Chapter 4 #6
She wasn’t happy. A slight melancholy air surrounded her.
She was fulfilled, doing work she enjoyed and was incredibly successful.
But she had no family and clearly was used to being on her own and had been on her own since she was a child.
He’d gone from a tightly knit family to the close bonds of the military, where hundreds of highly effective and dangerous men had his back at all times.
For no reason that he could see, this remarkable woman was…alone. A woman like Parker, alone in this world—he couldn’t believe it.
If he lived to be a thousand years old, he’d never forget her telling him, as if it were nothing, that she was receiving hate mail, yet had no one protecting her.
Man, if a woman of his were threatened, Nick would track the guy threatening her down and make him sorry. Really sorry. He wanted to do that now, for fuck’s sake. Parker wasn’t his woman, true, but…
Yet.
A voice whispered deep inside him.
The waiter rolled up with a huge liqueur cart, bottles rattling.
Parker smiled at Nick. “It’s usual after a big dinner to have a digestive liqueur. Lots of people take limoncello because it’s well known, but I’d recommend a nocino. A liqueur made from walnuts and not as sweet as a limoncello, but very pleasant.”
Nick was tempted, but… He held up his hands. “Driving. But you go ahead and tell me if you like it.”
She nodded at the waiter and pointed to a tall, slender brown bottle with a hand printed label. He poured the dark brown liquid into a small tulip glass, told her something, then looked questioningly at Nick. Nick shook his head, and the waiter rolled his cart away.
She tasted it and sighed. “It’s great. The waiter said the chef’s mother made it. I think it’s one of those recipes that takes days. Sorry you’re not drinking it.”
“Leave a drop or two in the bottom.” He liked the idea of drinking from her glass.
They both looked out over the Bay. There were fewer boats and, on the horizon, an enormous cruise ship that looked like the mother ship, huge, gaudy, brightly lit.
Vesuvius blocked the stars, a shadow in the sky.
The city was alive with light, the sounds of the traffic below, along the Bay, faint. Someone, somewhere, was practicing the violin and a woman’s laughter suddenly erupted on the terrace.
All of it was good, was life itself, and so far removed from the places where Nick had spent the past couple of years. After sundown in those cities, there was little traffic, no women’s laughter. Barely any lights on. Most people retreated behind the walls of their homes after dark.
Parker took a final sip and put the tulip glass down and slid it over to him. “You’ve got to try it. It’s delicious.” There was still a little liqueur in the bottom of the glass. “Walnuts steeped in alcohol and a ton of special spices.”
Nick picked it up and drained it. He blinked. It was tart and intense with a touch of sweetness, very aromatic and perfect for an after-dinner drink. “Wow.”
“Right? One of these evenings, we’ll both take taxis so you can enjoy the wine fully and we’ll have a nocino and maybe—” Parker suddenly stopped on an intaken breath and turned pink. “Sorry—”
“No. No. Don’t be sorry.” Nick put his hand on her arm.
She was embarrassed that she’d assumed she’d be seeing him in the future.
She didn’t have to be embarrassed. She was going to be seeing as much of him as she could stand.
“Consider my every moment not spent working for the Consulate at your disposal. As many dinners and lunches as you can bear.”
Breakfasts, too, he thought, without saying it. But it was true. Just as soon as she said yes, they were going straight to bed. The sooner the better. His skin itched with the thought.
She’d thought she was presuming, but she wasn’t. There was something here and he wanted—badly—to explore it. Maybe she did, too.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Okay.”
They nodded at each other. She was the first to break eye contact and looked around at the almost-empty terrace.
Most of the guests had departed, even in Naples, where dinners usually started late.
Nick was watching her, not wanting to take his eyes off her to check his watch.
But he had a pretty accurate clock in his head, and he reckoned it was close to 1 am.
Evening traffic along the bay had slowed down and the area had become quiet.
Time to leave.
He had no desire to leave. None.
He wanted to stay here forever. With Parker, on a terrace overlooking the sea with the stars shining down. Feeling excited and happy and…calm. Like he’d finally found something he didn’t know he’d been looking for.
