MAFIA KINGS: LARS

DARK MAFIA ROMANCE SERIES #4

OLIVIA THORN

WWW.OLIVIATHORN.COM

Copyright © 2024 by Olivia Thorn.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ALSO BY OLIVIA THORN

Mafia Kings: Dario

Mafia Kings: Adriano

Mafia Kings: Massimo

Mafia Kings: Lars

Mafia Kings: Roberto (Pre-order now)

***

AS OLIVIA THORNE

Billionaire Romance

ALL THAT HE WANTS

The Complete Series

***

THE BILLIONAIRE’S KISS

The Complete Series

***

Motorcycle Romance

MIDNIGHT DESIRE

The Complete Series

***

Rockstar Romance

(Careful - cheating, love triangle, Happily For Now ending)

ROCK ME HARD

The Complete Series

PART I

PRESENT DAY

1

Lars

Second chances.

We all want them.

In life…

Family…

Money…

Love.

Some of us have a whole list of If Onlys that we wish we could go back and change.

I certainly did.

But here’s the thing about second chances:

Even if you get it, the outcome isn’t guaranteed.

And if the thing you want nearly destroyed you the first time…

There’s a good chance it’ll finish the job the second time around.

I should know.

Losing her the first time nearly killed me.

And now that she’s back in my life…

I might have to kill her.

2

Istared at the pictures on my phone: closeups of five dead men on the ground.

Most were vaguely Slavic-looking. A couple had bullet holes in their foreheads. All of them stared out into nothingness, their eyes defocused and their features slack.

I knew the look. I’d certainly seen it enough over the years.

Massimo had sent the pictures along with the text, Just attacked by these assholes. Can you find out who they are.

He had left just that morning to meet with the Widow, the head of the Cosa Nostra family that ran Venice – and already things had gone sideways.

Bad shit happened fast in the mafia.

That had been one of the very first things I’d learned.

I texted back, Are you okay????

The extra question marks were an uncharacteristic flourish on my part, but I was legitimately shocked – which didn’t happen often.

About 15 seconds later, I got a reply:

Yes. Not hurt. Widow OK. Pretty sure Fausto sent them.

Fausto.

The motherfucker behind all our problems.

Too bad he was Massimo’s uncle, or I would have just gone and shot the asshole.

Actually, that option was probably still on the table.

At least the Widow was safe. But I knew that if Massimo was texting and not calling, he probably had his hands full at the moment.

I texted back, Call when you can. I’ll run these guys down in the meantime and let you know.

First I had to inform Dario and Niccolo.

My best friend and his brother…

Mafia don and consigliere.

Maybe Massimo had texted them the pictures separately, but I doubted that.

After I looped them in, I would call Gunnar.

If there was anybody I could count on besides Dario and his brothers, it was Gunnar.

But I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.

It wasn’t about speaking with Gunnar. That part I always enjoyed.

It was Dario and Niccolo’s reactions I was dreading.

3

Five minutes later, I was in the parlor with Dario and Niccolo. All of us hunched grimly over my cell, which lay on Dario’s desk.

As we listened to the dial tone, Niccolo asked me in Italian, “You’re sure you can trust this guy?”

“With my life.”

Niccolo wasn’t convinced. “I’m not – ”

“Lars vouches for him,” Dario interrupted. “That’s good enough for me.”

Niccolo didn’t look happy, but the finality in Dario’s voice settled the matter.

Suddenly a stoner’s voice erupted in Swedish over the speakerphone.

“Laaaaaars! Hur går det, brorsan?! Jag har inte hört från dig sedan – ”

Laaaars! How’s it goin’, Brother?! I haven’t heard from you since –

I interrupted him in English. “Hey, Gunnar, I’d love to chat, but some bad shit went down and I need your help. I’m here with some business associates who don’t speak Swedish. Can you – ”

“For sure, my dude, for sure!” Gunnar answered cheerfully in heavily accented English. “Hello, Lars’s friends!”

Then he gave a guffaw that suggested he’d smoked a bowl in the last few minutes.

Niccolo gave me a look both incredulous and irritated.

THIS is the guy you’re entrusting Massimo’s safety to?!

I ignored Niccolo and said to Gunnar, “For reasons I’m sure you can understand, they’d like to remain anonymous, so they won’t be talking.”

“Okay, my dude – copy that!” he said, using military lingo for ‘received and heard.’ “What’s up?”

“I need to identify some guys in some photos. Can I text you the pictures?”

“For sure, my brother!”

“Just to warn you, they’re dead.”

“Ohhhh, so it’s like THAT! Just kidding – no problem. Send ‘em over!”

As I sent him the photos, Gunnar chattered on. “Hey, so, are these ‘associates’ those guys you were talking about last time I saw you? The Italian dudes?”

Niccolo stared at me again with increased agitation.

“Gunnar,” I warned.

“Right, right – anonymous. Gotcha.” I could almost see him giving me an exaggerated wink on the other end of the line. “Oh, the photos just came in – lemme see – ohhhhhh. Oh yeah. Not good, my dude. Not good.”

“What are you thinking?”

“99 percent sure they’re Wagner.”

Shit.

Wagner was a paramilitary organization for hire.

Mercenaries.

They had been fighting in Ukraine on behalf of Russia, and leaving huge numbers of war crimes in their wake – but they’d recently started freelancing after the leader of their organization got himself blown up after making Vladimir Putin look bad.

“I was worried they might be,” I said glumly. “What makes you so sure, other than they look Russian?”

“See those two tattoos on the bald guy’s neck? They’re mostly covered up, so you might have to zoom in.”

One tattoo looked like the tip of an upward-pointing arrow. The other was the upper half of a diamond-shaped square.

“I see them.”

“I’d bet you good money those are runes – Tiwaz and Othala. Wagner dudes are freaks for Norse mythology, like a cult of Odin or some shit. They put those runes all over their vehicles and weapons in Ukraine for good luck.”

I saw the confusion on Dario and Niccolo’s faces. They were both fluent in English, but the ‘Tiwaz and Othala’ stuff lay beyond their normal vocabulary. Not to mention that Gunnar’s Swedish accent was probably borderline incomprehensible to them.

“I’ll explain later,” I reassured them, then turned back to the phone. “Can you do your thing and confirm your suspicions?”

‘Do your thing’ was shorthand for ‘can you verify it through the various intelligence agencies.’ After Gunnar left Special Forces, he’d become a freelance consultant for Swedish military contractors – which meant he was dialed in. If any civilian could track down a bunch of international mercenaries, he could.

“Oh yeah. If these guys are in the system, I’ll find ‘em. Did YOU tangle with ‘em, or – ”

“Another one of my associates did. I just want to know what he’s dealing with. And the quicker you can confirm, the better.”

“Alright, I’ll get on it and text you soon as I know somethin’. But when shit settles down, we gotta catch up, brother!”

“Definitely. Thanks, Gunnar.”

“No problem – peace out, my dude!”

I hung up the phone.

“‘My dude’?” Niccolo asked.

“Don’t start,” I warned him.

4

We went to the kitchen to grab a snack while I waited for Gunnar to get back to me.

Niccolo cleared the room of servants so we could talk in private. The last to leave was the woman Valentino was sleeping with – Caterina.

I could see why he liked her. Beautiful face, expressive eyes, always smiling – and very curvy.

Valentino thought they were being sly, but it was the worst-kept secret in the household. Everybody knew about them.

Niccolo had told him to cut it out – that it was bad for the servants’ morale and a disaster waiting to happen – but Val just became slightly more discreet. Like fucking her in a bedroom instead of the kitchen pantry.

Niccolo asked Dario to get involved, knowing that Valentino would heed a direct order from his don. But Dario reminded Niccolo of their own ‘youthful indiscretions’ and refused to do anything about it until it became absolutely necessary.

“Why steal his happiness?” was the way Dario put it.

On a purely logical level, I agreed with Niccolo. It was bad for morale, and it was a ticking time bomb…

But I found myself coming down on Dario’s side. Valentino and Caterina both seemed happy, and I didn’t have the heart to watch the destruction of anyone else’s love life.

Especially considering what a royal fuck-up I’d made of my own.

We’d just finished our food when Gunnar got back to me. His text identified two of the men as Alexei Kuznetsov and Dmitri Stepanov, both veterans of the Russian military – and former members of the Wagner Group. ‘Former’ seeing as they were dead.

Gunnar hadn’t ID’d the other three men yet, but I was already convinced.

“How bad is this, exactly?” Dario asked.

“Bad,” I answered. “Wagner’s known for their brutality. When Fausto decided to hire extra help, he went with the worst of the worst – mercenaries with no regard for the normal rules of warfare.”

“We don’t know for certain that Fausto hired them,” Niccolo pointed out.

Dario and I both looked at him.

“…but we should assume it, yes,” he added grudgingly. “Call Massimo so we can tell him.”

I texted him first. Can you talk?

He called a few seconds later. As soon as I answered, I said, “Hey, Mass. I’m here with Dario and Niccolo.”

Then I put the phone down on the counter and stepped back.

Massimo’s end of the call was noisy as hell – like he was standing right next to a revving motorcycle.

“Where the hell are you?” Niccolo asked.

Massimo shouted over the noise. “On a boat in the canals with the – uh, Signora Fioretti’s men, going to get her granddaughter at her university.”

So he was standing next to a motor – just one on a boat, not a motorcycle.

“Scoring brownie points, I see,” Niccolo said approvingly.

“I’m trying.”

Dario hunched down over the counter so he didn’t have to shout into the phone. “Are you alright? You weren’t hurt in the attack?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“More importantly,” Niccolo joked, “is the Widow alright?”

“Thanks,” he replied sarcastically. “And yes, she’s fine.”

“Did you happen to save her bony ass in a grand display of heroics?”

“I’d say that’s a fair assessment.”

Massimo’s answers were vague and cagey – which meant he was probably sitting right next to the Widow’s men.

“Then I hope she’s suitably grateful,” Niccolo continued.

“That part’s going well.”

“Excellent,” Dario said.

“Any word on the attackers?”

“My source has identified two of them,” I said. “He’s still checking on the others.”

“And?”

“They’re Wagner Group.”

“…shit.”

Massimo apparently knew what that meant.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“You think it was a coincidence they attacked her when I was there?”

Niccolo laughed bitterly. “I think you mean, ‘How the fuck did they know I was in Venice?’ It was either a bug in the house or moles. We’re looking into it.”

We weren’t – not yet – but I knew that would be the next thing on my to-do list.

“Okay… so what do we do?”

“Deliver the Widow’s granddaughter to her safely, then get back home,” Dario said. “We’re figuring out the rest right now.”

“Alright.”

“Watch your back,” I said. “If they went after the Widow, they might not be finished.”

Massimo sounded dejected as he replied, “That’s what I was thinking.”

“Keep safe,” Dario ordered, “and let us know when you’re on the way back.”

“What’s going on?” a familiar voice asked a second after we ended the call.

We turned to see Adriano and Bianca walking into the kitchen.

They had just gotten married the day before on the mansion’s grounds. It had been a small wedding because virtually no representatives from the other Italian mafia families had attended.

That was because the entire Cosa Nostra was under the false impression that the Rosolinis had murdered their longtime business partners in Florence – a false impression crafted by the man who had actually engineered their deaths: their uncle Fausto.

Like I said, the motherfucker behind all our problems.

Out of fear for their safety, Dario had ordered Adriano and Bianca to take their honeymoon here at home instead of somewhere like the Amalfi Coast or Bali. Not to mention that Adriano was still recovering from injuries he’d suffered during an epic shootout in Florence – a gun battle I’d been part of.

I glanced out the bulletproof French windows that lined the kitchen. Outside, rolling green lawns stretched to the swimming pool – and beyond that were the gardens, olive groves, and vineyards covering the property.

Not a bad place to honeymoon.

Adriano and Bianca had gone out earlier for a picnic lunch, but the rumpled state of Bianca’s hair suggested they’d been doing something besides just picnicking.

Good for them.

“Massimo got attacked in Florence,” Dario said.

Adriano froze. “What?! Is he okay?!”

Dario was just about to answer when the first bullet hit the windowpane.

5

There was a loud CRACK! as something exploded against one of the bulletproof French windows.

I didn’t look or think – I just reacted on pure instinct.

“DOWN!” I roared as I tackled Dario to the kitchen floor.

Niccolo ducked down –

Adriano threw Bianca to the floor and covered her body with his –

Glass shattered –

And a second bullet slammed into the wall over our heads.

My mind raced through the facts at lightning speed.

Sniper.

No audible gunshots – which meant a suppressor.

The glass was bulletproof – up to a point.

The first shot weakened the glass but didn’t break it –

Probably an explosive-tipped bullet.

The second one was the kill shot.

Given my earlier conversation with Massimo, it all led to one conclusion:

Wagner.

“Are you okay?” I yelled at Dario. The shouting was unnecessary since he was a foot away, but my adrenaline was pumping.

“Yes,” he said, though he looked stunned.

“Everyone else?!” I called out.

“I’m fine!” Niccolo replied nervously.

“We’re okay!” Adriano yelled on behalf of himself and Bianca.

“Stay down!” I shouted, then pulled out the hand-held radio I kept in my jacket. “Control, what the fuck is going on?!”

Shortly after starting my job nine months before, I had made Niccolo install 150 surveillance cameras inside the mansion and across the grounds. All of them were linked to a central command center on the second floor.

It had paid off the night that the Turk had invaded the compound and we had advance warning –

And it paid off now.

Whoever was in the command center answered immediately. “We’ve got movement on Camera 86 – they’re running through the olive groves on the south side of the property.”

