43. Cassie
CASSIE
I looked out the window on our way to the Hotel Punta Tragara, the cliffs of Capri dropping to the strikingly blue waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea, so clear we might have been on a tropical island.
We’d landed in Naples just as the sun was rising and had taken a taxi to Calata di Massa where a boat had been waiting to ferry us across the water to Capri.
Now we were piled into one luxury SUV (Jagger had explained that cars were frowned upon on the island, the roads narrow and hard to navigate), winding our way up the hillside to our hotel.
I had no idea who’d set it all up — Jagger probably — but I was getting used to the fact that the Hawks’ talents went beyond robbing banks and giving me orgasms.
I’d slept most of the flight, grateful for the Kings’ plane and the huge comfortable seats, but I was still exhausted. The craziness of the past months had worn me down.
I felt like I could sleep for a year.
By the time we pulled up in front of the hotel, I was feeling queasy from the winding roads. We’d had snacks on the plane, but it had been too long since we’d had an actual meal and I was practically dreaming abut a plate of hot food, a shower, and a giant hotel bed.
“Come on, mouse.” Vigo helped me out of the car. “You look beat.”
The hotel was gorgeous, a multilevel terracotta-colored structure built into the mountain and overlooking the sea.
The Hawks unloaded our bags and I walked with Bram up the stone walkway to the arched hotel entrance.
“You okay?” Bram asked, his brow furrowed with concern. “You don’t look so good.”
“I just need some food and sleep.”
“Sit,” Hawk said. “We’ll take care of check in.”
I collapsed onto one of the curvy modern sofas in the lobby and looked around.
It was a timeless kind of place with white plaster walls and funky, organically shaped furniture dressed in salmon and seafoam-green upholstery.
The sofas and chairs sat with acrylic tables on top of a graphic black-and-white rug.
Overhead, an ornate crystal chandelier glimmered in the sun making its way in through the open doors, the sea stretched blue and endless into the distance.
It should have been chaotic but it was obvious the decor had been carefully considered: it could have been the 1980s but it might just as easily have been the 1600s.
I lifted my phone to take a picture for Daisy. She would have had a field day with the place.
All checked in, we took an elevator to the third floor.
“This is me,” Bram said, stopping at a door near the end of the hall.
“Oh… okay.” It was the first time I'd felt awkward with Bram and the Hawks since leaving the States.
Bram and I weren’t a team anymore. Not like we had been.
Now Bram was going his own way and I was going mine.
With the Hawks.
“See you for dinner,” Jagger said. “We need to talk about how to get in to the gala tomorrow night.”
“Text me when you’re ready.” Bram told me. “And get some sleep.”
“Don’t worry,” Vigo said. “I’m going to order one of everything from room service, feed our mouse, and take her… uh… put her to bed.”
Vigo’s eyes slid away from Bram.
Bram scowled and let himself into his room.
We continued down the hall and passed one more door before we came to a plaque that read Certosa Suite.
“You got us a suite?” I asked Jagger as he used the key card to open the door.
“There are four of us. I wanted you to be comfortable.”
We stepped into an expansive living area, a huge picture window framing a view of the ocean stretching all the way to the horizon, a breeze drifting in from the open terrace doors.
“Oh my god,” I looked around, “this is incredible.”
Sleek white furniture curved around the living room, obviously designed to make sure the view was the star of the show, another black-and-white rug and a large modern painting the only pops of color in the otherwise monotone room.
I crossed to the open doors and stepped onto a large terrace with upholstered lounge chairs, an outdoor sofa and chairs, and a dining table. A low metal railing was the only thing that separated us from the ocean below.
I held onto the black iron and leaned over to get a view of the cliffside.
One of the most striking things about Capri so far was the brightly colored buildings — houses and hotels and restaurants — that clung to the hillsides, but below our suite there was only lush greenery and the endless sea, as blue as Jagger’s eyes.
I looked back at the Hawks. “I feel like I’m at the edge of the world.”
Vigo hopped up on the railing, balancing as he held out his arms like he might take off flying. “It feels good to be on the edge, doesn’t it mouse?”
I stepped away from him. “Oh my god… please get down before you give me a heart attack.”
He hopped down, planted a kiss on my mouth, and slipped his tongue inside long enough to make me forget how tired I was.
I was breathless when he pulled away.
He flashed me a grin. “Can’t have that. We need you alive and well.”
I looked back out over the water. It was hard to believe that less than twenty-four hours ago, we’d been at the house in Blackwell Falls. Now we were in Italy, trailing Alina Volkova.
And maybe, finally, Dimitri Kaprolov.
Jagger put an arm around my shoulders. “Why don’t you shower while we order room service?”
“Do you want me to call?” I asked.
“We got this, mouse.” Vigo headed for the phone on a modern desk in the living room. “Like I said, one of everything.”