As if she’d be that easy to get rid of. No…
Facing her is inevitable.
But today isn’t that fucking day.
I step back from the sink and reenter the main suite, heading straight for the balcony overlooking the city. As if from miles away, I hear a musical chime that doesn’t belong amid the backdrop of sirens coming from outside. A telephone? One designated for the room, perched on a glass table that I pass on my way out.
I let it ring, turning my focus to the city, ignoring everything else.
Already the evening sky mimics the unnatural orange glow from the fire. It feels more pressing than ever to decipher the riddle of its meaning. From the Saleris, to their “guest” to the woman who snuck onto the boat, it all feels too calculated. Too complex, like some elaborate fucking scheme that I’m only seeing a sliver of.
By the time I unravel the web itself, I’ll already be caught in its snare.
Lost in thought, I miss the exact moment someone approaches, watching from beyond the doorway. The wind plays devil’s advocate, bringing their scent to my nostrils. Roses.
Indecision leaves me grappling with the need to go, versus staying regardless of the tension. Will we have to reconcile whatever the fuck just happened? Yes, but later. For now, I throw myself into solving the problem presented to me.
The only time we seem capable of tolerating each other is by working together.
“This is the Saleris’ territory,” I say, thinking out loud. In fact, most of the city center they control is viewable from this very height and location—I doubt it’s entirely by coincidence, either. That woman, whoever she is, suggested this place for a reason.
“The hospital is there,” I reiterate, spying the building in the distance. “Felicità is over there… Why the fuck would someone want the city severed in half, even for a few hours?”
I lean against the railing, pondering that very riddle.
“The Saleris make most of their money from the club. They traffic their women from all over, arranging escorts for high-class clients. Thanks to Gregori cultivating ‘friends in high places,’ the police don’t dare to look in their direction.”
It’s only as I hear my own voice echoing back that I realize I’m spouting this shit, not for my own benefit, but for the figure inching closer, her smell so potent I can taste it. I’m choking on it.
She’s so eager for information, able to overlook anything else between us. Curiosity is her true vice, not liquor. All things considered, I’m inclined to give her another dose.
“No one knows where they keep their ‘inventory,’” I say. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d assume something mobile. A truck convoy, perhaps. I’ve heard rumors of the tactics they use, setting up ‘work placement’ agencies under the guise of scoring their girls legitimate employment. Once they arrive in the city, they find themselves wearing a thong in Felicità instead. If the Saleris were in on the explosion, cutting traffic off for an unforeseen amount of time wouldn’t be very beneficial to their business model. Unless…”
I find my attention being drawn to the corner of the bay wrapped around this part of the city like a noose. The water sparkles like a blaring beacon, under my fucking nose all this time.
Of course.
“Unless they have another method of entry. The docks. They smuggle the girls in through there. And, with the land they snatched up, they’d have the ability to store whatever they bring in. That would set up Gregori to expand his establishment well beyond Hell’s Gambit.”
But that wouldn’t explain the explosion.
“Mischa’s territory forms a noose around the Saleris’,” I add, turning my focus to the swaths of land extending beyond the city center. “If he were gone, they could claim the entire city.”
Nearly every fucking thing this side of the fire, to be exact. A damn good bargain for playing the role of someone else’s patsy. But what is the ultimate goal?
Why would someone go so far as to use the Saleris, let alone empower them with so much territory?
“They stand to gain a lot in the end,” I muse out loud, answering my own question. “But whoever is pulling the strings must stand to benefit much more.”
I keep seeing the other man who had been on the Saleris’ yacht. Someone unimpressive enough, but I’ve learned from my days with Giovanni Rossi that looks can be deceiving.
“Who would benefit from the appearance of a fire drawing resources and attention away from the city center?”
I see her move from the corner of my eye. She grips the banister, drawing up beside me, her gaze fixed in one direction. The hospital.
“Mischa’s wife and son are still at Mercy,” I say, putting the pieces together for myself. “If I wanted to stage another hit on the Stepanovs, now would be a perfect time. Mischa has some men stationed there already, but a small number, I’m assuming. On a typical day, it wouldn’t take long for backup to arrive.”
But now?
“Given the chaos, reinforcements could be delayed hours at least,” I suspect. “Any other day, Gregori or Mateo would have to make the call to slow any traffic through the city center. With enough firepower and the right timing, someone could stage an attack in the heart of Saleris’ territory without implicating them on the surface. The hospital is a sitting target.”
I look to the woman beside me, curious if she’s come to the same conclusion—but her gaze is turned toward the interior of the suite. My ears pick up what has her attention—that noise again. The phone.
It could be a hotel employee calling about some matter related to the suite. I’m tempted to let it ring, but something makes me answer it this time.
“Vanici.”
“If you truly want peace with Mischa Stepanov, now is your chance to prove it,” a man says. His voice is too gruff to belong to a concierge. It’s not Mischa or Fabio, either.
“Who the hell is this?”
“That