“Do not engage!” I snapped. “Repeat, DO NOT ENGAGE!”

“Alessandra!” Dario cried out in panic.

“Eyes on Falcon!” I shouted into the radio, using the code name for Alessandra.

Another voice radioed back, “We’ve got her, third floor!”

“Get her to the safe room NOW! And somebody meet me at exit 12 with a scoped rifle!”

“Copy that.”

I looked at Dario. “Stay down,” I ordered.

Then I scrambled across the kitchen on all fours, heading for the hallway.

“Where are you going?!” Adriano yelled.

“To kill the asshole who shot at us,” I snarled.

6

As I raced down the hallway, I pictured the faces of the dead mercenaries in Massimo’s photos. A single word echoed in my mind:

Wagner…

I reached the exit in seconds. One of my men, Rocco, was waiting for me at the door with an Mk 13 sniper rifle.

I had a pistol on me – I always had a pistol on me – but the shooter already had a massive head start, and I needed to be able to take him out from a distance.

I grabbed the rifle from Rocco and flung open the door.

“You need backup?” Rocco asked.

“No – stay close to the house and make sure nobody gets in.”

“Got it,” he said, then shut and locked the door behind me as I dashed out onto the lawn.

I’d drilled my men for months for this very scenario.

Now we would see if all that preparation paid off.

“Control, what’s the shooter’s position?” I yelled into my radio as I ran.

“Approaching the south wall near Camera 107.”

I knew exactly where he meant.

There was no way I could catch up to the gunman –

But a bullet could.

The mansion sat atop a ridge. The olive groves to the south were at a slightly lower elevation, which meant that I was already at the optimal place to take a shot.

The target would be over 2000 feet away, and I would be standing instead of lying down –

But I’d made longer shots under worse conditions.

I stopped, raised the rifle to my shoulder, and looked through the scope.

It took me several seconds of scanning the olive grove, but I finally detected movement through the tree limbs.

The stone wall surrounding the property was 10 feet tall. If the shooter was going to go over it, he would have to use a ladder or a grappling rig –

Ah.

There.

A rope ladder with jagged hooks on the end sailed into the air and caught the top of the wall on the first try.

I watched through the scope as the shooter started climbing the ladder and he –

I paused, momentarily thrown.

He?

…or SHE?

The shooter was wearing a tan helmet that disguised their face. They also wore camo matching the silvery green leaves and dusty browns of the olive trees.

The camo was form-fitting: spandex tights on the legs and a tight jacket for the torso.

But the shooter’s body…

It was too slender.

Too feminine.

A slim waist – feminine hips –

And not to be crude, but the shooter had a great ass under those tight leggings.

There was no doubt:

The sniper was a woman – and the way she moved was uncomfortably familiar.

No –

NO.

That’s IMPOSSIBLE –

I stared in shock as the shooter scaled the ladder and rolled over the top of the wall, out of sight.

“Boss?” one of my men asked over the radio. “Do you see him?”

“Get the Bugatti ready,” I said in a daze. “I’m going to have to chase her down.”

There was a pause.

“…uh… did you say ‘her’?”

I ignored the question as I raced back for the house.

It couldn’t be her –

It COULDN’T be –

PART II

7

Lars

My first memories are vague – hazy snapshots, really.

Ducks in the canals of Stockholm, Sweden…

Beautiful pastries stacked behind glass in a bakery…

Puddles on cobblestone walkways after it rained.

But the first truly vivid memory I have is my mother screaming…

And me running into the room to protect her.

My father was an alcoholic. He used to go out drinking with his buddies after work ended at the factory, then come home in a terrible mood. That’s something my mother told me when I was older, not something I can recall.

I don’t remember anything specific until the night I heard her screaming and I ran into the room.

She was sitting on the bed, hunched over and shielding her head with her hands.

My father stood above her menacingly, his hand balled into a fist.

I was only four years old, but I flung myself between them, looked up at my father, and screamed at the top of my lungs, “DON’T YOU HURT HER!”

I remember the stink of liquor on him. I remember the rage in his eyes, and I remember bracing myself as he pulled back his arm to strike me –

When my mother’s arms wrapped around me from behind and pulled me onto her lap.

“STOP IT – HE’S A CHILD!” she shrieked.

The rage in my father’s eyes turned to shame – then back to anger.

But the spell was broken. He turned away, cursing my mother with words I’d never heard before and didn’t know the meaning of.

He swiped his arm across the top of the dresser and dashed a ceramic music box of hers against the wall, shattering it into pieces.

Then he stomped out of the room. A few seconds later, we heard the front door slam.

My mother cradled me in her arms and rocked us both back and forth.

In retrospect, I think she was trying to calm herself as much as comfort me.

“Are you okay, Mama?” I remember asking.

She pulled back far enough that I could see her face. A red mark was starting to swell on her cheek, and there was a smear of blood in the corner of her mouth. Tears streaked down the sides of her face, but she smiled at me.

“I am, my brave little man,” she whispered, then kissed my forehead. “I want you to go to your room and choose your favorite toy – just one. I’ll come in and help you pack, and then we’re going to leave.”

I remember her voice on the phone, murmuring from her bedroom, as I tried to choose one stuffed animal. I remember it being the most agonizing choice I’d ever had to make.

Then my mother came into the room with a suitcase. She grabbed things out of my drawers and stuffed them inside the suitcase with her own clothes… and she let me take two stuffed animals. I can still remember my relief and joy.

Minutes later, a taxi pulled up. We got inside and went to the bus station –

And I never saw my father again.

8

We went to go live with my Aunt Ingrid in Gothenburg – a small, beautiful city on the Western side of Sweden, across the country from Stockholm.

I remember she met us at the bus station very early in the morning when it was still pitch black. I was half asleep as I got off the bus, but I remember Aunt Ingrid hugging my mother for a long, long time. When Aunt Ingrid knelt down and hugged me, there were tears on her cheeks. I remember she kissed the top of my head, then took my hand and asked about my stuffed animals as she led us to a waiting taxi.

Aunt Ingrid was smart and funny. I liked her because she always talked to me like an adult, even at four years old, but she also joked with me constantly.

We lived with her for six months in her tiny rented apartment. She and my mother slept in the same bed while I got the sofa. We moved out after my mother got a job and saved up enough money for us to get our own place. However, our new apartment was only a mile away from Aunt Ingrid’s, so we still ate dinner with her at least three nights a week. That continued until she got married and moved to the suburbs, but even then we ate Sunday dinner with her and her husband for years.

I liked her husband, but it felt weird calling him ‘uncle,’ so he let me call him by his first name, Leif. He and Aunt Ingrid never had children, so I didn’t have any cousins.

My mother never dated anyone. Ever. I think that after my father, she was through with men.

I only occasionally missed my father – mostly when I saw other boys playing sports with their dads. Even then, I mostly missed the idea of having a father rather than my actual father. Any time I thought of him, I pictured the enraged man standing over at me, stinking of liquor, his hand raised in the air to strike me. That usually cured any desire I had to get a new father.

The one thing that made me sad, though, was I always wanted a brother. I would have liked a couple of them, actually – and a little sister.

It was a feeling that never went away.

Growing up in Gothenburg was nice enough. I liked the city, but I hated school. I thought it was boring, and I never did very well. It wasn’t that I was dumb; I just thought everything other than reading, writing, and basic math was pointless.

He’s just not living up to his full potential was a constant refrain from my teachers.

I didn’t care. I figured I didn’t need history, biology, or algebra to become a soldier, which is what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Maybe it was all the American movies I watched as a kid. In American movies, the military were usually the good guys, and the good guys always kicked the bad guy’s ass.

Considering my first (and last) memory of my father – and how terrifying it was – the idea of being able to kick the bad guy’s ass was extremely appealing.

When I was 6 or 7, my mother supported my notion of being a soldier in the same way other parents supported their kids when they said they wanted to be an astronaut or a cop.

As I became a teenager, though, and my intentions never waned, I could tell she was nervous about me getting hurt in the military – but she was still supportive.

“Just as long as you stay kind and good, and you protect women, like you did that night when you were four years old,” she would say as she kissed my cheek.

She wasn’t happy, though, when I actually enlisted – mostly because I did it the morning I turned 18. I skipped school and went straight to the Gothenburg enlistment office, and only told her that afternoon when I got home. That was not a pleasant scene.

She liked it even less that I didn’t bother to graduate from high school. I signed up for the earliest basic training camp I could get and never looked back.

But my mother had to admit that the Swedish Armed Forces had a profound and positive effect on my life.

First and foremost, the discipline did wonders for me. With my superiors more than willing to put me on latrine duty for the slightest infraction, I quickly realized I’d better get my shit together – or I would be scrubbing shit for the next four years.

I buckled down and took my time in the service seriously. As a result, I rose quickly through the ranks of enlisted men.

As far as relationships, they were limited to flings with women who lived near the bases where I was stationed. While most of the women I dated were fun, I never met anybody I wanted to stay with for the long term. My focus was on my career in the military; everything else was a distraction.

At 21, I applied for and was accepted into the Särskilda operationsgruppen – the Swedish Special Operations Task Group, or SOG for short. It was the equivalent of the Special Forces in the US military – very much like the Green Berets.

A week after I got my notice, I shipped out to the base at Linköping, a small city two hours away from Stockholm – and the headquarters for the Special Forces division.

I’d done poorly in school as a kid, but it was because I’d been bored and unchallenged. Special Forces piled on new challenges left and right.

I underwent intensive battleground training above and beyond what I’d received as a regular soldier.

I excelled in marksmanship and trained as a sniper.

I learned hand-to-hand combat and became one of the Special Forces’ best unarmed combatants.

I took leadership classes and learned how to command others in combat situations.

And I was required to study two foreign languages. I chose English and Arabic.

I had flunked all of my English classes in school, but I’d grown up watching American movies in English, so I had a grasp of the basics. I picked it up quickly once I applied myself. I chose American English because I wanted to sound like Tom Cruise or Vin Diesel, not Daniel Craig or Jason Statham.

With the ongoing global War on Terror, Arabic seemed like a good bet, so I chose it as my second language.

Within two years, I became fluent in English with very little trace of a Swedish accent. I also became proficient in both reading and speaking Arabic.

At the time, Sweden wasn’t a member of NATO (the North Atlantic Treaty Organization), but our military still worked closely with the US and NATO.

That’s how I got sent to Afghanistan.

There were two distinct phases to the war in Afghanistan. One was the initial US invasion after 9/11, with the goal to remove the Taliban from power and eradicate Al-Qaeda. That phase was called Operation Enduring Freedom, and it lasted until December 31, 2014.

Then came Operation Freedom’s Sentinel, which was supposed to train the Afghan army to fight against the Taliban.

I was deployed to Afghanistan during this second phase.

‘Officially,’ it was because I knew Arabic… but only a small percentage of Afghans speak Arabic. The two most common languages are Dari Persian and Pashto.

‘Officially,’ Sweden was there to train the Afghan army.

Unofficially, our Special Forces unit did whatever the Americans and NATO needed us to.

If that meant fighting the Taliban and other terrorists in the region, then we fought.

We ended up fighting a lot.

I spent my entire deployment at Bagram Airfield – the US military’s biggest base, about 25 miles north of the capital, Kabul.

Three incredibly important things happened while I was in Afghanistan.

The first was a near-tragedy…

The second was a tragedy…

And the third was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

But it eventually turned into a tragedy, too.

9

The near-tragedy occurred in the first two weeks of my deployment.

It followed a horrific truck bombing by the Taliban in Kabul. Ten people were killed, hundreds were wounded, and the explosion severely damaged over 50 homes and apartment buildings.

In the immediate aftermath, NATO decided to send in soldiers to check the buildings for survivors. However, the ‘soldiers’ were actually Special Forces from several different countries, including Sweden. The search-and-rescue was a convenient excuse to do a sweep for bad guys without infuriating the local populace, who had grown sick and tired of our presence.

I was put on overwatch – the term for when a sniper supports ground troops in the line of fire. I went up on the roof of a four-story building so I could watch over the other guys as they went door to door.

My job was to protect the soldiers, no matter what.

It didn’t quite work out that way.

The street was basically deserted. When NATO troops came around, the locals tended to scatter.

I was looking through my rifle scope for threats when I saw a woman exiting a doorway in one of the ruined buildings.

She was in her late teens, maybe early 20s. She wore a long, flowing black robe with a black hijab, or headscarf.

At that point in Afghanistan, the government was secular, and the dress codes weren’t rigidly enforced. So while you saw plenty of hijabs, they tended to be colorful – red, light blue, purple – and women’s robes were generally more form-fitting.

A young woman wearing severe black clothing was a potential red flag. It suggested fundamentalist, possibly extremist beliefs. Plus, her robe was so tent-like that it could have easily concealed a gun or a bomb.

The key words, though, were potential red flag… suggested… possibly extremist beliefs… and could have concealed a gun or bomb. Nothing was conclusive.

“This is Overwatch One,” I said into my radio. “I have a young woman on the street, 200 yards from the convoy.”

I focused on her face through my scope.

She looked terrified.

Then she moved beneath her robes. In the slits for her arms, I caught a half-second glimpse of what I thought was a dull green cylinder. Then it disappeared again under the black cloth.

“She’s got something,” I said, my heart suddenly thudding twice as fast. “Might be an RKG Russian grenade.”

RKGs were hand-held cylinders about two feet long. They were designed to be anti-tank weapons, but they could just as easily wipe out a squad of soldiers.

“You said an RKG?” a voice asked over the radio. I recognized it as the NATO commanding officer of the mission, a Brit.

“Yes. Can you see her? Can anyone confirm the RKG?” I asked.

