Together, we reveal a hidden compartment containing assorted cleaning supplies and a metal safe.
The woman slips inside, dragging her leg behind her. It’s a tight fit. She barely has any room to crouch.
“Close it,” she warns, nodding to the door. “And trust me, if you want you and your friend to live, you’ll do what I say—I was never here.”
A statement easier said than believed, considering the blood and seawater all over the stateroom. I return to the bathroom and grab a clean rag, swiping all the puddles I can spot. As I finally exit to the upper deck, the marina dock is already coming into view. Donatello beckons me over, his expression grim.
“She could be full of shit,” he says, but his gaze is on the smaller boat still speeding in our direction, this time containing three men dressed in black. “I’d rather play it safe than sorry, though. Follow my lead.”
I nod, and as we pull closer to the dock, he grabs one of the lines and jumps from the boat, tying it to the post. As he ties the first one, I hand him the second, trying my hardest not to look back.
“I hope you enjoyed your time aboard the Santiago, Mr. Vanici,” a man calls. The other boat has already drawn up beside us. “Mr. Saleri would like to extend another invitation, should you accept. He also wanted to make sure that you weren’t too shocked by the events on land. If your boat sustained any damage, he will happily pay for the repairs.”
“We’re just peachy,” Donatello snarls. “Though, you can tell your boss I definitely intend to pay him another visit. Soon.”
Two of the men share a look, but the figure speaking seems unperturbed. “Would you mind then, if we took a look around? Just to be absolutely sure. Again, any damage, of course, would be personally covered by Mr. Saleri.”
For a second, I think Donatello will refuse. Then he steps back and inclines his head. “Come aboard.”
The three men don’t waste any time, and I hold my breath as they prowl around the boat, eventually entering the salon with Donatello on their heels. From their body language, to the detail they pay to every corner, it’s obvious that they’re looking for something other than damage. A person. I can’t help stiffening as they near the wall, but they don’t try to activate the hidden panel.
“You’re welcome to take your sweet fucking time, gentlemen,” Donatello remarks after minutes have passed. “But can I ask you to speed it up? Unless your boss can clear a way through traffic after whatever the fuck just happened on the west end?”
“Mr. Saleri thanks you,” the original speaker says, finally. In single file, all three return to their boat. “Have a wonderful day, but if you do happen to notice anything out of the ordinary, please remember that Mr. Saleri respects his friends and treats them well.”
“What about the other ‘friend’ there with him?” Donatello asks. “The blond man with the glasses. He didn’t seem too chummy with Gregori.”
“Mr. Saleri also values his privacy and that of his associates,” the man says with a thin smile. “Have a wonderful day, Mr. Vanici. Oh, and I’ll take the liberty of informing you that any traffic to the city’s west half will be most likely unavailable. I hope you make other arrangements.”
“Sons of bitches,” Donatello hisses once they’re beyond earshot. “They’re still watching us. Help me tie up, and we’ll go check on our guest when they’re out of sight.”
We move slowly, taking our time with the lines. Once we finish, advancing footsteps approach, rattling the wood of the dock.
“You have some damn nerve,” the manager declares, his hands on his hips. “I would have called the police, but they seem to be a bit busy—” he nods in the direction of the blaze. “I heard that traffic through the entire west end is completely cut off and won’t be fixed for hours. Must have been a gas leak or something.”
“A gas leak,” Donatello rasps, gazing in the same direction. “My ass.”
“Well, hopefully, you squared away everything with the boat and are ready to settle Mr. Salvatore’s accounts.”
“Yeah,” Donatello says, turning toward the cabin. “Just let me take out the trash first.”
We descend the steps to discover that the woman has already left her hiding place. She managed to find a length of fabric that she tied around her thigh.
“What do the Saleris want with you?” Donatello asks.
“The Saleris?” She forces a harsh laugh, wincing with the effort. “Do puppets truly have their own wants?”
“A puppet,” his harsh tone implies he agrees with her assessment. “But whose? The British man’s?”
She flinches, visibly paler. “I should probably be leaving—”
“No.” Donatello takes a menacing step. “Not until you give me something. Who the hell was that?”
“The real question isn’t who he is, but what does he want?” She points to the window where the glow of the fire ignites the horizon, painting it amber. “I’ll leave you with a piece of advice—you want to learn the truth? Find the nicest hotel in this area and stay there. I suggest the Norfolk, the highest room you can afford. Enjoy the nightlife and ask yourself why someone might want the city severed in two, even for a few hours.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It’s supposed to mean that the world is a cruel, cold place, Donatello Vanici. Think of who your allies are, as well as your enemies, and plan accordingly.”
“And if I decide to call those men back?”
The woman’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Then all three of us die. You think they won’t drag your little friend on their ship never to be seen again?” She looks at me with a ruthless sweep of her gaze. “It doesn’t matter who she is. Stepanova or not, he’ll make her disappear, and the most anyone will ever know is some nondescript explanation. But if it makes you feel
