17. Fight the urge
SEVENTEEN
FIGHT THE URGE
Alessio
The burner phone in my drawer will detonate if anyone presses any of the buttons. My best friend recovered it from a crew of bad men who used the marina on my island to restock their yacht before sailing.
When known criminals make pit stops, the law enforcement agencies tracking them inquire about where the criminals were and who they encountered, and since this is my island, I came up on the radar. In exchange for my being taken off that radar, powerful people asked me to eliminate the men on the yacht.
I sent one of my only two friends, who also happens to be the world’s finest hitman, to do the job. But nobody told us the yacht crew was transporting a nuclear warhead along with a kidnapped college girl they’d planned to kill after they sold her baby to the highest bidder.
I did mean it when I said these were some bad men.
My friend? I wouldn’t say he’s a good man, but let’s just say that a pregnant woman he found on the yacht didn’t make his hit list. In fact, he rescued her and forced me to adopt her into the family, all without marrying her like I asked. Which was a terrible mistake, one he made even worse when he went after the man who’d lured his pregnant girlfriend into Europe and caused her to be on said yacht.
Needless to say, Miro went all out with his murderous creativity on the man who wronged her, and ended up in jail. Since I can’t have Miro in jail, I extracted him before they booked him, so the evidence from the scene, while substantial, can’t tie Miro to the murder, because Miro doesn’t exist.
He’s a man without a country or a home who saved my life once. Naturally, I saved his, thinking he’d get over the girl and move on. But I should’ve known better. For a man who never formed attachments, once he did, he couldn’t let go. Now he wants to marry her and live on the other side of the world, while I’m left cleaning up the mess he left after his arrest.
Even with my connections and substantial leverage in both law enforcement and powerful criminal organizations in Italy, where he was arrested, I might not be able to keep his identity a secret. The man’s responsible for some of the biggest assassinations in recent history. He’s offed world leaders, for Christ’s sake, and made it look like they died of natural causes.
Not to mention, Niksha (Miro’s foster brother) could come under fire since he’s a CIA agent operating in high-risk assignments in many different countries. But that’s not all.
The situation with Miro would be more manageable if it weren’t connected with the nuclear warhead I’m safekeeping. Niksha is working on securing it somewhere within his network, but until we figure out who’s connected with the sale and who the original buyer was, I’m safe-guarding it.
Aside from the night I spent with Lake in the hotel, I’ve barely gotten four hours of sleep per night. Granted, I need only six, but those two hours I’m not getting each night could mean the difference between life and death. I need to work at peak capacity.
I’ve worked under pressure most of my life. But this is nuclear-sized pressure. So, yes, I work long hours, and those who are working for me are expected to do the same. I’m holding no one hostage. If they dislike how the ark is governed, they’re welcome to swim away.
I yawn as I check my watch.
Later, I should take a nap with Leo.
With a snort, I sit back in my chair, intending to work on the bid amounts from a spreadsheet I asked Mr. Bono to update, but my mind is stuck on Lake and Leo. They’re walking around out there, unsupervised, unprotected.
No, no, no. Don’t.
I grit my teeth against the urge to follow them or, worse yet, demand they return to the house where I can lock them inside and keep them safe. I shouldn’t want to lock people up and keep them captive, not when said people are my nephew and his governess, but the urge to keep them near me all the time grows like a cancer inside me.
Get back to work.
I open the spreadsheet.
It’s updated, and it makes me happy to see that Mr. Bono elected to remain on my ark. He’s worked for me for over two years, and this is his fifth child. I never sent his wife flowers before, but I put in a request with my sister in case she finds time for our family business while she’s away.
On the spreadsheet, I sort the bidders for the warhead and select the top three potential buyers, one of whom might be the original bidder I and law enforcement around the world are looking for. But the urge to know Lake’s and Leo’s whereabouts and protect them just in case a meteor falls down on us all is too strong to resist.
Ever since my baby sister died in a stupid accident, the compulsion to ensure Leo and Val are safe has taken over my life. Val suggested therapy, but I refused, knowing I have a serious problem, and if “cured,” I’d have to accept my baby sister’s death. I’m not ready to do that. Maybe I never will be.
I give myself half an hour before I execute on my protective urges. It’s enough time to reason with myself and reject the idea of following Lake and Leo.
The island is safe.
They are safe.
Nothing is going happen to her. Nothing at all. She just wants a Sunday off.
I won’t follow them. But I also can’t sit around without knowing exactly where they are.
I dial the island patrol, who locate the pair at the Easy Bar. I get the idea they’re having lunch with an older couple. In the next ten minutes, I know everything there is to know about the couple, and the head of the patrol (a special forces veteran) assures me the couple is harmless.
I call the Easy Bar.
“Hello,” a man shrieks at me.
I check the phone again to make sure I dialed the correct number.
“Hello,” he repeats, emphasizing the letter O in a way that communicates annoyance. I think it’s time for another lecture. On proper telephone etiquette, this time.
“I believe I called the Easy Bar,” I say.
“Yeah, you did. How can I help you?” I hear the noise of people requesting drinks. I imagine Sundays are busy, and he’s loud because of the music, but still.
“Easy Bar is a place of business, is it not?” I ask.
“Yeah?” The duh comes across clearly.
“Yes, sir ,” I correct. “When you pick up a phone at your place of business, the answer isn’t yeah. The answer is yes, Mr. Angelini or yes, sir. Screeching into the phone as if you’re expecting your cockatoo mate on the other line is unacceptable.” I hang up, give the bartender time to adopt my brand of penicillin for his brand of manners, which I don’t want to spread through the island like a disease. A public health service to be sure.
I redial.
“Adonis speaking, how can I help you?”
I smile. “This is Mr. Angelini. I know you’re busy, and I apologize for the inconvenience, but I have a request. The people at the table under the pink umbrella with the Quencheer logo, do you see them?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Look after them. The boy is my nephew.” And that’s his governess, but I don’t want to tell him to look after Lake. Thinking about the bartender ogling Lake makes me want to scoop out his eyeballs with a jigger.
“No problem, sir.”
“Excellent. Thank you.”
“Anytime, sir.”
Now that the pair of them are under watch, I can work on world peace. That nuclear warhead I mentioned? Well, it’s stolen property that the crew Miro offed on the yacht sold before I secured it for myself, which means I stole it from under the noses of some powerful bad people.
When the word got out that it was on the market again, organizations around the world rushed to get their hands on it. Which is why keeping it safe is my top priority. I trust very few people with such a weapon. Request after request to sell it to the people I don’t want to sell it to keep pouring in. Every refusal creates an enemy.
Even the people I used to call business friends are turning on me. They’re doing so because they’re under pressure from their governments to secure this weapon.
Hence, I can’t trust any of them. I could trust my sister and Miro, but they abandoned me. Fine. I don’t need them.
Over on his end, Mr. Bono enters a new number on the spreadsheet and highlights a name. It’s a coded name resembling a bank account, of course. It’s not like we can write out the full name of a prime minister of a country that wants to buy a nuke on the dark web.
The PM is offering to sell me his share of the country, which, if I accepted and overthrew the current ruler, I could own. A dangling carrot. A dangerous dangling carrot. Lord, deliver me from temptation. Amen.
Say no, Alessio. Say no .
I type a no with the understanding that my refusal to sell to this particular man will cause a major rift in the power structure of the world.
Which is why I dial the weapon’s handler and say, “We need to move Margaret to location G.”
“Yes, sir.”
Excellent. “Let me know when she’s secured.”