“Negative.”

Despite the blazing hot sun, cold sweat beaded on my back as I continued to watch her through the scope.

She wasn’t moving. Her face was terrified, and she was frozen in place.

I silently pleaded with her to turn around and walk away.

The officer’s voice spoke over the radio again.

“Take her down.”

Shit.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t killed before. I’d already shot a Taliban firing mortars at the base on my second day in-country. And six months before I’d deployed, I’d killed a neo-Nazi extremist back in Sweden after he stabbed five people and threatened to blow up a bank. It had happened in the next town over from Linköping, where Special Forces was headquartered. The police in the small town hadn’t been equipped to handle the situation, so they’d called us in.

Both deaths had been entirely warranted and just part of my job… but the first time I’d killed someone, it had fucked me up for a couple of weeks.

The second time was easier. It only messed with me for a day or two.

So it wasn’t the killing that gave me pause.

It was the fact that the target was a woman…

And that I wasn’t 100% sure of what I’d seen.

“Sir, I only got a brief glimpse – ”

“An RKG could kill a dozen men. It’s not worth the risk. Do it.”

He was right about the grenade’s potential for destruction.

But I wasn’t even sure it was an RKG.

And even if it was, there wasn’t any immediate intent on her part to throw it. She was still frozen in the street like a deer in headlights.

“It might have been something else,” I said.

“You just said – ”

“I can’t be sure, sir. I could be wrong.”

“I’ll take responsibility. Fire when – ”

“Sir – ”

“DO IT! That’s a direct order!”

FUCK –

I lowered my sights and pulled the trigger.

CRACK!

The ground right in front of the woman erupted in a cloud of dust and rocks.

The explosion at her feet broke her out of her paralysis. She turned and fled, her black robes fluttering behind her.

If she had a grenade, she never threw it.

…if she had a grenade.

I breathed a sigh of relief as she darted down an alleyway and ran far away from the soldiers.

“Overwatch One,” said the NATO officer’s voice, cold as the Arctic, “you are relieved of duty. Officer Benton, get the fuck up there, NOW.”

10

Back at the base, I got ripped a new asshole by my squad’s commanding officer.

“You FUCKING IDIOT!” he roared in Swedish as I stood at attention in his office. “Do you know how many men could’ve died today because of what you did?!”

“Sir – ”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, HENRIKSSON! Your actions today made our entire outfit look bad in front of the Americans and NATO! You’ve embarrassed me, your squad-mates, and your country!”

I knew for a fact that most of my squad didn’t blame me at all.

Tough call, man, several of them had told me later. Lucky nothing happened.

They were right.

I’d been very lucky that nothing had happened.

But in the end…

Nothing had happened.

“If I’d shot her, sir,” I asked with my eyes staring straight ahead, “and it turned out that she didn’t have a grenade, how would that have made us look?”

The officer glared at me like he wanted to kill me. “You said you saw an RKG – ”

“Thought I saw, sir – ”

“DO NOT INTERRUPT ME!”

I stood there in silence.

“Now that grenade is still out there, just waiting to be used to kill other soldiers. Good fucking job, Henriksson.”

“Sir, I don’t know that she had a – ”

“From now on, when you’re given an order, you FOLLOW THE FUCKING ORDER!”

For the first time, I dared look him in the eyes.

“She was a woman, sir,” I said coldly. “I don’t kill women.”

A vein popped out so far on his forehead that I thought he might have a coronary right in front of me.

He leaned in two inches from my face and said in a low, vicious voice, “Well, you can think that one over while you’re in the brig for the next two weeks, CORPORAL Henriksson.”

Before I’d walked into his office, I’d been a sergeant.

He’d just busted me back down three ranks – a serious demotion.

Not to mention two weeks in the on-base prison.

I didn’t care.

I would have gladly served my entire tour of duty in prison and been busted back down to a private.

In fact, you could even say I was lucky. I could have been court-martialed and drummed out of the military, or been sent to prison for much longer.

But we were in an active war zone and they needed warm bodies on the front lines. Plus, there was the minor detail that I’d actually taken the shot and just missed. All of that caused my commanding officer to limit my punishment.

Besides, he wanted me back out on the front lines as soon as possible. Serving in Afghanistan was a far harsher sentence than sending me back to a cushy prison in Sweden.

The jail time didn’t faze me. Nor did the demotion or the black mark on my record. I was just relieved I hadn’t killed the woman.

But the episode with my commanding officer left a bitter taste in my mouth.

His words kept ringing in my head:

Your actions today made our entire outfit look bad in front of the Americans and NATO!

That was the thing he was most upset about.

Not that I could have killed an innocent person.

That moment in his office was the first time I hated being in the military.

It wasn’t the last…

But at least no one had died.

Not the soldiers…

And not the woman I’d been ordered to kill.

One more thing:

The entire time I served at Bagram, there were never any reports of anyone using a Russian anti-tank grenade against US or NATO troops. And certainly not by a woman.

11

The tragedy occurred two months into my deployment, although it happened in Sweden.

A week before I got shipped out to Afghanistan, my mother was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma, a type of cancer.

As soon as I heard, I took a short leave to go back to Gothenburg to be with her before leaving the country.

The moment I saw her, I was struck by how tired she looked. How pale her face was, and the dark circles under her eyes.

“How bad is it?” I asked, dreading the answer.

She smiled. “It’s not that bad. Hodgkin’s lymphoma usually responds well to chemotherapy. I start treatment on Monday.”

Sweden’s healthcare system was socialized, so I knew she would be alright as far as money went –

But the physical toll…

“How will you get back and forth between the appointments?” I asked. “What about eating? What about – ”

“Shh.” She took my hands in hers. “I’m going to move in with Ingrid and Leif for a few months. She’s going to take care of me and drive me wherever I need to go.”

“What about your job?”

“They’ve given me medical leave.”

“What about Aunt Ingrid’s job?”

“They’re going to let her arrange her schedule around my chemotherapy. It’s alright, Lars… plenty of people have to deal with this. I’ll be fine.”

“But I’m going to be halfway across the world – ”

“Afghanistan is only a few thousand miles away from Sweden,” she said with a slight smile. “That’s not halfway across the world.”

“It might as well be! If something happens, I can’t just leave and come back – ”

“Nothing’s going to happen, darling,” she said comfortingly. “Nothing’s going to happen except I’m going to get well, and you’ll come back from deployment, and life will go on exactly as it always has.”

Later, I felt bad that my mother was the one dealing with cancer – and yet she was the one who comforted me. But that was my mother for you.

We spent two days together, going out to eat and reminiscing about the old times. She laughed a lot and was in good spirits, which relieved me.

As I said goodbye to her, I hugged her close and prayed that everything would be alright and that the cancer wouldn’t take her.

Half of my prayer was answered.

It wasn’t the cancer that took her.

I’d been out of the brig for a month and was back to the daily grind at Bagram when I got the call from Leif.

I was sitting on my cot in the bunk room when I saw his number appear on my cell. My stomach immediately twisted with fear. Leif never called me.

My fear grew ten times worse when I answered and heard him crying.

“Leif? What happened?”

“Lars…” he choked out. “Your mother…”

I felt like I might vomit.

“Was it the cancer?” I asked frantically.

“No… no, the treatment was going fine… but on the way back from the doctor’s, they got into a car crash. Ingrid was driving, and a man ran a red light… I’m so sorry, Lars, but your mother and Ingrid… they’re dead.”

I wasn’t allowed to go back home for their funerals.

Even under the best conditions, leave might not have been granted – but I also had a black mark on my record for disobeying a direct order. That’s why my commanding officer refused my petition to fly back to bury my mother.

Leif sent me pictures of the funeral. They held it for both my mother and Aunt Ingrid at the same time. They even buried them side by side in the cemetery.

All I know is that a bleak depression swallowed me whole.

For months, I went through the motions like a robot:

Get up. Eat. Train. Go on patrol if that’s what I had to do that day. Do my job. Come back. Shower. Eat. Go to bed. Sleep. Get up and do it all over again.

Strangely enough, it wasn’t their deaths that haunted me. Not really.

The thing that hurt the most…

Was that I never got the chance to say goodbye.

It was only around my sixth month in Afghanistan that the depression lifted, and it felt like I was actually human again.

I still grieved for my mother and my aunt, but the pain wasn’t as sharp. It faded to a low-level hum in the background, enough that I could even forget about it for hours at a time.

In the ninth month, I was almost healed. Or as much as I could be.

That was when I met Rachel.

The United States was the main force at Bagram Air Base. Still, every member of NATO – and every non-NATO European ally – sent soldiers to fight alongside them.

Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Poland, Spain, Italy, France, Germany, Croatia, Romania…

And the UK, obviously.

England was one of the most powerful members of NATO. They gave us a lot of intel about international terrorists working with the Taliban.

That was how Rachel entered my life.

She was the best thing that ever happened to me.

And… eventually… the most heartbreaking.

PART III

12

Rachel

Ihave a lot of memories of my father.

When I was 3 or 4, he would put me on his lap and move his knees up and down like I was riding a horse. He would chant,

Little girl, little girl,

Goin’ downtown…

Take care of little girl,

Don’t you fall down.

Boogedy-boogedy-boogedy-boogedy-BOO!

On ‘Boo,’ he would part his legs – and I would fall through to the floor, giggling and screaming with both fright and joy.

He would usually say ‘boogedy-boogedy’ for at least five seconds.

But sometimes it was only one or two seconds, and you fell before you even knew what was happening.

Once in a while, the chanting would go on for half a minute. The entire time, you waited and waited, knowing what was coming, the dread building the longer it went on –

But either way, your world always dropped out from under you.

Always.

I have other memories of my father. Some of them good… others not so good.

I remember he was handsome. I thought he looked like a movie star.

I remember that I hated the way his whiskers felt when he didn’t shave and he kissed me. So every time he shaved, he would take my hand, put it on his cheek, and say, “Just for you, Rachel. Just for you.”

I remember the way he ran hot and cold. Sometimes he was affectionate and would hug and kiss me… then the next day he would act distracted when he came home from work, barely bothering to pat me on the head. And when he was in a bad mood, he would yell at me to be quiet.

I remember that he drank a lot in the evenings. I actually liked it when he drank because he smelled like vanilla – the scent of his expensive whiskey. He laughed more when he drank, and he would play Little Girl, Little Girl whenever I asked.

I remember that there was a lot of shouting and screaming between my father and mother. Usually not when he was drinking, funnily enough. It was when he was sober and moody that the fighting would start.

I remember hiding in my room under the covers when it got particularly bad.

I hid a lot as a child.

There are the things you remember, and there are the things you know because someone else told you about them.

Here’s what my mother told me.

They met while he was on vacation in Italy. He was from London; she was born and raised in a beach resort town named Pescara. She was very beautiful and worked at a hotel as a waitress from the time she turned 18.

A few months after she turned 20, she served drinks to a funny, handsome Englishman while he was lounging by the pool. She knew a little English, he knew a little Italian, and combined, it was enough for him to flirt with her and make her laugh. She finally agreed to go dancing with him that night – which began a passionate fling that ended when he left to go back to London.

He gave her his phone number, though. Mama said that they talked every day at first… then every other day… and finally once a week, if that. My father told her he was busy with work.

About a month after he left, my mother found out she was pregnant. When she told my father over the phone, he tried to convince her to get an abortion. When she refused, he flew her to London and eventually married her.

At least he tried to do the right thing. I have to give him credit for that.

But there were many times I wished he hadn’t, and that Mama had stayed in Pescara.

Because the single most powerful memory I have of my father…

Is of the day he was no longer there.

13

Iwas seven years old the Saturday morning when my mother told me in Italian, “Rachelle, come out to the kitchen. There’s something I need to tell you.”

My father called me Rachel, which was my legal name. My mother had wanted to call me Rachelle before I was born, but my father had absolutely forbidden it. He thought it sounded too ‘ethnic,’ too ‘non-British.’ My mother had gone along with naming me Rachel because he insisted… but she had retaliated in her passive-aggressive way by only speaking Italian to me. Never English.

My mother never called me Rachelle when my father was around, so I knew something was wrong. It was a Saturday morning; he should have been there. The fact that he wasn’t filled me with dread.

She sat me down on the other side of the kitchen table and said, “Your father won’t be living with us anymore.”

I stared at her in shock, unable to believe what I was hearing. “Why?”

I remember she looked exhausted and hurt. She took a drag on her cigarette before she answered bitterly, “Your father decided he wanted to go live with another woman from his work, so we won’t be seeing him anymore.”

“…never…?” I asked, my eyes filling with tears.

“I don’t know!” she snarled. “I have no idea what that son of a bitch is going to do! All I know is he’s a bastard, and I’m glad he’s gone!”

I had never heard my mother use those words before – and I didn’t recognize the string of Italian profanities she used as she went on a five-minute-long rant.

I didn’t listen to her.

All I could think was, My daddy left me.

He LEFT ME!

…and he never even said goodbye…

14

Isaw my father a couple of times after that. Once before Christmas, and once right after my birthday.

Looking back on it as an adult – and after a lot of therapy sessions – I think that he was too ashamed to face me. I think that he left in the middle of the night and didn’t tell me to my face because he couldn’t bear to see my reaction –

Because he was a coward.

At least, that’s what I think. Which was preferable to He didn’t care enough about me to make the effort.

He probably never wanted to be with my mother in the first place. She tells it another way – that he seduced her when she was only 20 and he was 28, and that he professed his undying love to her – but it makes a lot more sense that she was a fun holiday fling, not the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. I think that trying to do the ‘right thing’ had made him resentful and bitter, and he eventually came to hate my mother.

However, I think he loved me.

