CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Achilles
A driver waited for me at the private airport on the mainland. It was just like Tierney to choose a convoluted place that was a bitch to navigate. He drove to the nearest point with water taxis, and I boarded one to Piazza San Marco.
Once at Piazza San Marco, I entered a souvenir shop and got a mask. I’d be disappointed if she didn’t do the same. Tierney was whip-smart, even under duress. The tourist attraction was wired to oblivion with CCTV, and both of us intended to commit a grave crime.
I chose a jester mask in burgundy and gold. An homage to her Joker and Harley reference. I didn’t mind her knowing who I was. It’d probably speed things up, and I was needed in Naples, anyway. The clusterfuck with Coppola wasn’t going to unfuck itself.
I didn’t really believe she’d managed to get her hands on a gun in the few hours she was in Italy, but I didn’t put it past her to try and kill me in some other way. I’d beat her to it, but I wouldn’t be happy about it.
In fact, I would never forgive myself. But it was either her life or mine, and I’d be a fool to spare her when she’d indicated numerous times she wanted me dead.
Donning my mask, I strolled out of the store and into the open square.
My phone began ringing. My father’s name flashed on the screen. I answered, calmly surveying my surroundings through the mask.
“Have you found the Irish slut?”
A muscle in my jaw jumped at the slur, but I swallowed down my ire. “Yup.”
“Good. Because we’re sending Jeremie back to Vegas.”
“Who authorized this transfer?” It sure as fuck wasn’t me, and Jeremie was directly my inferior.
“Alex, and I don’t have the time nor inclination to scrimmage with the pakhan. We’ve got enough on our plate with Coppola.”
“And Jeremie agreed?” I moved deeper into the square, heading toward its center, to be in plain sight. Tierney would make a mistake. Not because she wasn’t smart but because she wasn’t a trained assassin. I’d done this song and dance a hundred times before.
“Jeremie is the Rasputins’ problem, and I don’t give a shit what he has to say about this,” my father announced.
“What’s he giving us in exchange?” I asked.
“The sister, Katya.” He paused, waiting for a reaction that didn’t come. “Twenty. Very pretty, I hear.”
I made a grumbling sound, my eyes zeroing in on a long-limbed woman standing under an arch of St. Mark’s Basilica. I’d recognize that ass, those legs, her posture from space, while blindfolded.
“I want you to marry her, Achilles,” my father said on the line. “The Russian girl. Kill Tierney, make Katya your wife, and take the throne. You can have it all if you just do as I sa—”
I killed the call and pocketed my phone.
Tierney was wearing a Venetian mask and was armed to the fucking teeth. I spotted two Swiss knives and a small pair of scissors through her skintight clothes.
Smart girl.
It was a shame I had to kill her, but rules were rules. You didn’t fuck with the Camorra and live to tell the tale.
Stuffing my hands into my jacket, I cocked my gun inside my pocket, strolling in her direction.
I relished the moment she realized it was me.
The way she tensed, like a small, jittery rabbit about to take flight.
She turned south, taking quick steps out of the square.
I closed the distance between us but kept my pace easy.
She didn’t make the mistake of peeking over her shoulder. That would cost her time she didn’t have. She kept moving with purpose and, when we entered a residential street, she picked up speed.
I was gaining on her, and she knew it because, soon enough, her brisk walk broke into a jog. She must’ve studied these streets prior to our little duel because the small, narrow roads kept emptying the farther we progressed, twisting and convoluting into clusters of orange-roofed buildings.
Another sharp turn. This time, as soon as I followed her, it forked into two darkened alleys.
Both dead ends—one leading to a garage and the other to what looked like the back of a restaurant.
I paused, knowing it didn’t really matter which option I picked.
Unless she somehow got her hands on a gun, she wouldn’t walk out of here alive.
I chose the restaurant’s rear. She probably hid behind the dumpster. I took my gun out and reached into my boot to remove the suppressor. Screwed it on. Stepping into the shadows, I trod behind the bin, gun first. A sharp, suffocating pain wrapped around my throat from behind, jerking me backward.
Son of a bitch. She’d hidden in the trash can and was now strangling me with a…zip tie?
At least she invested in a good one. The material threatened to tear through my skin clear to the bone. I felt special. She chose the best. For me.
She cut off my air supply, digging the zip tie deeper into my skin until it broke and bled. Any other person would’ve been toast in this situation.
Emphasis on any other.
Rather than try to lurch the cable off my throat, I squatted and pushed my feet up, throwing her entire weight off my back.
Tierney flew across the alleyway, back slamming against the wall.
I reached her before she had the chance to scramble up, tearing the mask from her face and aiming my gun at her while she was still on her knees.
“We have to stop meeting like this.” She grinned up at me, darting her tongue out to lick blood from the corner of her mouth. Despite myself, I found my lips twitching. She had a great sense of humor, even when she stared death in the eye.
“Who told you it was a good idea to show up to a duel without a gun?” I asked softly.
