid on the Amatos.
I just needed him to hang on a little bit longer until the Russians arrived.
“Hold on,” Romeo murmured.
“What?” both Cesare and I said at the same time.
“Somebody else is leaving.”
“What do you mean, ‘somebody else’?!” Cesare barked.
He stormed over to the telescope and shoved Romeo out of the way before squinting into the eyepiece.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Romeo said, even though he wasn’t looking anymore, “but I don’t think it’s the Rosolinis. At least, none of them are driving. It looked like one of their grunts and a blonde chick in the passenger seat.”
“God DAMN IT!” my brother howled, then stood up and punched at empty air. I was afraid he was going to knock the fucking telescope over.
“It’s a girl,” I said in as calm a voice as I could manage. “A fucking girl. Nothing to get excited about.”
“Nobody’s supposed to be leaving!”
“It’s two cars,” I pointed out. “Two. One’s probably a nobody – ”
“Adriano Rosolini’s not a nobody!” Cesare raged.
“No, but we don’t give a shit about him, right? Only Dario.”
“Mrm,” Cesare grunted like he hated agreeing with me.
“Follow the plan,” I said, trying not to sound like I was begging. “It’s a good plan.”
Cesare didn’t say anything as he resumed pacing again.
I looked at my watch.
Forty-five minutes left.
FUCK.