their operating systems while he was busy splitting his time between playing the role of DEA special agent Robert Brady and Vestavia, a loyal Fratelli supporter.
He abandoned the DEA identity last year when he disappeared after successfully executing a Fratelli mission and was now considered a wanted felon. As of next month when he had surgery, Agent Brady’s face would no longer exist and his fingerprints on file had been altered years back.
Timing was the most critical element in any plan.
He abandoned the DEA just as Trojan Prodigy received significant military contracts that made him the best choice to take a seat at the table of the twelve North American Fras when one died unexpectedly.
Every continent had its own ruling body of twelve Fratelli, who headed up businesses with international influence or had stockholder seats or strategic government positions-everyone had to bring something to the table once he proved value as a leader.
Vestavia stepped from the elevator and sank into carpet that reminded him of walking on clouds. The air smelled pristine and untouched. Samuel, a male assistant of slight build, sat behind a monitor at a contemporary workstation trimmed out in gold. He typed so quickly the sound was lost in the rush of water pouring down a twelve-foot-high slate wall directly behind him. Running the width of the twenty-foot-wide space, the waterfall shushed in peaceful reverence.
When Vestavia neared, Samuel came to attention, brown eyes alert, hair cut short, business-neat, slate-gray suit blending into the background. They shared an interest in archaeology, but Vestavia had no time for casual conversation right now.
“Messages?” he asked the young man.
“Yes, sir. On your desk in order of priority. And Josie Silversteen is waiting in your office. She said she has something for you.” Samuel spoke in a hushed voice used in places of worship.
Josie here? Vestavia checked his watch. “I’m expecting her.” Not really, but Josie knew he’d want answers on what happened to Baby Face and Mirage. Anyone else would have called in that update rather than face him.
Josie was like no one else.
He hoped his trust had not been misplaced.
“Shall I bring coffee or tea?” Samuel asked.
“No. This will be a short meeting. Hold my calls for a half hour.”
Vestavia strolled down the wide hall, passing a virtual gallery of art by Renoir and Matisse intermingled with contemporary masterpieces. Glancing into offices as he passed, he noted the flurry of activity in each one. He kept a small staff with an excellent work ethic who appreciated having offices that rivaled those of corporate CEOs.
When he turned right at the end of the hall, the entire wall on his left was a floor-to-ceiling glass view of an endless ocean. He’d found this location six years ago, and Josie had immediately suggested the perfect place for his office was facing the ocean rather than Brickell’s business corridor. She’d been right.
Her blood was as blue as it got. The Silversteen banking dynasty stretched across the country with fingers in many financial pies. As a chosen daughter, she’d been groomed from birth to serve the Fratelli de il Sovrano and sent to the Fras at sixteen, but Vestavia had seen her potential. He’d convinced Fra Diablo she’d be perfect for fieldwork.
And she had been.
She was one of the few who knew Vestavia’s true identity and his mission. That he was in fact an Angeli, an order older than the Fratelli.
He and six other Angeli would accomplish in one decade what their ancestors had failed to do in the past two millennia. And the Fratelli would do all the preparatory work without knowing they were being danced as puppets. The Fratelli really thought twelve Fras could rule each continent.
Had decision by committee or democracy ever worked? No.
As one of seven Angeli secretly infiltrating the Fratelli de il Sovrano on each continent, Vestavia had reached his position quickly. For the past year, he’d been pulling strings on the Fratelli, manipulating their extensive resources to begin laying the groundwork for the Renaissance. When Vestavia and his six Angeli counterparts were ready, they would step from the shadows and return this world to one of peace.
To do that, they had to first purge the planet of 80 percent of the population while not losing the core group who would rebuild after the devastation.
Starting over was the only way. His ancestors had tried with plagues and other devices that destroyed the beneficial with the slovenly.
His generation of Angeli would not make the same mistakes.
They would systematically bring each continent into line, create parity to ready the world for the Renaissance.
When Vestavia reached his office, the motion detector read his thermal image and unlocked the door, which disappeared into the wall.
He entered, his eyes going to the woman sitting on his low-profile white sofa with black embroidered stripes. “What happened?”
“Baby Face lost Mirage and got killed in the process.” Josie stood, showcasing those amazing legs with a trim navy-and-gold skirt suit. Thick lashes and skin so smooth it didn’t look real. Rich brunette hair tumbled lazily past her shoulders with each move of her head to brush against the crest of full breasts exposed by her scooped-neck jacket.
Every inch a creation of perfection.
Special Agent Josie Silversteen, his brilliant protege at the DEA, now held a warrant for the arrest of fugitive Special Agent Robert Brady. Such irony.
“That’s not a full report,” he admonished.
“Of course.” She rushed ahead. “Forgive me, Your Excellency. Baby Face was given access to our megacomputers he believed were part of an international tracking program within the DEA. He had no idea they belonged to the Trojan Prodigy, and greed led him to shop the Mirage once he located something. But we haven’t been able to duplicate his electronic trail. Baby Face went to a house in Peachtree City, Georgia, owned by an elderly man for over twenty years who doesn’t appear to have any computer skill. The woman who rented the house has disappeared. She’s listed as Gabrielle Parker and appears-on paper-to be a widow living off a moderate trust fund. I have to believe she must know something about the informant for Baby Face to have gone there.” Josie paused, then added, “I will find out.”
Her husky voice combined with that fuck-me-where-I-stand look in her eyes reminded him how long they’d been apart.
Six days. An eternity.
His cock could tell him right down to the minute.
Vestavia pulled off his jacket and laid it over the arm of the sofa, then stepped past her. When he reached his desk, he turned around and sat back against the front edge, placing his hands casually on each side. If he got too close to her, he’d break his first rule between them-business before pleasure.
“Durand told me about Turga. What about his helicopter pilot?”
“I have a team tracking the pilot. I’ll know more…tonight.” She dropped that last word in her sex-against-the wall voice and he got hard. She walked over, bold, gorgeous, raw confidence flowing through the three steps that brought her to stand between his outstretched legs.
His cock twitched toward her as if she were magnetized and he was pure steel.
“Do you have time to go…deeper into this?” she asked, then ran her tongue around her lips.
Vestavia gripped the desk with taut fingers. “Not now. You know my rule.”
She exhaled an exaggerated sigh. “Business comes first… I just thought for once”-she smiled like the vixen she was-“you might like to come first.”
He lifted his hand and ran a finger along her face, then down, following the edge of her jacket until his finger slid inside, the tip brushing across her nipple. She shivered. Her breathing hitched. A slender jaw muscle flexed with the effort of holding her control.
Vestavia smiled. No point in him being the only one uncomfortable until they got back together. “Hold that thought.”
Her eyes were on fire when she backed away and lifted her laptop bag. Insatiable and demanding in bed. Another of her finer qualities. “I’ll be back tonight.”