Il Terrazzone. The restaurant was one of those Neapolitan institutions George normally only glimpsed when passing in a taxi—the kind with white table linens perfectly ironed, silver gleaming in soft candlelight, and an unspoken rule that only the wealthy and the glamorous dared enter.
The chosen.
Well, he was quickly becoming one of the chosen.
He was rising, though making sure nobody noticed.
His wardrobe was much better, but he made a point of saying he’d found a good, cheap tailor.
Not that anyone noticed, really. At first, he splurged on some really good restaurants—though not Il Terrazzone—but he went alone and it got old.
No matter. Money in the bank soothed him.
It was essentially a matter of money. A normal meal at Il Terrazzone was apparently €200 a head and they were having a spectacular meal, so it was entirely possible Nikolai Garin was going to drop at least €500 tonight.
Garin could afford it. He could afford ten, a hundred times that, easily.
He was part-owner of Black Inc., which everyone knew was a money machine and, apparently, he was also part-owner of another security company, the one that was tasked with working for the Consulate.
He was drowning in cash. George wasn’t drowning, but he was slowly coming up in the world.
But even with money, Parker Donovan wouldn’t go out with him, look at him with soft eyes the way she was looking at Garin. The man who might drag George down.
George was in the cafè part of Il Terrazzone, where you could have a drink and a few antipasti for under €50. Above all, the cafè portion was hidden behind huge potted plants, so George could watch Garin and Parker without them noticing him.
They were at the best table in the restaurant, with the best view over the bay. Parker looked happy and relaxed, as if she belonged in the restaurant. Of course she did.
Rich background. Polished education—a PhD in Classical Studies, for fuck’s sake. Author of a bestselling book and a successful Netflix documentary. Walking proof of everything George wasn’t.
Once again, George was on the outside looking in. Always outside—all his life, looking through windows at people with better clothes, better blood, better luck.
But things had changed. He’d made sure of that. He had his app. His buyers of intel. His income had doubled, tripled and would triple again. He could afford good suits now. Good watches. He was rising, seizing the life others had denied him.
So why did he feel so damned small, watching Garin sit exactly where George had imagined himself—at Parker’s side, while she glowed in candlelight?
Still, he was the one with the app, wasn’t he? He was the one who could spy on the Consul.
And no one knew about his app.
It was well hidden. It would take someone like Garin to find it, and even then, there was nothing that tied his cell to the Consul’s cell.
George had thought about removing the app while the security consultant was here, but that would require him actually having Munro’s cell in his hands for about ten minutes. That would be more dangerous than the unlikely event of someone stumbling across his app.
George had put in a bid for the Dubai Embassy as his next posting. Now that was something to look forward to. Access to the cell of the Ambassador to Dubai was golden.
Garin said something, and Parker leaned forward to hear him better.
Garin sat as if the place belonged to him, his posture almost military. George had done his homework and Garin had been in the military almost twelve years. A fucking navy SEAL. Medals up the wazoo.
He was not Parker’s type. Women like her preferred polished types but that wasn’t Garin. Still, he had a powerful presence, and it pulled her in. Or maybe the money? Though she had plenty of her own. What the fuck?
It made him sick.
Parker had refused him over and over. He’d asked politely, discreetly. Drinks. Dinner. A simple walk along Via Caracciolo. She always smiled, but responded with something clipped in her tone. I’m busy, George. Another time, George.
Even if it was clear another time would never come. And here she was, out to dinner with a man she’d met this afternoon, leaning forward to hear whatever Garin had to say in his low, deep voice.
Watching them burned in his gut. Because this wasn’t only professional now. Keeping his secret safe from the security pro. The security pro had everything George wanted—authority, respect, power and money.
And now Parker.
Garin leaned forward, said something. Parker laughed. She was so beautiful when she laughed. Their glasses touched lightly. A toast, their eyes holding just a moment too long. George looked away sharply, his throat raw with rage.
Garin looked around the restaurant casually, but he did that often. Keeping an eye on the terrain. George moved his head fully behind the huge leaves of the big plant next to his chair, so he was hidden from view.
But he’d seen enough. He called for the bill because there was one more thing to do tonight.