CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CASH
We lounge in the grand living area on the upper deck, taking in the view.
Tangerine skies and a cobalt-blue sea guide us to our destination.
The spindrift sprays specks of glittery white that dance in the air and reflect the departing sunrays.
A balmy breeze washes over us with the fragrance of salty air and sunbaked wood.
And “You and Me” by Sara Watkins plays in the background.
It’s so picturesque that you could almost forget we’re headed into the claws of a cabal. To drink champagne with them before we beat them at their own game.
Sylvie’s ambers land on me with a hint of caution, as if to say, Or they beat us at ours.
That’s not a possibility I’m willing to consider, and yet it’s eleven of us against a mob of who knows how many and countless unknown variables. Execution is everything.
We flew into Rome and picked up the yacht that Axel had purchased for our family to enjoy when we will eventually be checking on our satellite properties.
He’s big on incentivizing. He also loves traveling with his wife.
But the extravagance is most suitable for our current mission.
Billionaires are competitive bastards. Size definitely matters in this subterfuge.
The three-hundred-fifteen-foot vessel with a thirty-person crew will do the heavy lifting of telling everyone we came to play, without being a gigayacht monstrosity, trying too hard.
The fact that it’s as decked out as our penthouse yet floating at sea has also allowed us to have a much-needed respite. And Sylvie looked radiant, sunbathing poolside in the one-piece swimsuits I brought for her.
Laughter ripples through us—some sprawled along the couches, others at the bar—our usual family razzing compounded by Ty, Liam, Wells, and Gage getting some witty, well-timed barbs in.
Rena met Sylvie the night we flew out. And like my sister had always been able to do, she saw things with stark clarity, pulling me in for a hug and whispering in my ear, “You’re in love with her.”
“Head over fucking heels.” I chuckled because she’d always been a hopeless romantic, so seeing me enamored probably read as proof that her fairy-tale beliefs had prevailed.
She beamed and moved back to Sylvie, surpassing the initial greeting and small talk by wrapping her arms around her.
“I always wanted sisters when I was young, and now I have so many.” Rena released her, but noticed something deeper—maybe how touched my girl was at being so wholeheartedly accepted.
“I’m in awe of you messing with this guy.
I heard about the wheelie exit. That was a boss-lady move. ”
Sylvie burrowed closer, hooking her arms around me as her lips twitched. “He asked for it.”
“No doubt.” Rena smacked my bicep before turning back to Sylvie and subconsciously rubbing her belly, even though she still hadn’t announced the pregnancy. “Welcome to the family, and thank you for what you’re doing for us.”
Sylvie cleared her throat and smiled, soaking in my sister’s carefree joy and squeezing my waist. “No thanks needed. Nothing is too much for this family.”
Rena nodded and ping-ponged her watery hazel eyes between us. “Our mom would’ve loved you. Come meet my girls.”
She dragged Sylvie away, but while I had drinks with the guys, I watched Sylvie interact with my sister, Ivy (Wells’s wife), Celeste (Liam’s wife), Leigh (Gage’s wife), their kids, and Zara, Tessa, and Mercy. And I wondered how I’d ever underestimated the beauty of our family multiplying.
All the women are strong and awe-inspiring. They have to be with this group of men. Seeing Sylvie among them was once again confirmation of how well she fit.
Like it is tonight.
She rubs my thigh, sips some water, and sits taller as the sun dips into the vibrant now-turquoise sea and the dusk-to-dawn rope lighting illuminates the deck. “I’d love to go over a few touch points before we dock.”
They all immediately give her the floor, and Axel dips his chin, eyes flicking to me. Impressed.
Sylvie is deserving of every bit of admiration thrown her way.
She’s stunning, as always, both in her poised brilliance and her elegant beauty—showcased with a classy A-line dress. The portion above her waist is black and sleeveless, hooking around her neck. And the lower half is azure silk with a sexy slit and some floral details.
Despite the gentle swaying overcoming the yacht as it nears shore, Sylvie is utterly grounded. “Wells and Liam should be able to get in and out with our feed in about twenty to thirty minutes, right?”
When we landed in Rome, we obtained the SDV—the submarine that Wells and Liam will take in to get us into the security system. Since we’re getting close, we just moved it out of the tender garage and submerged it, towing it for the final jaunt.
“Yes,” Wells confirms, swiping his raven-black hair off his forehead. “If all goes well, it should be less than twenty.”
“Great,” she sighs, hinting at the anxiety she’s harboring but addressing the rest of us.
“We’ll pack the tender while they’re occupied and motor in once they have full visibility.
After registration, we have a few hours to finish recon.
We want to spread out and cover as many people as possible because by noon tomorrow, we’re in motion. ”
The air thickens—all of us settling into the rush and weight of what lies ahead.
“We will all be on an inductive loop system.” She gestures to Ty, who distributes some materials while she continues, “We’ve got micro-magnetic earpieces and small microphones.