…I hope.

But what kind of a man would leave his seven-year-old daughter in the middle of the night and never even say goodbye?

When I saw him at Christmas, he said he was sorry in a half-hearted way.

The last time I saw him, he promised it would all work out. You’ll see – it was all for the best.

That was all the explanation I ever got… because once the woman he left us for got pregnant, I never saw him again.

15

My relationship with men was fraught from the beginning, to say the least.

It didn’t help that my mother was a broken record, always complaining that men were dogs and not to be trusted. My father had hurt her deeply, and her reaction was to stew in her bitterness and refuse to move on.

She never dated again. She blamed it on having to find work and raise me, but the truth was a lot simpler: my father broke her heart – like he broke mine – and she never recovered.

But with me, things got a lot more complicated.

As I got older and started to develop, I began to draw a lot of unwanted attention from males. All women do – but my situation was complicated by the fact that I had inherited both my father’s and my mother’s good looks. I looked older and more worldly than I actually was.

Or maybe my situation wasn’t complicated at all. Maybe men were just dogs like my mother said, and I would have gotten the attention no matter what I looked like.

It’s not that I wasn’t interested in the opposite sex. Actually, I was obsessed: cute boys a few years older than me in school… Backstreet Boys and NSYNC…

But not the grown adults who catcalled me from the street. Not the creepy older men whose eyes crawled over my body.

I remember one overwhelming feeling from that period of my life:

I never felt safe.

Ever.

I lived in a rough area of London. Lots of crime, lots of poverty.

There was a martial arts dojo near my home, and whenever I walked by it, I stopped at the window and watched the people train inside. The place taught Krav Maga – a form of hand-to-hand combat used by the Israeli military – and I remembered watching in wonder as women fought and trained side-by-side with the men.

I wanted to be like those women.

I wanted to have that power – to hurt or even kill anyone who tried to harm me.

I begged my mother repeatedly to let me take classes.

“It’s too expensive,” she said without even asking how much it cost. “We barely have enough to live on, and you want to spend money to learn how to get into fights?! No.”

Eventually, I stopped asking.

But every time I passed the dojo, I stopped and watched through the window… but that was the closest I ever thought I would get.

Until the night it happened.

I was 14 years old. I was over at a friend’s house studying for school and it got late, so I said goodbye and took the bus back to my neighborhood.

As I got off the bus and headed for my apartment building, a group of teenage boys started catcalling me.

I say ‘boys,’ but they might have been as old as 20. They were much older than me, that was for certain.

I kept my head down and walked faster.

They started following me. They yelled out obscenities about my body… what they wanted to do to me.

I tried to shut it out and just walk faster –

But they kept getting closer.

I passed by the Krav Maga dojo and glanced into the window. There was a single light shining in a back room of the studio, but I didn’t see anyone inside.

I turned the corner and started to run down the alley towards my building –

But the boys ran faster.

They caught me by my backpack and used it to throw me to the ground.

They laughed and circled around me like wolves.

One held me down as another pulled up my skirt.

I screamed, but a dirty hand covered my mouth –

And then I heard a voice yell out of the darkness, “OI! Get the fuck offa her, you pieces of shite!”

A man came striding up: the head instructor from the Krav Maga studio. He was still wearing his black martial arts outfit.

The boys cursed at him and told him to fuck off. One even pulled out a knife and threatened to kill him.

The 20 seconds that followed were the most amazing thing I’d ever seen in my life.

The man tore into the group of thugs – kicking them in the side of their knees, punching their faces, ramming his knee into their crotches.

The guy with the knife lunged at him.

The man dodged, then swung the point of his elbow into the asshole’s nose with a loud CRACK.

Seconds later, all the boys scrambled off into the night, bleeding and shrieking in pain.

The man waited until they had fled, then looked down at me.

“You alright?” he asked gruffly.

I nodded in fear.

He extended his hand to me as I lay on the ground. “Let’s get you inside and get you cleaned up.”

He took me back to his office, sat me down in a chair, and used alcohol to disinfect the cuts on my knees and hands. He was in his 40s with buzzcut grey hair. The framed certificates on his wall told me his name was John Morris.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asked.

I nodded silently.

“Fuckin’ animals… gets worse out here every fuckin’ year. ‘Scuse my French, s’il vous plait.” After he finished cleaning my wounds, he said, “I think I better walk you back home. Just in case.”

I nodded but didn’t say anything.

After he locked up the dojo, Mr. Morris walked with me through the dark streets towards home. He asked me questions about school and my home life. I gave the shortest answers I could, mostly because I was utterly cowed by such a powerful man who could fight off five other people at one time. But by the time the walk was over, he knew my name, that I lived with my mother, and that my father was no longer in the picture.

We finally reached the apartment building where I lived.

“Well, Rachel,” he said, “take care. Just a word of advice: probably best if you get home before dark from now on.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“Think nothin’ of it.”

As he started to walk away, all my desperation rose up inside me, and I blurted out, “I want to learn how to do what you did.”

He stopped and looked back at me. “Alright – well, just have your mother come by and – ”

“She won’t pay for it,” I said. “I asked her over and over. She says she doesn’t have any money.”

He peered at me for a long moment. Finally he said, “Not a problem. After you get out of school tomorrow, come by and see me.”

Then he turned and walked off into the night.

The next day began my four-year-long tutelage in Krav Maga.

I went every day after school and all day on weekends. I learned everything Mr. Morris showed me. I practiced and sparred until I was black and blue – and still I forced myself to keep going.

I became good. Very good. In my first two years, I progressed further and faster than any other student he’d ever had.

I paid my way – if that’s what you can call it – by sweeping up and keeping the dojo clean.

When I turned 16, I got a part-time job at McDonald’s without telling him. I wanted to make enough money so I could start paying for classes.

I remember when I held out the money from my first paycheck – enough for a month’s worth of classes.

He just stared at.

“Where’d this come from?” he finally asked.

I told him about my new job.

“Is that why you haven’t been comin’ to classes as often?”

I confirmed it was.

“The next time you go in to work, quit,” he ordered me. “As far as I’m concerned, your only fuckin’ job from now on is to be the best fuckin’ fighter you can be.”

And that was the end of my short-lived career at McDonald’s.

I progressed even quicker through the ranks. I started teaching beginner’s classes. By the time I turned 18, I was a third-degree black belt.

When I wasn’t doing Krav Maga, I was studying or going to school. I did well enough that I got a scholarship to Aston University, two and a half hours from London.

On the day before I left, I hugged John and told him he was like the father I’d never had.

He held back his tears – the only time in my life I’d seen him come close to crying – and hugged me.

“No matter what you end up doin’ in life, Rachel – give ‘em hell.”

And that’s exactly what I did.

While I was at Aston, there weren’t any Krav Maga dojos, so I took judo and Brazilian jiu-jitsu classes instead.

I had a few relationships with guys at university. Nothing serious, though. I had fun, but I never fell in love. That was good, because I was on an accelerated schedule where I went to classes over the summers, too. Between school and martial arts, I had very little time for relationship drama.

Two weeks before I graduated at the top of my class in Economics, I still hadn’t figured out what I wanted to do with my life. The obvious choice for my degree was a job in government – but frankly, the idea of sitting behind a desk and dealing with bureaucrats bored me to tears.

I was also weighing the possibility of joining the Armed Services. I was in peak physical shape, I loved martial arts, and part of me wondered if the military might be something I’d enjoy.

Then my favorite professor in Economics asked me if I wouldn’t mind meeting an old colleague of his about a job.

“A fellow I know from the bad old days,” he joked.

I was immediately intrigued. Dr. Bradwell was around 60 years old. On several occasions, he had alluded to working for British Intelligence after the fall of the Soviet Union.

What did I have to lose?

So I said yes.

I went to meet the man in Dr. Bradwell’s office. My professor introduced us, then excused himself so we could “speak in private.”

James Farragut was in his 50s, with a crisp grey suit and a military haircut. He never said specifically whom he worked for – just ‘the government.’

“Bradwell says you’re one of the brightest he’s ever taught,” Farragut said.

I modestly replied that Dr. Bradwell was very kind to say that.

Farragut peered at me closely. “I also understand you have extensive training in martial arts. Krav Maga, in particular – although you also know judo and Brazilian jiu-jitsu.”

I frowned. I’d told Dr. Bradwell about the last two, but I’d never mentioned Krav Maga.

“How did you know that?” I asked.

“I looked into you a bit,” he said casually. “Bradwell said you’re not going into post-graduate studies, so what kind of jobs are you looking at?”

“I’m not sure. I’m considering the military. All I know is that I don’t want to be stuck behind a desk – that would bore me to tears.”

“What is it about the military that appeals to you?”

I shrugged. “Being in the outdoors… traveling…”

Farragut gave me the barest hint of a smile. “Fighting?”

“…probably.”

“You already do that with your martial arts studies.”

“That’s hand-to-hand combat. I’d like to know how to shoot a gun.”

Farrugut’s smile broadened. “Oh, we can train you at that. We have some of the best in the world.”

Before I could ask who ‘we’ was in We have some of the best in the world, he asked me a startling question:

“Do you think you could kill someone?”

After my initial surprise, I thought back to the men who had tried to rape me when I was 14 years old.

I looked Farragut straight in the eye. “Absolutely.”

He seemed pleased with my answer.

That’s when he finally told me where he was from and why he’d come to see me.

Two minutes later, he offered me a job. I accepted.

I would be trained as a junior field agent for SIS…

More commonly known as MI6.

British Secret Intelligence.

After I graduated, I spent a year in training – then three years in the field doing all sorts of James-Bond-style undercover ops.

Which is how I found myself in Afghanistan…

Where I met Lars.

Up until that point, my father was the only man who had ever broken my heart.

So Lars wasn’t the first man who hurt me…

But he definitely hurt me the worst.

By far.

PART IV

16

Lars

Bagram Airfield, Afghanistan

6 Years Ago

My Special Forces unit was standing in a windowless briefing room, surrounded by Special Forces guys from five other countries, when Gunnar whispered to me in Swedish. We often spoke in our native tongue when we wanted to keep it between us.

Anybody who knows Spanish, Italian, or French can get the gist of something said in one of the other languages. And everybody at Bagram understood English.

But Swedish?

It was like our own private code.

“Hej bror, vad fan tror du att det här handlar om?”

Hey, brother – what the fuck do you think this is all about?

“Ingen aning,” I replied.

No idea.

Gunnar was a fellow Special Forces member and the most unusual guy I’d met in the military. At 6’2” and 240 pounds, he was powerfully built – but he had the friendliest, most easy-going personality of anyone I knew. There was always a smile on his bushy-bearded face.

Maybe it was all the weed. He’d smoked out frequently when we were stationed back in Sweden, and he’d continued his habit in Afghanistan.

Despite his love for the herb, Gunnar was brilliant. He’d been a computer hacker as a teenager and had broken into several major corporations’ databases just for fun. I had a hard time wrapping my head around it: a 6’2”, burly computer nerd. But apparently, it was the truth.

When he was 18, he hacked the Swedish equivalent of the Pentagon and got caught. They gave him two choices: a criminal trial and jail time… or he could go to work for the military. He chose the latter.

The thing was, Gunnar was an anti-establishment type through and through. He hated being forced to hack – especially by The Man. When he intentionally failed out of the military’s computer counter-measures training program, they threatened him with placement in the infantry. He called their bluff and immediately got shipped off to boot camp.

Weirdly enough, Gunnar took to being a soldier like a duck to water. After getting into superb physical shape, he eventually tried out for Special Forces and made it in.

He studied Pashto as one of his languages when he joined Special Forces.

I asked him ‘why’ once.

“Cuz it sounds cool,” he told me.

That was reason enough for Gunnar.

Pashto was one of Afghanistan’s most widely used languages, which was the ‘official’ reason why he got sent there. Like me, the unofficial reason was that he was exceptionally good in a firefight.

As soon as we arrived at Bagram, Gunnar started talking to the locals who did the support roles on base: kitchen staff, groundskeepers, janitors. Within a few days, he’d gotten hooked up with a steady supply of what he called bra grajer – Swedish for the ‘good stuff.’

I warned him repeatedly to knock that shit off. Recreational marijuana use was illegal in Sweden and was even more strictly prohibited in the Swedish military.

It was a thousand times worse in Afghanistan. They gave the death penalty to any Afghan caught selling or cultivating weed, so I was pretty sure the government wouldn’t take kindly to foreign nationals possessing it, either.

But Gunnar ignored me.

“A lot of botanists believe Afghanistan is where cannabis originally came from,” he said earnestly, as though that would keep him out of trouble if he got caught.

That was the thing about Gunnar that was both exasperating and admirable: he was going to do whatever he wanted, and nobody would ever be able to talk him out of it. But he’d still be cheerful and friendly to you the entire time, no matter how much he disagreed with you.

At the moment, Gunnar and I were awaiting a briefing on a mission nobody knew anything about. There were Special Ops guys from the US, England, France, Spain, Italy – and Sweden, of course. All in all, there were 25 of us. Whatever the mission was, it was going to be a big fucking deal.

One of the American soldiers stepped up to the podium at the front of the room. “Alright, listen up. The briefing today is from a UK intelligence operative who just flew in. She’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

…she’ll?

That caused a bit of a stir.

And then she walked into the room and created an even bigger stir.

There were relatively few females serving at Bagram, so the presence of one was always notable. Especially when she was as gorgeous as this woman.

She was tall and athletic, probably 5’11”, with dark hair pulled back into a bun. Flawless skin, brown eyes, and sensual lips. The camo pants didn’t reveal much, but her legs were incredibly long, and she wore a tight-fitting t-shirt that hugged her graceful curves.