“Please, no lectures. Just get it over with.” She rolled her eyes, spitting blood sideways. She must’ve bitten herself when I threw her off me.
“Up.” I grabbed her by the throat with my free hand, jerking her to her feet. I placed my forearms on either side of her shoulders, pinning her against the wall. “Throw your weapons on the ground. All of them.”
She tossed her backpack aside, pulling out her pockets. A small pair of scissors and a Swiss knife fell out.
“And the other Swiss knife in your waistband,” I prompted.
Groaning, she complied.
God, she was so fucking beautiful. Even without her signature red hair. I’d missed her face. I hadn’t seen it in forty-eight hours and realized it had been entirely too long. Now to go the rest of my life without seeing it…unfathomable.
“You know, for whatever baffling reason, I still want you to have a relatively painless death, so I’ll put a bullet in your head. Straight and simple.”
She thrust her chin out. “Aw. You spoil me, Ferrante.”
“Turn around.”
Better to kill her while she wasn’t looking. I didn’t think I could handle seeing her eyes the last nanosecond before I took her life. They’d chase me to the grave and beyond.
“In a second.” She reached to grab the collar of my black shirt, twisting it in her fist. “First, let me do this.” She flung off my mask.
Then she leaned forward and kissed the shit out of me.
My lips opened in surprise, giving absolutely zero fucks the mouth pressing against them was attached to a woman who sought to actively kill me.
Break off the kiss, my mind screamed.
Shut the fuck up, my dick replied, swelling in my combat pants.
No, no. I was definitely stopping this. Just one more stroke of a tongue, to figure out what it was I was tasting. A hint of espresso, mint gum, and a touch of—
She rolled the tip of her tongue over the roof of my mouth. A shudder rippled through me.
I didn’t care how many men she’d been with (though I did count them—fourteen). And I didn’t care that she hated me. Those kisses? They were mine.
These men fucked her. But me? I touched her.
Her fingers twisted in my hair, nails scraping my scalp. The kiss turned frantic as our tongues waged war on one another. I pushed my knee between her thighs, spreading them, and she dropped one hand, snaking it to the small of her back.
Then she shoved a knife deep into my thigh.
I felt it pierce through every layer of muscle in my quads until it hit bone.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.
To her surprise—and my own—I didn’t break the kiss.
I was milking this shit until the very last minute.
Tierney ripped her mouth from mine, glaring.
I offered her a yes, bitch? smirk. She was still holding the knife by the hilt, the triumph draining from her face as she realized I wasn’t going to fold and release her.
“That’s right, Piccola Fiamma. Twist that knife. You’ve aways been good at hurting me.”
She scowled, her surprise morphing into fury. “Why the hell are you so smug?”
“You could’ve stabbed me anywhere and didn’t go for the heart. Is this a love declaration, baby?”
She reached for the gun in my hand. I twisted sideways to prevent her from grabbing it, then stepped back, the knife still stuck in my thigh.
Realizing she couldn’t overpower me, she turned around and started running. I sighed in amusement, pointing the gun at the back of her head.
Pull it, motherfucker.
My index finger readjusted against the trigger. I reminded myself she’d stabbed me not even a minute ago. Tried to kill me—twice now—and sold me out to the feds.
Pull. The. Fucking. Trigger.
She stumbled and heaved, the adrenaline and exhaustion getting the best of her, and when she rounded the corner, she stumbled and fell, diving to the ground with a desperate shriek.
I lowered the gun and limped my way to her. Her eyes flared in horror at the sight of me. She slithered away from me on her forearms, a pathetic, defenseless creature.
“What’s wrong?” I demanded.
“If you wanna shoot, shoot, don’t ta—”
“What happened to your leg?”
Her gaze skittered from my face to her foot. She swallowed. “I—I think I sprained my ankle.”
“Where are you staying?”
Her face hardened. “Like I’m gonna tell y—”
“I can execute you right now if I want to. Where are you staying, Tierney?”
She hesitated, her eyelashes fluttering, suspended between panic and desperation.
“In this fucking century, please.” My leg was killing me.
She gave me her address. I knew the place.
A whorehouse, a ten-minute distance from here.
I kneeled on my good leg, scooping her and her stupid backpack in my arms and limping in that direction.
We were going to take a water taxi at our state, which meant I was about to press a gun to someone’s temple in broad daylight.
Fucking fantastic. The woman really had a knack for throwing my life into the eye of the shitstorm.
“W—what are you doing?”
“The fuck does it look like?” Her question was valid, though. I had no business helping her ass. She should be bleeding in an alleyway.
“You have a knife in your thigh.”
“I’ve noticed.”
She wrapped her arms around my neck, and I fought the urge to kiss her, focusing on the pain in my leg instead.
“You’re here to kill me,” she reminded me.
“I know.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
Because I’ve had enough of my own bullshit. I’d rather die than hurt you. And I don’t fucking care. I don’t care that it’s not mutual and never will be.
“Shut up and let me think.” My voice was dry, cold. “And if you’ll be a good girl and stop trying to kill me, I’ll let you seduce me again.”