Chapter 20 Cybil
Cybil
Lagoverde, Italy
Saturday morning
I’ve lost a lot of things in my life—my sense of direction, self-control around chocolate, and recently, my dignity in more
ways than I want to remember. But losing my dad’s ring? That feels like I’m drowning in a lake of poor choices made worse
by the fact that I can’t stop my heart from betraying me with every stubborn, foolish beat for Bennett freaking Bradley.
Last night was not my finest moment. I was nearly caught snooping in Ramirez’s office and figured climbing over a second-story
balcony was marginally better than ending up in a car trunk. That plan unraveled—naturally—when someone locked the office
door, leaving me trapped on the balcony ledge with exactly one option: shimmy along the narrow ledge to the first open door
not being guarded. Of course it would be Ben’s room.
The morning sunlight streams through the lace curtains, painting a delicate pattern on the hardwood—the same floor I crumpled
to after sneaking off early this morning to search the office. The door was open, giving me the perfect chance to retrieve
the ring. But after crawling around like a B-list burglar under desks and furniture? The hard truth hit me square in the chest—the
ring is gone.
Heartache is currently in a cage match with fear, and fear is winning by a knockout.
If someone found that ring—someone like Rook or, heaven help me, Ramirez—would they believe me if I said, “Oh, I just dropped it while doing absolutely nothing suspicious”?
That feels like the kind of excuse that gets you a first-class seat on the next missing persons documentary.
It’s not like I can report it missing without also filing for witness protection. Or, you know, faking my death and moving
to a goat farm in Wales.
I rub the bare spot on my thumb. My ring. The one thing I’ve held on to through every life detour, heartbreak, and late-night
identity crisis. I need to find it. I need it back. And I need to figure out how to do that without tipping off the criminal
network sleeping down the hall.
Someone must’ve found the ring. But who? And would they believe I lost it during the meeting? Mr. Edmond is my safest ally.
Hopefully.
I push myself off the floor. I spent half the night trying to forget the smug look on Ben’s face when he caught me midfall
like some action hero. Or the way his eyes glimmered with concern, confusion, and something deeper. Something dangerous. Something
I used to dream about before I knew what it meant to lose.
“Are you sure everything’s okay?”
He asked it like he meant it. Like if I told him the truth—told him everything—he’d fix it. Just like he did with the butterflies.
The memory surfaces uninvited. Rex and Ben had invited some classmates to the ranch, and I spent the day avoiding them, wandering
the fields, chasing butterflies. One boy thought it would be hilarious to catch one and kill it. I stood there horrified,
my chest tight with something raw and awful. And then I cried, which only led to teasing—but not from Ben or Rex.
It was the first time I could remember that they came to my defense. Ben shoved the boy hard enough to put him on the ground.
Rex told everyone to leave. And I was allowed to deal with my emotions privately.
The next morning, I woke to the sound of shovels scraping dirt. Outside my bedroom window, I found Ben and Aunt Renee kneeling beside a fresh garden bed. They planted flowers, carefully chosen ones with bright petals and sweet nectar that would draw the butterflies back to me.
Ben never said a word. Never asked if it helped. But every summer when the butterflies returned, I knew the answer.
My heart flutters like a traitor, and I drop to the edge of the bed with a groan. The sun pierces the space like it’s on a
mission to personally offend me. I should’ve taken Ben up on his offer to switch rooms when he offered. But that would be
admitting that he knows me. My gaze slides to the empty plate where a piece of chocolate torte once sat. It was divine. And
so what if Ben knows me—it doesn’t mean anything.
No. Nope. We are not doing this. Falling for Ben is as dangerous as falling off that ledge—and at least with the ledge, I only risked a broken
neck. With Ben? It’s my heart. My mission. My whole existence.
And if Ramirez finds out I’m spying on him? I won’t need a ledge—I’ll get an underwater tour of Lake Lagoverde.
My phone rings. Caller ID says “Daylight Donuts.”
That can only mean one thing. “Hello.”
“Good. You’re up.” It’s Athena.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Yeah, yeah, drink a cappuccino for me.”
“You know it’s surprisingly difficult to order a cappuccino in Italy.”
“What do you mean?”
I grab my outfit from my suitcase and head to the bathroom. “The baristas look at me like I’m asking for a unicorn latte.”
She pauses. “What time are you ordering the drink?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Italians don’t drink cappuccinos after eleven.”
There it is. Humor. That’s what I hear in her voice, and I’m glad she can’t see the blush blooming across my cheeks. Every
cappuccino I’ve ordered was well after eleven. “You couldn’t have told me that before?”
“Sorry, I should’ve added ‘coffee etiquette’ after teaching you how to pick locks and encrypt your emails.”