The movie Wonder Woman had just come out and made the actress Gal Gadot an international star. This woman could have been her sister. Even without a speck of makeup, she was more beautiful than 99% of the women I’d seen in my life.

She stood at the podium, confident but unsmiling, and looked out at all of us. “Hello. My name is Rachel Bauer.”

She sounded almost as alluring as she looked, with a posh British accent and a low, smoky voice.

I listened, entranced, as she continued talking.

“I’m from SIS, the UK’s Secret Intelligence Service. Most of you are probably more familiar with the older name for the agency, MI6, so I’ll just use that instead.”

“James Bond,” one of the Americans called out, and there was some scattered laughter from the soldiers.

She smiled politely like she’d heard it a thousand times before. “Exactly. Now, if you’ll direct your attention to the monitor, I’ll show you our target for the mission.”

A high-resolution screen hung on the wall at the front of the room. Several pictures appeared, all of the same Afghani male. In one of them, he was dressed in an expensive Western-style suit and looked like a rich playboy. In two other photos, he was dressed like the Taliban in a turban and robes with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder.

Rachel continued. “The United Kingdom’s domestic Security Service, otherwise known as MI5, foiled a bombing plot in London last week. MI6 discovered that the funding ran through Abdullah Shah Massoud, seen here onscreen – a former Al Qaeda operative now working with the Taliban.”

Al Qaeda was the terrorist group responsible for the attacks on 9/11. Their leader was Osama bin Laden, a Saudi national who had used his inherited wealth to fund global terrorism.

The Taliban was the Islamist group that ruled Afghanistan from 1996 to 2001. Extreme Islamic fundamentalists, they outlawed education for girls. They were also infamous for beating women who went out in public without wearing a burqa – a full-body dress that hid everything, including a mesh screen over their eyes.

After 9/11, the United States determined that Osama bin Laden was hiding out in Afghanistan and demanded the Taliban turn him over. The Taliban not only refused, they helped bin Laden escape into neighboring Pakistan. The Taliban’s refusal and their implicit support for terrorism against the West was what prompted the American invasion of Afghanistan.

In 2011, an American SEAL team killed bin Laden during a secret raid inside Pakistan – only a few hundred miles away from where we now stood.

Rachel continued her briefing. “MI6 has determined that Abdullah Shah Massoud arrived in Kabul 24 hours ago. We believe he’s plotting a new series of attacks against Western countries. Our mission is to go into Kabul, root out the terrorist cell he’s visiting, and take Massoud down. Preferably alive, but dead works just fine. Now – ”

“Excuse me,” a Spanish-accented voice spoke up.

We all turned to look at one of the guys from Grupos de Operaciones Especiales: GOE, aka Spain’s Special Forces. They were one of the countries participating in the raid.

I was vaguely acquainted with the guy speaking. Jorge Delgado. He was an asshole and not well-liked by any of the other countries’ Special Forces units. I don’t think his own men cared for him much, either.

Rachel looked annoyed at the interruption. “Yes?”

“Why are you giving this briefing?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Because MI6 retrieved the intel, and I work for MI6.”

“Respectfully,” Delgado said, without any respect in his voice whatsoever, “I think someone who is going on the mission should be giving the briefing.”

“Well, then, you’re in luck,” she said coldly. “Because I am.”

Which surprised me, I’ll admit.

It surprised Delgado even more.

“You?” he scoffed.

There’s a fair amount of misogyny in Special Forces. Not against women in general, but against women serving in the military.

Not me. I figure if you want to fight, you go through the training, and you qualify, then you’ve earned your place. I’d served with plenty of good female soldiers in the regular Swedish military, and I knew an outstanding female helicopter pilot.

But Special Forces is typically full of a bunch of tough guys who think that women shouldn’t set foot anywhere near a battlefield.

Even then, Delgado was in a class by himself. It wasn’t just the stereotypical Latin machismo or locker-room attitudes toward sexual conquests. He honestly seemed to think women were good for nothing more than sex and cooking him meals.

Which is probably why a woman briefing him on a mission raised his hackles…

And why he felt entitled to be openly disrespectful to her.

To the credit of the other Spaniards in his unit, they all glanced at each other like What a fuckin’ tool.

But every guy in the room was highly interested in seeing how Rachel Bauer would handle herself.

“Yes, me,” she said in an even colder voice. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Delgado smirked like he was hitting on her at a bar. “I think such a pretty lady should not be endangering herself.”

“That’s not your call.” She glanced back at the monitor. “Now, as I was saying – ”

“If I’m going into battle with a woman,” Delgado interrupted, “I’d say it is my call.”

The look Rachel gave him was pure contempt. “Your name is Delgado, correct?”

She’d obviously read our files in preparation for the briefing.

He raised his chin cockily. “Sargento Primero Jorge Delgado, GOE.”

“Well, Delgado – if you have an issue with my inclusion in the mission, you’re welcome to sit this one out.” She swept her gaze across the rest of the room. “That goes for anyone else who agrees with Sergeant Delgado. I won’t complain to your superiors, I won’t make an issue of it, and you won’t be penalized. I’ll see to that personally.” She looked back at Delgado with a vicious glare. “But I don’t want anyone on my team who doesn’t want to be there.”

It was a command performance on her part: self-assured, powerful, and take no shit. You could feel the room’s level of respect for her go up several notches.

Not from Delgado, though.

I could see the wheels in his head spinning, gearing up for the next assault.

His Spanish buddies glared at him like QUIET, you idiot! –

But the asshole couldn’t help himself.

He said with a smirk, “If there is anyone who should withdraw from the – ”

“If you’re going to leave,” Rachel interrupted, “then do it now. Otherwise, shut up. Either way, stop wasting my fucking time.”

Every man in the room stifled a laugh –

Every man except Delgado, that is.

He kept a smile plastered on his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. I could tell from how the corner of his mouth twitched that he was pissed.

“Is there anything else, Sergeant?”

She said ‘Sergeant’ like she was saying shithead.

“…no,” he finally answered.

“Good,” she snapped, then continued the briefing.

As far as the men in that room were concerned, Rachel Bauer had passed the test.

But she’d made an enemy in doing so.

“Wow, hon är något annat,” Gunnar whispered.

Wow, she’s something else.

“Ja det är hon,” I murmured back.

Yes, she is.

17

The briefing lasted another 10 minutes. After Rachel gave some more info on Massoud, one of the American Special Forces guys took over and ran through the details.

We would leave for Kabul at 1600 (4PM local time, seven hours from now) with a convoy of regular soldiers as camouflage. It was pretty routine for a bunch of Humvees to drive through Kabul on patrol. Nobody would suspect there were a bunch of Special Forces operatives with them.

Once we reached the target, Special Forces would detach from the regular troops. I would set up shop on a nearby rooftop and act as overwatch to guard everybody’s backs. Gunnar would be my spotter, the guy entrusted with making sure no hostiles snuck up behind me to take me out.

The Special Forces guys on the ground would breach Massoud’s safe house and either capture or kill him.

After the briefing was over, everyone started filing out… except for me.

“Aren’t you coming?” Gunnar asked me in Swedish.

“Go on, I’ll catch up.”

He glanced over at Rachel, who was still speaking with the head of the American Special Forces unit, then looked back at me.

“Aha,” he said with a big grin like he had me all figured out. “Good luck, brother.”

“Get out of here,” I said affectionately.

Gunnar laughed and left with the others.

I waited until Rachel ended her conversation with the American. As soon as he left, I walked over. She was still packing up some files in a briefcase when I said, “Hello.”

She looked up at me as though trying to place me, like she’d read about me in her files. “Henriksson, right?”

“Call me Lars.”

She didn’t give me even a hint of a smile. “What can I do for you, Henriksson?”

Okay, so it was going to be purely professional.

Not a problem.

“You might want to take Delgado off the team.”

“And why is that?”

“One of the guys in Delgado’s unit warned me that if you get on his bad side, you don’t want him backing you up in the field.”

“…because…?”

“Because if he has a problem with you, he’ll let the Taliban take care of it.”

Rachel narrowed her eyes. “Delgado has intentionally left other soldiers unprotected so that they’re injured or killed by the enemy?”

“That’s what the guy said.”

“Which guy?”

“Just a guy.”

There was no way I was going to give up the soldier’s name, and she knew it.

“Have you reported this?” she asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

I shrugged. “There’s no proof. It’s just something he heard from someone back in Spain.”

“That’s a serious charge.”

“Yes, it is.”

“But you’re not going to report it,” she said accusatorily.

“If I go to Command, they’ll ask for proof. I don’t have any. Then they’ll bring in the guy who told me. He’ll deny he said anything. And even if he doesn’t deny it, he doesn’t have any proof, either. And if it gets back to Delgado, then we’re both on his shit list.”

Rachel smiled in a decidedly unfriendly manner. “So… you decided to spread a little gossip instead.”

That annoyed me.

“I was just trying to help,” I said coolly.

“Like Delgado was ‘trying to help’ by suggesting I stand down?”

My voice became even colder. “I came to you in private.”

“I guess I should thank you for trying to undermine me in private, then, instead of in public,” she said sarcastically.

I frowned. “I’m not trying to undermine you – I’m trying to warn you. You just publicly humiliated a man known for stabbing other people in the back – ”

“I can handle Delgado, Henriksson,” she said curtly. “But thank you for your input.”

She turned away, effectively dismissing me.

Now I was irritated.

“How much combat have you seen?” I asked.

She looked back at me with a flash of anger. “Oh, so now you’re questioning my credentials? You’re right, you’re not like Delgado at all.”

“I’m wondering if you know how important it is to thoroughly trust the men you go into battle with.”

“I know this: I’m tired of men presuming to know what’s best for me.”

“I was just trying to help – ”

“Don’t. You worry about yourself; I’ll handle Delgado. You stay out of it.”

I clenched my jaw. “Fine.”

Then I turned and walked out of the room.

18

Rachel

The briefing was like the other 60 I’d given over the years: cut and dried. Just the facts.

And, like at least a third of those other briefings, I had to deal with an asshole who thought I didn’t belong in the room.

He was part of the Spanish Special Forces – but blatant disrespect wasn’t a phenomenon limited to Spaniards, Latins, or even Europeans. The last time it had happened, it had been a South Korean colonel. Before that, a South African. And before that, it had been one of my colleagues at MI6.

But it was always a man. Always.

I dealt with it in the usual way: I told him that if he didn’t want to be in the room, he could leave. I set my boundaries very clearly, and when he pushed back, I pushed back harder.

Most of the time, they swallowed their pride and went along to get along.

Sometimes they didn’t.

I could tell Delgado was going to be one of the latter. He put on a smile and said ‘yes,’ but I could see the desire for payback in his eyes.

If a man had chewed him out, he would have taken his lumps and retreated with his tail behind his legs.

But I was a woman… and what I’d done to him was unforgivable.

I told myself I would figure out what to do about him later. Then I went on with the briefing.

The good news was that I seemed to have won over the rest of the group. At least, I didn’t sense any outright hostility, which I regarded as a win.

After the briefing was over, I discussed logistics with the American in charge of the op. As I started to pack up my things, I pondered what I should do about Delgado –

When the sexiest voice I’d ever heard jolted me out of my thoughts.

“Hello.”

I looked up at a face that was even hotter than the voice.

He was tall – probably 6’4” – and broad-shouldered with dark blond hair. Lots of muscles stretched out his olive grey t-shirt: a powerful chest, huge biceps, and a flat stomach.

I’d noticed him as soon as I’d walked into the briefing – and I’d had to avert my eyes. He was so attractive that it was distracting.

It took me a second to place him. The photo I’d seen in his file was clean-shaven, taken back when he was still in Sweden.

Like most Special Forces guys who deployed to Afghanistan, he’d grown a beard. Unlike other Special Forces guys, though, his was neatly trimmed and made him ten times hotter.

I couldn’t recall his name at first – but those crystal blue eyes jogged my memory.

“Henriksson, right?”

“Call me Lars.”

His voice was deep but not too deep… more a rich bass than a basso profondo. The aural equivalent of the smoothest whiskey you’ve ever tasted.

His accent was American, and he spoke with only the tiniest trace of a Swedish accent.

Looked hot, sounded hot –

Hot, hot, HOT.

However, I put my physical attraction aside and remained 100% business.

There had been one occasion in the distant past where I’d returned a colleague’s flirtations, and I had paid for it when he turned into a chauvinist pig. Unfortunately, letting a man know you fancy him tends to undermine his professional respect for you.

Never again.

“What can I do for you, Henriksson?”

He seemed slightly disappointed – like he was hoping I might be a bit friendlier.

He’s attracted to you, a little voice whispered in my ear.

I ignored it.

There were very few women in my line of work, so you got used to men being constantly attracted to you.

…just not ones this hot.

But Henriksson got the hint and remained 100% business, too.

“You might want to take Delgado off the team.”

I’d been considering that very same thing.

What I didn’t know yet was whether Henriksson was a good guy…

Or whether he thought I couldn’t handle an asshole.

“And why is that?” I asked, reserving judgment until I heard more.

“One of the guys in his unit warned me that if you get on Delgado’s bad side, you don’t want him backing you up in the field.”

“…because…?”

“Because if he has a problem with you, he’ll let the Taliban take care of it.”

“Delgado has intentionally left other soldiers unprotected so that they’re injured or killed by the enemy?”

“That’s what the guy said.”

“Which guy?”

I knew he wouldn’t tell me.

He didn’t disappoint.

“Just a guy.”

“Have you reported this?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Henriksson shrugged. “There’s no proof. It’s just something he heard from someone back in Spain.”

