Chapter 2
GAbrIEL SANTINI
SYDNEY
Sydney’s taut shoulder muscles relaxed when she pulled up to the wrought iron gates of Gabriel’s Milan villa.
After she pressed the buzzer, the heavy doors swung open and she drove into his compound.
Not normally fazed, she’d be the first to admit that little snafu in Bergamo had ruffled her feathers.
With her duffle bag in hand, she made her way to the front door. It swung wide and she was greeted by a familiar face.
“There she is,” Gabriel said, his picture-perfect smile brightening his handsome face.
She hugged him and the last remaining tension floated away on the dark cloud that had been hovering for the past hour.
He kissed one cheek, then the other. “Any loose ends?” He made his way toward his kitchen and she fell in line beside him.
“I wasn’t followed,” she said as she sank onto one of the leather counter stools at his expansive gourmet island.
“Are you sure?”
“I pulled over six times.”
“Yeah, I thought you’d do that.” He opened a covered dish. “Eggs?”
She shook her head. “I can’t eat after a hit.”
He poured her a small glass of orange juice from a pitcher, then sat beside her. “I’ll take you to the airport.”
“I’ve got a rental car.” She pulled off her blonde wig, then started removing the clips securing her long, dark hair.
“You can’t be seen in it,” Gabriel said as he sipped his espresso. “I’ll drive you to the airport.”
She breathed deep. “You win.”
He rubbed her back. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She kissed his cheek. “Grazie. I’m going to shower.” After pushing off the chair, she asked, “What time are we leaving?”
“As soon as you’re ready.”
With her bag in hand, she hurried upstairs and into the guest suite. While stripping off her clothes, her thoughts floated back to the hit.
Taking someone’s life took a lot out of her.
My soul.
Every elimination felt like a nail in her own coffin, a one-way ticket to hell where she’d spend eternity with the devil himself. Yes, it was a job, but it was a tough one. One that came with a burden that never left her.
She stood under the hot shower spray and let the water pummel her back. Ten minutes later, she was drying her hair. Then, she dressed in a black jumpsuit, pulled her hair into a tight twist. She skipped the makeup and returned to the kitchen to find Gabriel finishing up a video chat on his phone.
“Ti amo anch'io, fratello,” Gabriel said before ending the call.
I love you too brother.
Gabriel had three brothers, but she was only curious about one of them, his youngest brother Tank. She’d been so hot for him—still was—but he wasn’t interested. She thought he’d been… but nope, she’d been wrong.
Ignoring the sting of rejection, she squared her shoulders, stood tall. “Everything good with the Santinis?” she asked trying to keep things chill and not blurt out, “Where’s Tank these days? What’s he been up to? Is he seeing anyone?”
Gabriel pushed off the counter stool, set his espresso mug in the sink. “I need to fly to DC. We’ll take my jet.”
She smiled. “That’ll work.”
“One of my staff will return your rental car.”
“And if they’re questioned?”
“They know what to do,” he replied.
A man wearing a black suit walked in rolling a suitcase. “You’re all set, Mr. Santini.”
“Trunk,” Gabriel instructed him. After the butler left, Gabriel said to Sydney, “I was flying to Paris, but Paris will have to wait.”
“For business?”
“I’m always working, but this jaunt was to meet a friend.” He winked before he followed his butler outside.
As the chauffeured Mercedes-Benz drove out of his compound, Gabriel raised the privacy screen. “With whom do I have the pleasure of flying today?”
Sydney removed her large, black sunglasses, opened her black satchel and removed two passports. After examining them both, she hid one in the false bottom of that same bag. “Pricilla Pennywinkle.”
“What does Ms. Pennywinkle do?”
“She works for you,” Sydney replied matter-of-factly. “I design handbags.”
“Santini International doesn’t have a handbag line.”
She shot him a snarky smile. “They do now.”
He chuckled.
She pulled out her phone, called her handler.
“Code name?”
“Fox Key.”
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Change of plans,” Sydney said. “I don’t need the jet.”
“How are you getting back here?”
“My broom.”
He laughed. “Smart ass.”
“Gotta fly.” She hung up.
She and Gabriel fell into a comfortable silence until his phone rang.
He handled the business call, then sent several emails and texts.
As he finished, they arrived at Milan’s Malpensa Airport.
The driver headed over to charter flights.
While he was extracting their bags from the trunk, two Polizia Stradale made their way over.
“Stiamo cercando queste donne,” said one of the men. “We are looking for these women.”
Sydney and Gabriel eyed the photos, and bile rose in Sydney’s throat. It was a picture of her and Monroe captured by the police officer’s bodycam.