“First rule of coffee etiquette—no sarcasm before the first cup.”
“Sorry. It’s been a long night.”
That grabs my attention. “You’re still at work?”
“Yeah, but it’s fine. The couch in my office is comfier than my bed.”
That sounds like a lie, but I’m too tired to argue. I shove in my earbuds to keep getting ready. “I’m guessing that’s my fault.”
“Not entirely.”
Excellent. Just enough guilt to season my already amazing morning. I sent Athena a message last night after I got back into
my room. I told her about the photos I’d taken with my phone of the Aurelite-X plans, omitting the part where I was dangling
off a balcony rail or the way Ben still makes my stomach flip.
I’m pretty sure it’s bad form to fall for the guy working with the enemy. Though, in my defense, it seems to work out for
James Bond.
And while Ben has the James Bond look going for him, I’m the furthest thing from the debonair secret agent.
“I’ve set up an exchange for you today,” Athena says. “In an hour, go to the Bottega del Caffè. Order a caffè corretto alla
lavanda—”
“Corretto alla lavanda,” I repeat.
“Yes, it’s a lavender-spiked espresso—”
“Spiked?” I squeak. “I can’t drink that.”
“You don’t need to drink it, just order it. The courier will recognize the order. Set your phone on the counter when you pick up your drink. He’ll
do the same and swap them.”
“He’s taking my phone?”
When I first started working for Athena, I assumed I’d get one of those burner phones like in the movies—something preloaded
with encrypted apps and absolutely zero Candy Crush. But she told me carrying two phones would be suspicious. So instead, she taught me how to encrypt my texts and cloak my
browser history. Which is why this freaks me out. Because if I know how to keep a message safe but she still wants my entire
phone swapped, that means the risk isn’t just digital—it’s physical. “Why?”
The pause is long enough to make my stomach do backflips. “The information you’ve given us is . . . valuable.”
My brain, like the little capitalist it is, immediately translates her comment into dollar signs. I’m not proud of it, but rent is due, and charity doesn’t pay off student loans or cover my mom’s spending habits.
“I can’t say more, except we need the information on your phone. It takes precedence over everything else.”
It’s not the first time Athena has kept the details to herself, but it’s the first time it has felt like there’s more hanging
in the balance of the nondisclosure. “How serious is this?”
“The less you know, the better. For now,” Athena quickly adds. “You’re not in any immediate danger. We’ve got eyes on you.”
I immediately look around my bathroom like someone might be crouched behind the shower curtain with binoculars and a croissant.
“You do?”
“Of course, Cybil. We know who you’re dealing with. We don’t take chances. Our man has been watching you.”
My eyes flick to the soggy blue tracksuit on the floor, and mortification curls my toes. “So you, um, know about yesterday
in town?”
“Yes.”
I groan. Fantastic. Was an image of me looking like an Italian salad being passed around the agency group chat? Last night with Ben. “Do you have someone inside the villa?”
“No one but you,” Athena answers, but leaves it hanging like she has more to say.
“What is it?”
“There might be . . . another issue,” Athena says carefully. “After you told us what you overheard last night between Ramirez
and your friend, we’re looking into him. And what we’ve found—or haven’t found—is concerning.”
I freeze. The other thing I told Athena about was the conversation I overhead—or the bits and pieces of it—between Ben and
Ramirez. “Concerning how?”
“Craig Miller’s identity is shallow. That’s expected. But Bennett Bradley? What we can find feels generic. A little vanilla.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that until we know more, you need to be careful. Don’t trust him.”
Right. No trusting the maybe-criminal with the world’s best jawline. Got it.
“Just get your phone to the courier. We’ll do the rest.”
“Got it.”
Athena hangs on the line for a few seconds. “Is everything okay?”
Define okay. If I don’t count the unresolved feelings for Ben, then yeah, I’m just dandy. “Yeah. Just . . . need to get moving.”
“Cybil?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re doing a great job.”
That sticks. Not just because it’s kind, but because it feels real. Athena never says things she doesn’t mean.
“Thanks.”
We end the call. I get dressed—choosing wide-leg trousers, a cropped blouse, and low-top tennis shoes. I check my reflection
in the mirror, and for the first time since landing in Italy, I feel more like myself. Fashion meets “flee the scene on foot”
practicality.
I swipe on lip gloss, zip my suitcase, and grab my purse. Phone in hand, I square my shoulders with a renewed sense of confidence.
I can do this.
I’ve got this.
I open the door—
Confidence takes a nosedive faster than my willpower around chocolate.
Ben’s standing in the hallway, all swagger and sex appeal, like James Bond had a fling with a Calvin Klein model.
I’m in so much trouble.