“That’s a serious charge,” I pointed out.

“Yes, it is.”

“But you’re not going to report it.”

I’ll admit I was irritated. He wouldn’t go tell his superiors that a backstabber was putting other soldiers in danger… but he’d warn the frail, defenseless little girl that she was in over her head.

“If I go to Command, they’ll ask for proof,” he explained. “I don’t have any. Then they’ll bring in the guy who told me. He’ll deny he said anything. And even if he doesn’t deny it, he doesn’t have any proof, either. And if it gets back to Delgado, then we’re both on his shit list.”

His logic was sound – but there was a hint of condescension in his voice, like I should have figured all that out on my own.

Little did he know, I already had – long before he opened his mouth.

I just wanted to see how well he would communicate his thoughts.

Not as well as I would have liked.

The more generous part of me whispered, You DO realize English isn’t his native language, right? He might be fluent, but maybe he’s not the world’s greatest expert in the intricacies of tone.

However, the irritated part of me? The one that had dealt with dozens of other chauvinist pigs over the years?

That part won out.

“So… you decided to spread a little gossip instead,” I said.

Henriksson’s demeanor immediately cooled off several degrees. “I was just trying to help.”

OHHHHHH – you were just trying to HELP.

NOW I see.

My bad.

“Like Delgado was ‘trying to help’ by suggesting I stand down?”

He seemed to take real offense to that.

“I came to you in private,” he said coldly.

“I guess I should thank you for trying to undermine me in private, then, instead of in public.”

Now he looked downright irritated. “I’m not trying to undermine you – I’m trying to warn you. You just publicly humiliated a man known for stabbing other people in the back – ”

“I can handle Delgado, Henriksson,” I said brusquely. “But thank you for your input.”

Then I handled him the way I handled every other man who thought I didn’t belong in the room:

I turned away and ignored him.

That was when he showed his true colors.

“How much combat have you seen?” he asked in a snotty voice.

I have to admit, that got my hackles up.

“Oh, so now you’re questioning my credentials?” I snapped. “You’re right, you’re not like Delgado at all.”

He glowered at me. “I’m wondering if you know how important it is to thoroughly trust the men you go into battle with.”

The MEN you go into battle with.

Not the ‘people.’

Not the ‘soldiers.’

Definitely not the ‘women.’

The MEN.

I fixed him with a don’t fuck with me stare. “I know this: I’m tired of men presuming to know what’s best for me.”

“I was just trying to help – ”

“Don’t. You worry about yourself; I’ll handle Delgado. You stay out of it.”

I saw the muscles in his jaw tense up. “Fine.”

Then he turned around and walked out of the room.

Okay…

I’ll admit…

Even though I was irritated with the guy, I checked out his ass as he left.

Bloody hell.

It was just as hot as the rest of him.

Muscular and firm and it definitely filled out his pants –

Then I reprimanded myself.

Cut it out – you’re doing the same thing you hate when men do it to you.

Still, I cut myself a little slack. It was hard not to ogle a man when he was as scorching hot as Lars Henriksson.

But he’d still made me angry.

So now I was angry and turned on.

Not a good combination before a dangerous mission.

I decided to go find the base gym and work out some of my frustration on a punching bag.

A little violence had always been effective therapy for me. More effective than real therapy, anyway.

But Henriksson’s words served as a troubling reminder:

I had to figure out what to do about Delgado, and fast…

Or it might not just be the Taliban I had to worry about.

19

Lars

Ifound Gunnar outside the building smoking a cigarette.

Just a regular one – not weed. He wasn’t that reckless.

As soon as he saw my face, he grinned and asked in Swedish, “Uh-oh – didn’t go so well getting into the hot lady’s pants, huh?”

I glared at him. “That wasn’t what it was about.”

“What was it about, then?” he asked cheerfully.

“I warned her about Delgado.”

“Ohhhhhh.”

Gunnar knew all about Delgado. I’d told him as soon as I’d found out.

I’d warned all the other Swedish guys in my unit, too, but they were the only people I’d told – until three minutes ago, anyway.

“And she didn’t take it as your opening gambit at getting into her pants?” Gunnar continued with a smile. “Or she DID take it that way, and that’s the problem?”

“She took it as me questioning her competence.”

“Oh, well, that’s no good. You’re gonna have to do some serious damage control, my brother, if you wanna get in her pants.”

“What? No – I’m not trying to get into her pants – ”

“Why not?”

“Because not everything is about…”

I trailed off.

Delgado was walking back into the building 70 feet away.

As the Spaniard disappeared inside, I asked Gunnar, “You came out with the other guys, right? Did anybody else stick around after the briefing?”

“I don’t think so – they all went to the chow hall. Everybody except you and the hot soldier lady, that is.”

Rachel hadn’t left yet…

Everyone else in the briefing had come out…

But Delgado was the only one going back in.

I started to get a bad feeling.

“See you in a minute,” I said as I headed back into the building.

“Gonna try for Round Two?”

“Something like that.”

“Go get ‘er, brother!” Gunnar called after me.

20

Iwalked past a half-dozen offices. When I got to where Delgado had entered the building, I turned a corner and saw him at the far end of the hallway, exiting through another door.

Rachel was nowhere in sight.

Maybe I’d gotten it all wrong. Maybe I was being paranoid…

But I didn’t think so.

I jogged down the hall and cracked the door to look out.

Delgado was crossing the commons area.

Two hundred feet ahead of him, I saw Rachel entering the building that housed the gym and sparring facilities.

My stomach twisted as I realized I’d been right.

I followed Delgado across the courtyard, ducked behind a Jeep, and watched through the windows.

He glanced over his shoulder before entering the gym. He hadn’t seen me.

At this hour, the weight room and boxing ring would be empty since most of the guys were in the chow hall for lunch.

I had no idea why Rachel was going inside…

But I had a pretty good idea why Delgado was following her.

As I entered the building and crept down the hallway, I heard the whap whap whap of someone punching a leather bag.

That was when I figured out why Rachel was there.

One man had disrespected her in front of a group she had to lead…

And then another guy had suggested in private that she couldn’t handle the situation.

At least, that’s probably how she saw it.

She was blowing off steam. Couldn’t say I blamed her.

The training room was the size of a small gymnasium, with lots of weightlifting equipment, punching bags, and floor mats for sparring.

When I opened the door, Delgado was walking through the dimly lit room about 30 feet in front of me.

Just like I’d thought, the place was empty…

Except for Rachel. She was at the far end of the room fucking up a punching bag.

Whap-whap-whap-whap-whap

I walked in and shut the door quietly behind me…

Then pulled out my pistol and hid in the shadows.

A few minutes ago, Rachel had accused me of not thinking she could handle things – so I decided to give her a chance to handle it now.

Unless shit got out of control.

Then I’d step in.

Delgado strolled up the center of the room like he owned all of Afghanistan.

Rachel stopped punching the bag and looked over.

“Sergeant Delgado,” she said, like he was something nasty she’d found on the bottom of her shoe. “Come to apologize for your conduct during the briefing?”

“No… I came to get an apology from you,” Delgado said, half-amused, half-menacing.

“Well, you’re going to be waiting a long fucking time.”

I couldn’t see Delgado’s face, but I could hear the smirk in his voice. “You really shouldn’t be cursing with a mouth that pretty, Señorita.”

“And you really shouldn’t be so confident with a dick that small, yet here we are,” she said matter-of-factly.

Great.

She was blatantly provoking him.

Interestingly enough, she didn’t seem scared of him in the slightest – even though Delgado had at least six inches in height and 90 pounds on her…

And he was a Special Forces operative who killed people as part of his job.

Delgado laughed nastily as he stopped about ten feet away from her. “Since you seem so interested in my dick, puta, maybe I’ll whip it out and you can suck it.”

“I doubt I’d be able to find it, Sergeant.”

Rachel held up one hand in the air and put her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart, like she was pinching the air.

So tiny, she mouthed silently.

“We’ll see if you still think that after I shove it up your ass,” Delgado snarled.

That’s when I stepped out of the shadows, directly in Rachel’s eyeline, and put one finger to my lips.

Shhhhh.

Her eyes flicked over in my direction, then immediately returned to Delgado.

She’d seen me, I was sure of it –

“No,” she snarled as she shook her head.

She was looking at Delgado…

But she was talking to me.

Delgado didn’t realize it because he didn’t know I was there –

But I was absolutely sure that her message was aimed at me, not him.

“‘No’?” Delgado sneered. “Like you have a choice.”

“Last chance to walk away, Sergeant,” Rachel said as she squared up in a fighting stance, fists in the air.

Delgado laughed. “I ain’t walkin’ away from shit.”

“Let’s settle it, then,” she said in a neutral voice.

God damn it.

I wanted to step in –

Everything inside me screamed out to protect her –

But she’d already chewed me out for questioning her ability to protect herself.

And ten seconds ago, she had told me not to get involved.

I fought every instinct I had to beat Delgado into a pulp.

Instead, I stepped back into the shadows and waited to see how it would all play out.

I just prayed Rachel knew what she was doing.

Turns out, she did.

21

Rachel

Iwas blowing off steam in the gym, punching the bag and visualizing Delgado’s face, when I caught movement in my peripheral vision.

I turned and saw Delgado strolling towards me across the dimly lit room.

Well, well, well.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

He wasn’t being shy about it, either. He had a smirk on his face and a swagger in his walk more like a rapper than a soldier.

In my experience, that’s the way most assholes acted: supremely confident and obnoxiously arrogant, whether they could back it up or not.

Unfortunately, this asshole seemed intent on taking it to a whole new level.

Whatever he had planned, I knew it wasn’t good.

I also knew he wouldn’t be here if the gym were full of witnesses. That thought alone kept me on full alert.

“Sergeant Delgado. Come to apologize for your conduct during the briefing?”

He thought that was funny.

“No… I came to get an apology from you.”

“Well, you’re going to be waiting a long fucking time.”

“You really shouldn’t be cursing with a mouth that pretty, Señorita.”

I bet he talked to a lot of women that way.

Reduced them to their looks.

Told them what they should and shouldn’t do.

I’d had a lot of men treat me like that.

Usually I just brushed it off…

But not today.

Today, I wanted to hit back.

Do I go there? I asked myself.

Yeah… let’s go fuckin’ there.

To hell with it.

“And you really shouldn’t be so confident with a dick that small, yet here we are,” I said.

Several emotions flashed over his face in rapid succession.

First, shock – that I would dare insult his manhood –

Second, extreme anger – Who the FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! –

And, finally, disdain – to show me You ain’t shit, bitch.

Not to mention the threat of sexual violence as the cherry on top.

“Since you seem so interested in my dick, puta, maybe I’ll whip it out and you can suck it.”

Of course he went there.

Of course he did.

So unoriginal… so not clever.

Just an asshole who liked to threaten women who made him feel small.

Speaking of ‘feeling small,’ I already knew how to hit back. He’d telegraphed his weak spot, so I just pressed on it a little more.

“I doubt I’d be able to find it, Sergeant,” I said, then held my finger and thumb in the air to suggest how small his penis was.

And just to twist the knife, I silently mouthed, So tiny!

I was provoking him, obviously.

Which was probably not wise.

No, scratch that: definitely not wise.

But… seriously.

FUCK this guy.

I got exactly the reaction I was expecting.

Delgado’s face darkened with rage, and he turned up the sexual threats to 11. “We’ll see if you still think that after I shove it up your ass.”

And then…

Everything changed.

Thirty feet behind Delgado, Henriksson stepped out of the shadows.

At first I was shocked. Henriksson was a jerk, but more of the I’m here to save you, little girl variety.

I hadn’t pegged him as a violent asshole like Delgado. I definitely hadn’t thought they were buddies working in tandem.

Then I saw Henriksson’s pistol.

A bolt of adrenaline surged through me –

Until I realized the gun was aimed at Delgado, not at me.

Everything clicked into place when Henriksson put his finger to his lips to shush me.

Ahhhhhh.

Now it all made sense.

I’m here to save you, little girl.

Exactly the way he’d acted back in the briefing room.

The one man in my life who’d ever truly saved me was John Morris, on that terrible night when I was 14 years old and powerless.

Then he became my Krav Maga sensei… my mentor… and my friend.

John hadn’t condescended to me when he saved me. And he sure as hell didn’t act like he was doing me a favor.

And afterwards, he’d taught me everything he knew – so that no one ever had to save me again –

Except for me.

I was tired of men assuming I was weak. Thinking they had to protect me just because I was a woman.

Just like Henriksson had.

Just like he was doing right now.

Anger welled up inside me and I snarled, “NO.”

I stared at Delgado when I said it, knowing that he wouldn’t realize who the ‘No’ was intended for.

He didn’t. He obviously had no idea what was going on directly behind him.

“‘No’?” he sneered. “Like you have a choice.”

Though I kept my eyes focused on Delgado, I kept my attention on Henriksson.

The Swede stopped in his tracks and lowered his gun slightly.

He’d gotten the message.

Well, at least he wasn’t dumb.

Hot AND reasonably intelligent.

Damn.

Too bad he’s kind of a jerk.

But right now, I had bigger fish to fry.

Time to deal with Delgado.

I figured it either ended here and now – or it would end in a couple of hours on the streets of Kabul.

“Last chance to walk away, Sergeant,” I said.

It sounded like a warning, but I did the one thing I knew would ensure he wouldn’t walk away:

I stepped into a combat stance.

Delgado took it exactly the way I thought he would: as a challenge – and an invitation to do what he’d wanted to do all along.

He laughed. “I ain’t walkin’ away from shit.”

“Let’s settle it, then.”

