Chapter 25
ETHAN
It had been six days.
I palmed my phone for the millionth time. I kept telling myself it was a nervous habit, but it was bullshit. I didn’t get nervous. My fingers itched to pull up the contact where a lyrical voice would answer if I called.
What was wrong with me?
I sat on the side bench in the back of the Abramo’s limo, forcing myself to focus. The mission. My account of the sit-down with Kara and the Dunns had gone over well with Vitale, and slowly I was being brought into the fold.
And with that, I’d finally learned what had placed Constantine in the hallway the day he’d died.
It was a botched deal with a Serbian arms buyer, one that was entirely Constantine’s fault, and his mistake had landed the buyer’s son in prison in the States. Desperate to smooth things over before his father found out, the youngest Abramo had brought in Juric.
He’d asked the assassin for help cleaning up his mess with the Serbians long enough to get the deal done.
It was like fixing a hangnail by cutting off the whole finger.
When Juric escaped CIA custody, he called in the favor the Abramos owed him—only he demanded more. The Abramos owed him because they’d put the CIA spotlight on him, and still, he hadn’t given them up while under enhanced interrogation techniques.
Some of which I had administered personally.
I had needed the names and location of the Abramo deal in Berlin, and torturing the information out of Juric that night in Croatia hadn’t been an issue. There’d been a dark part of me that justified it as payback for what he’d done to Laurel.
The memory slammed into me like running face-first into a brick wall.
I’d never forget the expression on her face when she’d discovered what I’d done. The way she’d gazed at the towel and bucket of water, my method of waterboarding, then turned to me with horror in her eyes. Like I was something less than human.
What if she was right?
I scowled at the thought and doubted she still felt that way now, after what Juric had done to her sister.
Music played through the limo’s sound system, a piece of classical music I didn’t recognize, and no one seemed to be listening to either.
The more time I spent with Vitale Abramo, the more I realized what a pretentious piece of shit he was.
Spoiled like Gio, but smarter, which made him far more dangerous.
He was cautious and kept me at a distance.
Part of it was because I was American. Shit, he had no problem reminding me how little he thought of my nationality.
But I said nothing.
I took every insult he doled out and let it roll right off me. Vitale was the head of one of the most dangerous mafia families in Italy, and he helped smuggle arms to terrorist groups, and he didn’t come by his position by luck.
I had to work harder than ever before at being invisible so I could gather information.
It was a Friday morning when the break I’d been hungry for finally came. Gio had hurried into Vitale’s home office, urgency streaked across his face, and I’d been ordered from the room. Whatever Gio wanted to talk about, they weren’t ready to let me in.
I’d gone down to the kitchen and drunk a cup of coffee at the table, watching the staff as they prepared breakfast. To the chefs, it probably looked like I was engrossed in a phone call, but the truth was I was listening to the device I’d planted in the office two days ago.
“There’s a problem with Castillo,” Gio said. “He knows the shipment’s going to Markovic, and now he’s demanding twice as much money.”
There was a lengthy pause before Vitale spoke. Perhaps he considered his next move.
“Find out who leaked that to Castillo and bring them here.” A chair creaked, and I pictured Vitale standing behind his enormous desk.
“There’s been a downward slide in attitude about how powerful this family is, and I’d like to use this as an opportunity to correct it.
If my response doesn’t get Castillo to honor our original arrangement, we’ll find another way.
A messier one that I’m sure Carlo will enjoy. ”
Carlo, Gio’s regular bodyguard, was little more than a monster in human flesh. A sadist who enjoyed watching pain and misery, and his only goal seemed to be pleasing the Abramos.
Jesus, they sure did love their lapdogs.
There was no need to call Daniel or Hendrix and alert them about the conversation in the office. They had access to the recording device because it was relaying through my phone. The keyword Vitale uttered had been Markovic.
This was the Serbian crime boss with ties to the terrorist cell.
The moment the name had been uttered, there was probably a flurry of activity in the operations room back at my field office.
Finally, my shitty luck on ops was coming to an end. Hell, the whole mission was coming to an end. The name Castillo was new, but I had a strong suspicion who it was, and I was going to enjoy confirming it very much.