Comms need to be in at all times, but keep the mics off and the back-and-forth chatter to a minimum when one of us is with someone of interest so that conversation isn’t lost.”
Other than Wells and his guys, we’re all donning our cocktail-party best, so we situate the mics and earpieces and say a bunch of stupid shit to each other because the only thing that makes our idiotic banter better is having it amplified.
Eventually, Sylvie adopts that sexy-schoolteacher vibe she had when we trained, reining us in.
“The guards’ specific posts will be visible on camera, but we need to know what they snack on, what they talk about, how often they take breaks, whether there’s a weak link, and how seriously they view this convention. ”
“My beautiful Nightmare and I are on that.” Maddox stretches an arm behind Tessa, and everything about them screams trouble. They’ll make the guests squirm, but they’ll get the job done.
“Perfect.” Sylvie bites back a giggle. “We also need the employee schedule.”
“I got that,” Jax volunteers as he lights a joint by snatching Liam’s Zippo flame when he snicks it open out of habit.
“Good plan,” Axel deadpans, and Wells’s crew can’t contain their amusement.
But my brilliant bandit moves along, her vanilla-bourbon scent blending with the floral notes wafting to us from the island about a mile away. “Our keyholders should have some special attention without it being too obvious.”
Axel raises his scotch glass while palming his wife’s head. “Zara and I have that covered.”
“Good.” Sylvie turns to Liam. “I know we’ll be looking at everyone tonight, but we need a constant watch on Peter Fairfax, Beatrice Shaeffer, and Elliot Spencer—the keyholders; Nigel Dryden, who I refer to as E; and anyone they’re with for more than a brief greeting.”
A menacing smirk lights up Gage’s face. “I will personally be watching all four.”
Sylvie nods, nibbling her lip as it likely dawns on her that this huge—performance-enhanced—bald, and tatted former Navy SEAL generally does far more than keep an eye on people he deems an enemy. “Well, then, that’s in good hands.”
Ty leans forward, his customary concern cloaking his features with those boyish brown curls my sister swoons over falling across his forehead. “He’s not as scary as he looks.”
Sylvie arches a dubious brow. “Really?”
Gage smacks his palm to his chest, aghast—either because Sylvie thinks he’s scary or because Ty suggested he wasn’t. “Fucking wounded.”
Wells rubs his jaw and chuckles, sharing a look with Axel in an unspoken exchange.
“Not where you’re concerned,” Liam breaks in, cupping his mouth like he’s telling Sylvie a secret. “But that motherfucker could make the Hulk piss his pants.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She takes it all in stride, appreciating their levity. “Cash and I will be gauging the rest of the guests, scouting any tells or interest in the lower level.”
“And we all meet back in the family suite by twelve,” Zara tacks on.
“Yes.” Sylvie points to her, as if she remembers they discussed something else.
“And exit options. We have the helicopter. It can explain the absence of Axel, Maddox, Cash, and Jax because I already used the excuse that you four would be checking on your properties. So, if we need someone to investigate and be gone for a while, the pilot can take it for a spin under the guise of transporting one of you. But it can also be sent over for a quick pickup. In case getting to the tender is too much.” She takes a deep inhale, preparing for the worst. “There will also be a rescue boat. And if we need to leave in an emergency, we will all meet in Barcelona.”
I move my lips to her ear, letting my five-o’clock shadow scrape across her cheek to shower her with goose bumps and ground her again. “We’ll be okay, Sylv. We’ve got this.”
She bobs her head, choking back an arduous swallow. And I can almost hear her fretting about all she has to lose. My family and I have made this whole situation harder in a way because she has something to fight for now. And hope is a bitch.
But Sylvie is a warrior, so she lifts her chin with her resolve to do what she came to do, ushers in two waiters standing by with trays, and as the faint moon fights against the dusk canopy to make an appearance, she wishes us well.
“As you all probably know, the Sazerac is the official drink of New Orleans. But this isn’t really a sipping occasion, so I had the staff prepare it in shot glasses.”
“Absinthe-lined?” Maddox asks, probably impressed that she planned this ahead of time because it’s doubtful the yacht bars were stocked with that.
“Of course.” She takes her shot from the waiter. “It seems fitting. Sazerac symbolizes resilience. And wormwood—which is what absinthe is derived from—is considered to be the plant of divine retribution.”
“And doom,” Jax adds with a sinister smirk. “But, yeah, biblical retribution. It’s in Revelations. Morbid but cool.”
“Thanks, Jax.” She shakes her head, waits for everyone to get their drink, and leads with all the grace of a Noire queen. “This is a toast from the great Heath Jenkins, which he probably stole from someone else.”
She raises her shot, smiling when we all do the same. “Here’s to lying, cheating, stealing, and drinking. If you’re going to lie, lie for a friend. If you’re going to cheat, cheat death. If you’re going to steal, steal a heart. If you’re going to drink, drink with me.”
Leaning in with her glass, she gestures for us all to clink them together for a twist on our trademark mantra. “Welcome to Minds of Our Time. Drink and conspire.”