“Your funeral, bitch,” he growled –

And then he attacked.

As he came at me, I flashed back to that night when I was 14 years old, and those boys attacked me –

Except this time, I knew Krav Maga.

And judo.

And Brazilian jiu-jitsu.

And, unlike back then, I knew I could save myself.

So I did.

22

Lars

“Your funeral, bitch,” Delgado growled –

And sprinted at Rachel in a surprise attack.

My heart leapt into my throat.

Delgado had height, weight, and more physical power.

A 230-pound guy against a 140-pound woman?

The deck was stacked in his favor.

The only things that could counteract his natural advantages were speed, accuracy, and better training.

Rachel quickly demonstrated that she had all three.

She sidestepped him at the last second and kicked out sideways as hard as possible.

Her foot connected with the side of Delgado’s leg –

And I heard a dull snap as his knee bent inwards at an angle Nature never intended.

He screamed in agony as he collapsed onto the mat.

“You fucking BITCH!” he shrieked. “FUCK – ”

“Stay down, Delgado,” she warned.

He staggered back to his feet, hopping on his one good leg. “I’m gonna kill you, you fuckin’ WHORE!”

“Hobble on over here and try.”

Delgado came at her swinging –

But she dodged his punches and kicked his injured leg again.

He screamed again as he fell to his knees –

But this time, she didn’t give him a second chance.

She grabbed the back of his head with both her hands –

And drove her knee into his face.

CRACK!

Blood spattered the mat.

Rachel let go of him and backed away.

Delgado looked dazed, but before he could collapse, she kicked him – hard.

The toe of her boot slammed right under his jaw.

His head snapped back –

And he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Holy SHIT.

I holstered my pistol and jogged over.

Rachel was breathing hard, though not as hard as you’d expect after taking down a Special Forces operative.

Delgado’s eyes were closed. Blood streamed out of his broken nose and spread in a puddle across the mat.

“Jesus,” I muttered.

“Do we have a problem, Henriksson?” she asked, eyeing me like I might attack her next.

“Not at all.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I saw him stalking you, so I followed him in. I was worried what he might do. But you indicated you wanted to handle it yourself. After our talk earlier, I figured I should give you the chance.” I raised my eyebrows as I peered down at Delgado’s unconscious form. “You handled it, alright.”

“Yes, I did,” she said defiantly.

“You realize he’ll probably never walk the same after this, even with surgery.”

“Then maybe he shouldn’t have threatened to rape me,” she snarled.

When I didn’t answer immediately, she snapped, “What – are you going to cover for him?”

She said it like I was a would-be rapist, too.

“No,” I replied. “I’ll tell them he threatened you with sexual assault, that he initiated the attack, and you defended yourself. That’s it.”

Rachel frowned. “What about… some of the things I said?”

“What about them?”

“They might come across as… inflammatory,” she said, choosing her words judiciously.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t hear most of your conversation,” I said with a fake smile. It was a lie – and I made sure she knew it.

She raised one eyebrow. “Nothing?”

“I’ll leave it up to you what you want to say. Just keep in mind that when Delgado wakes up, he’s going to tell them everything you said, while leaving out 90% of what he said.”

She gave me the barest hint of a smile. “If you didn’t hear the conversation, how would you know what he said?”

“I don’t.”

Then I turned and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” she called out.

“To call the medics. They need to get him to the infirmary.”

“…that’s it?” she asked in disbelief.

“That’s it,” I said without looking back at her.

“You don’t have anything else to say about what just happened?”

I paused and finally turned around.

“Actually, I do.” And in the most sincere and admiring tone I could convey, I said, “Well done.”

Then I walked out of the room.

23

Rachel

“Well done,” Lars said, then walked out of the gym.

I stared after him in stunned silence.

He seemed sincere.

Like I’d earned his respect.

Huh…

Maybe he’s not so bad after all.

I looked down at where Delgado lay crumpled on the mat.

Now that my anger had subsided, I could accurately assess what I’d done.

What a lot of men might call ‘post-nut clarity.’

I checked out the crooked angle of his leg and winced.

Shit… I might’ve gone a little overboard.

However, I reminded myself that if Delgado had had his way, I would have ended up on the ground where he was now.

And probably with my pants down around my knees.

Or maybe face-down in the streets of Kabul with a bullet in my back.

I didn’t feel sorry for Delgado at all. If he hadn’t walked into the gym – if he hadn’t stalked me, as Henriksson had put it – he wouldn’t be where he was right now.

But I was intrigued by the other man.

The one who’d come in to save me…

And then listened to me…

And let me save myself.

24

Lars

The medics rushed Delgado to the infirmary. There was a brief commotion when the commanding officers learned what had happened – but Delgado was still unconscious, so there was only Rachel’s account and mine to go off of.

Seeing as the incident included the threat of sexual assault… the intended victim was a VIP from British Intelligence… and there were two dozen witnesses from the briefing who could attest that Delgado had disrespected Rachel, then grown angry when she cut him off at the knees… everything got swept under the rug fairly quickly.

It didn’t hurt that it was general knowledge that Delgado was a piece of shit. Even the guys from his own unit didn’t stick up for him.

Besides, there was a mission coming up in three hours. And Command wasn’t about to derail everything just because Delgado had fucked around and found out.

At 1530, everyone from the briefing suited up (minus Delgado, of course).

At 1600, we piled into armored transports.

Rachel got into the same transport as me, Gunnar, and the other Swedish guys in my unit. It was odd seeing her in a helmet and camo that hid everything but her face. It was even more surprising seeing what she planned to do on the mission, given that she was carrying a Psg 90 – a rifle used by both the UK and Sweden.

“You’re a sniper?” I asked in surprise.

“I don’t like to fight up close if I can afford not to,” she said as she sat down opposite me and Gunnar.

“Could’ve fooled me,” I replied.

She just smiled wryly as the transport started and we moved down the road.

“So you’re going to be on overwatch with us?” I asked, jerking my head towards Gunnar.

“I am,” she confirmed.

“Who’s going to be your spotter?” I asked.

She looked at the other guys in the transport. “Anybody want to volunteer?”

“I do!” Gunnar said happily as he raised his hand.

“You’re already my spotter,” I said.

“Aww,” he pouted playfully, which was about as close as he ever came to an actual bad mood.

“I’ll do it,” offered Ingmar, one of the other guys in my unit. I didn’t know him that well, just that he was a competent soldier.

Rachel nodded at him. “Thanks.”

“Why didn’t you mention in the briefing about you being on overwatch?” I asked.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I kind of had my hands full with Delgado.”

“You fucked him up good, my dude,” Gunnar told her enthusiastically.

Rachel gave him a half-frown, half-smile. She couldn’t tell if he was trolling her or actually complimenting her.

Gunnar was always sincere, but most people couldn’t tell because of his over-the-top cheerfulness and eccentric choice of words.

“No one says ‘my dude,’” I told Gunnar for the thousandth time. “At least, not unironically.”

He beamed. “I do.”

“And a ‘dude’ is a man,” I said. “She’s not a dude.”

“Obviously,” he said happily.

Rachel looked at him sideways – but there wasn’t a trace of leering in Gunnar’s voice, so she let it pass.

“You look like the Dude,” she said to Gunnar.

“Thank you,” he said with a big grin, then announced to the rest of the guys in the transport, “I am THE DUDE!”

“No,” Rachel said, “I meant the Big Lebowski. The Coen brothers movie? Jeff Bridges – ”

“Oh yes – even better!” Gunnar said brightly, then quoted in Swedish, “Försiktigt, man, det finns en dryck här!”

She looked at me in bewilderment.

“‘Careful, man, there’s a beverage here,’” I translated.

Rachel burst out laughing.

It was one of the most beautiful sounds I’d ever heard.

“I’ve never heard the Dude in Swedish before,” she said to Gunnar.

He beamed. “Now you have!”

“Now I have,” she agreed.

“So,” I asked, “how did you wind up as a sniper with deadly hand-to-hand combat skills?”

She smiled and answered in her charming British accent, “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

I smiled back. “Is that the standard MI6 reply?”

“Yes… but just because it’s the standard reply doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

25

Four blocks from the target, the transport stopped and the rear door opened.

Gunnar jumped out, rifle at the ready.

“See you soon,” I said to Rachel, then turned to follow Gunnar.

“Henriksson,” she said.

I turned back to her. “Yeah?”

“Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

Then I jumped out, slammed the door shut, and the transport drove on.

A Humvee was already parked nearby. Five regular infantry stood in the street, waiting for the order to move.

I took a second to get my bearings as the convoy of transports and Humvees moved on.

Kabul was a dense metropolis of over 4 million people. Most of the fighting in the city had taken place well over a decade ago, after which the war had transferred to the surrounding hills and deserts. Since then, life had mostly returned to the way it was before the American invasion.

But that didn’t mean danger wasn’t around every corner. The Taliban still had plenty of operatives in Kabul, so I kept my eyes and ears open.

We were currently standing on a street filled with cinderblock buildings. The level of poverty was bad by Swedish standards, but there were still plenty of cars driving down the road – and a lot of pedestrians. As soon as they saw us, they turned around and walked in the opposite direction.

Couldn’t say I blamed them. When NATO troops came knocking, it usually wasn’t good for the person whose door they knocked on.

The apartment building we’d been dropped off at belonged to a ‘friendly,’ a local who had pledged cooperation with the Americans. The infantry guys had a translator who spoke the landlord’s language – Dari Persian. If it had been Pashto, Gunnar could have talked to him instead.

Once the interpreter got the landlord to open the stairwell, Gunnar and I ran up the steps to the roof of the four-story building.

I set up shop while Gunnar guarded the stairs. Within 30 seconds, I had my rifle out and was scanning the sidewalks and buildings around the Humvees and transports.

The convoy had come to a halt outside a crumbling building. The pockmarked walls looked like they had sustained damage from the invasion a decade ago and had never been repaired.

There were still people living in the building, though. I could see curtains in some of the windows. Squatters, maybe, or people too poor to afford anything else.

…or maybe terrorists who had taken over the slums for their own purposes.

My fellow NATO soldiers were creeping along the front of the building towards the main entrance.

“Henriksson, you there?” a familiar voice crackled over the radio.

I smiled.

“Copy, Bauer.” I figured it would be unprofessional to call her Rachel. “You set up?”

“Yes. The five-story red building to the northeast.”

I swung my scope towards the red building and saw her helmet over the edge of the roof’s retaining wall. Her rifle was angled down slightly towards the slums several blocks away.

“I see you.”

She was a good 400 feet closer to the target building than I was.

I swung my gun back over to the slums. “Why don’t you handle the street and I’ll watch the windows?”

“Copy that.”

I slowly panned my scope over the front of the building, moving from window to window, looking for anything suspicious.

“Nothing on the street. They’re preparing to go in.”

I resisted looking at the soldiers and kept scanning the windows for any sign of –

There.

Movement on the third floor.

A shadowy figure pulled back a curtain. A man.

There was something in his hand –

“Grenade,” I said calmly and pulled the trigger.

CRACK!

The suppressor on my rifle – what most civilians thought of as a ‘silencer’ – cut down on the sound and recoil, but the gunshot still echoed back at me from the surrounding buildings.

A split second later, blood spattered the curtains as the figure collapsed backwards into the room.

As I worked the bolt and ejected the spent shell, an explosion blasted out of the window.

BOOM!

“Nice shot,” Rachel said.

Chaos erupted down in the slums as gunfire chattered out of every street-level door and window. From this far away, it sounded like firecrackers popping off under a heavy blanket.

The NATO soldiers took cover behind the Humvees and returned fire.

“Target-rich environment,” Rachel said. “I could use a hand.”

“Copy that,” I answered and swung my scope down to street level.

I had just settled on a robed figure in a doorway –

When his chest exploded.

At the same instant, I heard the crack of a single gunshot and the echoes amongst the buildings.

“Nice shot yourself,” I said.

“Thanks.”

I looked for another target.

There – a man peeking over a windowsill, an AK-47 in his hands.

I pulled the trigger –

CRACK!

The wall behind him splattered red as he collapsed out of sight.

As I ejected the shell and chambered my next round, I heard another distant shot –

crack

Followed by echoes from the buildings around me.

When I panned my scope over to a doorway, I saw a body slumped on the ground that hadn’t been there before.

“We should have a competition,” I said. “Loser buys the first round.”

“You’re on – wait – oh SHIT – ”

I heard gunfire over the radio, louder than the muffled shots on the street.

“Bauer?! Rachel!” I yelled.

“Bogies on the roof!” Rachel shouted over the radio. “My spotter’s down, my spotter’s down!”

I swung my rifle towards the red building.

Rachel was crouched down behind a heavy-duty air conditioning unit. She’d dropped her rifle and now held a pistol in her hands.

Ingmar lay on the opposite side of the roof, his legs spasming as he bled out.

Two men in robes and turbans were coming out of the rooftop stairwell 30 feet from Rachel.

I aimed –

CRACK!

One of the men collapsed backwards in a cloud of red.

The other guy looked around in shock, not sure where the shot had come from.

By then I’d ejected the shell, chambered the next round, and aimed at his chest.

CRACK!

He collapsed backwards next to his companion.

“Thank you,” Rachel gasped.

“Don’t thank me yet – you probably have more coming.”

I swung my scope over to the open door of Rachel’s rooftop stairwell.

It was empty – but probably not for long.

“Gunnar!” I shouted without taking my eye off the doorway.

“What the fuck’s going on over there, brother?” he yelled back in Swedish.

“Watch our six – we might have visitors!”

“Got it!”

“Henriksson,” Rachel said over the radio, “help the soldiers. I can handle this.”