“Mi dispiace, agenti, non li conosco,” Gabriel said. “Cosa hanno fatto?”
Sorry, officers, I don’t know them. What did they do?
“Turisti americani,” said the second officer. “Vogliamo interrogarli su un omicidio.”
American tourists. We want to question them about a murder.
Sydney’s pulse kicked up.
The driver joined them. “Mi scusi, signor Santini, ma è in ritardo per il suo volo.”
Excuse me, Mr. Santini, you’re late for your flight.
“Grazie,” Gabriel said to his employee.
“Santini?” asked one of the officers.
Gabriel smiled. “Sì, corro con Santini Euro.” Gabriel pulled out two business cards from his wallet and flipped them over. It was a coupon for a Santini Original suit worth up to five thousand American dollars.
He held them out. “Grazie per averci tenuti al sicuro. Thank you for keeping us safe.”
Both men accepted the gifts. “Grazie signor Santini,” they said in unison.
“Ciao.” Gabriel put his hand on the small of Sydney’s back and ushered her into the building.
Once inside, Sydney traded out her shades for oversized glasses as the driver handed over the luggage to Gabriel.
Sydney’s skin was crawling. She wanted to bolt toward the gate, then hold her breath until they were airborne.
But that’s not how she rolled. She would be succinct, but not abrupt. Pleasant, but not overly friendly.
At the customs counter, Sydney set down her passport.
“Why were you in Italy?” asked the clerk.
“I work for Santini International,” Sydney replied. “I had a meeting with Mr. Santini.”
The agent eyed Gabriel, who set his open passport on the counter. The employee took too many seconds staring at Sydney’s passport.
“How was your trip?” he asked her.
“Never long enough,” Sydney replied. “But very productive.”
“Where did you meet?”
“Santini Euro in Milan,” she replied.
Never before had she been questioned this much.
“No chance to enjoy the beautiful sites?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Two American tourists are wanted for questioning in the murder of an American businessman,” said the clerk.
“We were stopped outside and shown a photo,” Gabriel said.
Like earlier, Gabriel pulled out a card from his pocket. “You look like someone who enjoys a good glass of vino.”
“Sí, naturalmente.”
“A case of Santini Chianti.”
“Grazie.”
The customs employee stamped both their passports. With a tight smile, he handed them back. “Have a good flight.”
“Thank you.” She collected their passports, and the two set off toward the gate.
Minutes later, they boarded the small jet. A flight attendant made his way over, offered them each a drink.
They declined.
“We’ll be taking off shortly.” The attendant sat in one of the seats at the front of the craft.
“Good morning,” said the pilot. “We’re fourth in line, so we’ll be taxiing to the runway shortly. Flight time to Dulles International Airport is eleven hours.”
Sydney kept her gaze trained on the aircraft door.
Do not open, she repeated over and over in her head, like a prayer. If it did, or if the pilots were told they were harboring someone they wanted to question about a dead American, it was the beginning of hell on earth.
Sydney glanced out the window, then at Gabriel. While she appreciated his comforting smile, she was not in the clear yet.
“It’s all good, Sydney,” he said. “You got this.”
The plane taxied forward, then stopped.
No, no, no. Keep moving.
After several agonizing minutes, the pilot said, “We’re ready for takeoff.”
The flight attendant returned to confirm they were buckled.
As the jet sped down the runway, Sydney breathed deep. And, as it lifted off the ground, she murmured, “Thank you, Lord.”
“It’s all good,” Gabriel said, but she couldn’t miss the concern in his eyes.
“Did the police know you were bribing them with the Santini clothing and wine?” she asked as the bird climbed higher in the sky.
“They knew,” Gabriel replied, “but it was about the Santini Family business—Cosa Nostra—not anything to do with you.”
“I thought the Santini’s aren’t involved in syndicated crime,” Sydney murmured.
“My brothers aren’t,” Gabriel said as he looked past her out the window.
She waited for him to say more, but he stayed silent. For as long as she’d known him, she’d had her suspicions he was doing more than running the European arm of a multi-billion-dollar company his older brother, Luciano, had started years ago.
No surprise there.
She closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. She was too restless, too concerned the pilots would be told to return to Italy. But as the minutes turned into an hour, and then two, her confidence began to return.
She’d been sent to Italy to take out Todd Petersen, the number-three man of a well-known human trafficking organization that was run by an admitted misogynist who’d been hiding in plain sight his entire career.
She hoped that by eliminating Petersen, the remaining two leaders would slip up, maybe even make a mistake.