“I know you can,” I said. “But the whole point is, you don’t have to. There’s somebody who cares about you who’s got your back.”

There was a pause like she was taken aback by that.

Then she said, “I really appreciate that, I do – but the guys on the ground are the priority.”

I kept watching the dark stairwell on her roof as I answered.

“There’s 20 Special Forces guys down there, and at least that many regulars. They’ve got each other. Right now, you’ve only got me. So you’re – ”

A burst of gunfire from inside the stairwell briefly lit up the darkened interior.

I saw a figure with an assault rifle and pulled my trigger –

CRACK!

The gunman inside the stairwell toppled out of the doorway and collapsed face-first onto the roof.

“…the new priority,” I said as I ejected the shell and chambered a new one.

26

Rachel

CRACK!

I heard a body fall somewhere behind me as Henriksson finished his sentence:

“…the new priority.”

Overwhelming relief and gratitude rushed through me as I realized, He’s not going to leave me.

I was used to working alone. Rarely did I have somebody else to rely on.

The knowledge that Henriksson had my back… it was a rare luxury.

I intended to make the most of it.

I’d been in worse situations than this – like when I got shot in Bangkok. Or that time I was trapped under the rubble in Tehran.

I kept reminding myself of that as I peered around the air conditioning unit and aimed my pistol at the stairwell.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Ingmar’s body splayed out on the roof. He wasn’t moving.

The last thing he’d done before he got shot was to scream out a warning to me.

Years ago, when I was first starting out, I would have felt overwhelming survivor’s guilt. Now I just focused on staying alive –

Which meant ignoring Ingmar’s body and concentrating on the stairwell.

Suddenly, there was movement inside the doorway – the flicker of a shadow –

I opened fire.

BANG BANG BANG!

Another body fell backwards down the stairs, screaming as he went.

Another one down, I thought.

God knows how many more to go.

27

Lars

It was a hard-fought battle, and an ugly one.

Rachel fired her pistol from behind the air-conditioning unit while I took out anybody stupid enough to poke their heads out of the stairwell.

I’d been right to warn Gunnar we might have company. At least five gunmen came up our stairwell; Gunnar dealt with it by dropping grenades on them.

Down on the street, the firefight raged for 15 minutes until Special Forces breached the building through a side entrance. It took them another 30 minutes to clear out the rooms one by one. By the time they were finished, Abdullah Shah Massoud was dead, along with 37 Taliban operatives.

After it was over, I radioed the guys in my unit that some assholes had taken out Ingmar and that Rachel was in trouble. I spoke to them in Swedish so none of the other NATO troops knew what I was saying.

My guys took off at a run for the red building. Five minutes later, any remaining insurgents inside the stairwell were dead, and Rachel was safe.

My guys counted ten corpses on the red building’s roof and in the stairwell. Of those, I’d killed five. My unit had killed two, Rachel had shot another two with her sidearm, and Ingmar must have taken down one before they got him.

Gunnar and I took our time making sure our own stairwell was safe. It was full of body parts and a lot of gore, but no more Taliban. At least, no living ones.

When we emerged on the street, my teammates were there with Ingmar’s body. They’d carried him back with them; there was no way they were leaving him behind for the enemy to desecrate.

Rachel was there, too. Her face was caked with sweat and grime, and she stared at me numbly.

“Lars,” she said softly.

It was the first time she’d called me by my first name.

“Rachel,” I replied.

She cracked a weary smile. “I think I owe you a fucking drink.”

I smiled back. “I think you owe me a couple.”

The mission was a huge success. That much was apparent from what the ground troops found inside.

Besides Massoud’s corpse, there was a cache of weapons – including two dozen shoulder-fired anti-aircraft missiles. No telling how much damage they would have done if the Taliban had been able to use them.

There was also $1.4 million in US dollars, and blueprints for the New York City subway system and the London underground.

Rachel took one look at the markings on the plans and said, “Oh my God… they were going to target the five busiest stations in all of London…”

One of the Americans confirmed it was the same for New York.

Times Square… Grand Central… Penn Station…

There was no telling how many lives we had saved by taking out Massoud.

If only Ingmar hadn’t had to pay the price.

28

The celebration didn’t start until a couple of hours after we got back to base – and it would have been a far more muted affair if the American brass had their way.

The US military didn’t allow its service members to drink alcohol at Bagram. Officially, anyway. Their officers tended to turn a blind eye to infractions unless they were particularly egregious.

However, the rest of NATO wasn’t having it. You try prying a beer out of a thirsty German soldier’s hand and see how far that gets you.

As a result, European soldiers from NATO countries were allowed to imbibe – which made European soldiers the most popular people on base, especially after a hard day.

Following the mission debrief and a shower, the Special Forces guys from the raid crowded into the Swedish barracks. Absolut Vodka is from Sweden, and our unit was known for our copious supplies.

Rachel was there, too. After showering the grit out of her hair, she’d left it down to dry – and she was absolutely stunning. It fell down to her shoulders in waves of dark brown.

“What?” she asked when she caught me staring at her.

“I think you need a drink,” I said, pouring some vodka into a paper cup.

“I thought I was supposed to buy you one,” she replied. “A couple, actually.”

“Can’t buy it on base, thanks to the Americans,” Gunnar said with a smile.

“I officially apologize on behalf of the United States military,” shouted one of the Delta Force guys, and everybody from the other countries started razzing him good-naturedly with cries of Fuckin’ Americans!

I handed Rachel the paper cup. “You can buy me a couple of rounds once I get back from deployment.”

She smirked at the implication I would see her again. “…alright. Sure.”

The mood in general was celebratory… but me, Gunnar, and the other Swedes were thinking of Ingmar, so we were on the somber side.

As soon as she had her drink, Rachel cleared her throat. “I’d like to say a few words.”

The men all grew quiet.

“I was impressed today by everyone’s capability in the field… but there was one member of the Swedish team who didn’t make it back tonight, and his sacrifice is the reason I’m standing here right now. That, and because of the tremendous efforts of Lars Henriksson and the rest of the Swedish Special Forces to keep me alive.” She looked at me with grateful eyes. “Thank you.”

I nodded silently.

Gunnar and several of the other guys said Hear, hear.

Rachel kept my gaze as she raised her cup. “To Ingmar.”

“To Ingmar,” every person in the room said and drank in his memory.

29

The night started off somber, but became a bit less heavy by the third drink.

The other guys were laughing amongst themselves. Rachel, Gunnar, and I had broken off from the main group and were talking in private.

We finally got to a subject I’d wanted to ask her about from the very beginning.

“That’s an interesting last name you have,” I said.

“What – Bauer?”

“Yeah. Like Jack Bauer.”

I was referring to the television show 24 with Kiefer Sutherland. It had ended several years earlier, but it had been a hit all over the world – or at least in Europe. Jack Bauer was another one of those American Hollywood heroes who had made me want to join the military.

Rachel grinned. “That’s why I chose it.”

Both Gunnar and I did a double-take.

“You CHOSE it?!” Gunnar asked.

“So that’s not your real name, then,” I said.

“Nope.”

“What’s your real name?”

She just smiled.

“What, you can’t tell us because of MI6?” I asked.

“Pretty much.”

I looked at her sideways. “Is Rachel even your real name?”

She smiled some more.

I shook my head. “You’re an interesting woman, Rachel Bauer.”

“I try.”

“I wanna name myself something cool,” Gunnar said forlornly.

I poured him some more vodka. “Once you get out of the service, you can do whatever you want.”

“I will,” he said resolutely. Then he peered into the distance and said earnestly, “Maybe I’ll change it to Gunnar… Skywalker.”

Rachel laughed long and loud – again, one of the most beautiful things I’d ever heard.

I lifted the bottle of vodka and raised my eyebrows. Another drink?

“Sure,” she said with a grin as she held out her cup.

As I poured her some more, I said, “So you named yourself after Jack Bauer.”

“Better than naming myself after James Bond. Can you imagine? ‘Jane Bond,’” she said with a derisive snort.

“I like it,” Gunnar protested.

“Yes, well, I didn’t need to be endlessly harassed by my coworkers.”

“In MI6?”

“Yes.”

“Was James Bond in MI6, too?” Gunnar asked.

“Yes. Hence the James Bond reference,” she said in a deadpan voice.

He didn’t get that it was a joke.

“Are you a 007, too?” he asked quite seriously.

“Bond was 007,” Rachel explained. “The Double-Oh was just a classification. There was a 006, a 008, a 009 – ”

“So, what are you?” Gunnar asked. “008, or 009, or – ”

She frowned like she thought he was trolling her again. “There’s no such thing. It’s just something Ian Fleming made up.”

“Who?”

“Ian Fleming – the author of the James Bond stories.”

Gunnar looked confused. “What did he make up?”

“The Double-Oh classification. There’s no such thing.”

“Oh,” Gunnar said, clearly disappointed.

Rachel looked over at me like, Is this guy for real?

Gunnar was incredibly smart – for instance, his computer hacking – but in other ways, he was innocent as a child.

Or maybe it was all the weed.

Speaking of which –

“I’m gonna go outside and smoke a bowl,” he announced, then looked at Rachel. “You want any?”

She stared at him in disbelief. “You mean marijuana?”

Gunnar smiled. “Yep. Good shit, too.”

Rachel looked at me. “Isn’t that punishable by death in Afghanistan?”

“Sometimes they just cut off your hands,” I said drily.

“They do that off-base,” Gunnar said cheerfully, like it was no big deal.

“I can’t imagine your superiors condone it,” Rachel said, still shocked.

“Don’t worry, I won’t get caught,” Gunnar said as he stood up. “See you soon!”

Once he lumbered outside, it was just me and Rachel.

“Is he always that cavalier about things that could get him thrown in prison?” she asked.

“Don’t get me started. So… how long are you here for?”

She sighed. “I fly out at 0400. Gotta go back to London and report on the mission.”

Four in the morning.

Less than seven hours from now.

“…oh.”

She smiled. “You sound disappointed.”

“I am,” I said honestly.

“Why? You wanted to go kill more bad guys with me?” she teased right before she took a swig of vodka.

“Actually, I wanted to sleep with you.”

She spat out her drink in a spray all over me.

I closed my eyes and wiped the vodka off my face.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” she laughed. “But JESUS, you’re a bit forward, aren’t you?”

That wasn’t something I’d heard in my previous conversations in English.

“Does ‘forward’ mean assertive?” I asked.

“Or brash… brazen… cheeky… take your pick.”

“I guess I’m forward, then.”

“Well, it’s not happening. I’m not sleeping with you.”

I smiled. “You absolutely sure?”

“Gettara la spugna.”

I frowned. “What?!”

She started laughing. “Sorry – the Italian part of me comes out when I’m drunk.”

“That was Italian?”

“Uhhhh, yes,” she said, like ‘duh.’

“What does it mean?”

“Well, literally, it translates as ‘you should throw in the sponge.’”

“…what?!”

She laughed even harder – which made her even more beautiful.

“It’s a, what’s the term for it…” she said, searching her memory. “An idiomatic phrase. It means, ‘stop trying since you have no chance.’”

“To throw in the towel,” I suggested.

“There you go!” she cheered as she pointed at me.

“How do you know Italian? Is it part of your job?”

“Noooo,” she said, and took a drink. “My mother.”

“Your mother’s Italian?”

“Mm-hm.”

“So you’re half-Italian.”

“Yes I am.”

“Bauer’s not an Italian name.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Why not an Italian code name, then? Like… Spumoni?”

She burst out laughing again. “WHAT?!”

“Agent Spumoni,” I said into my watch like I was speaking over a radio. “Come in, Agent Spumoni.”

“That’s STUPID,” Rachel said as she laughed her ass off. “Next you’re going to suggest ‘Agent Spaghetti’ or – ”

“That’s already taken,” I said seriously.

“Oh, really.”

“Yes. Just like James Bond was 007, all the half-Italian MI6 agents have food names. Agent Spaghetti is somebody else.”

“I am so glad I have you here to tell me these things.”

“You should be. You can’t be Agent Spaghetti, but you can be… Agent Zamboni.”

She burst out laughing again. “That’s not a FOOD name! That’s the machine that goes over the ice in an ice skating rink!”

“It’s reserved for the most beautiful agents.”

“ZAMBONI,” she said in playful disbelief. “The word for the giant machine that looks like a mechanical hippopotamus… is reserved for the most beautiful agents.”

I shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”

“Uh-huh.” She looked at me from the corner of her eyes. “Ti stai dando la zappa sui piedi.”

“What?”

In her inebriated state, she struggled to think of the translation. “Uh… you’re throwing the hoe on your own feet…”

“You can throw yourself at my feet if you like, but you really shouldn’t call yourself a ho.”

She reached over and smacked me on the arm playfully. “You bastard – ”

I laughed. “So what’s this about feet and – ”

“A gardening tool.”

“OHHHH… a gardening tool.”

“Yes. It means you’re damaging your chances with silly actions.”

“Ah. Shooting myself in the foot.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s assuming I had a chance to begin with… and you said you weren’t sleeping with me.”

“I did, didn’t I,” she said, an enigmatic smile on her face.

“Ingen ko på isen,” I said, waving my hand dismissively.

She looked at me like I’d just spoken Martian.

“…what?”

“It’s Swedish for ‘don’t worry.’ But literally it means, ‘There’s no cow on the ice.’”

She stared at me – then burst out howling with laughter. “WHAT?!”

“‘No cow on the ice,’” I repeated.

“I heard you the first time – what the hell does a cow on the ice have to do with – ”

“Trust me, if you’re out on a frozen lake in Sweden and a cow decides to join you, you’re going to start worrying.”

She laughed silently, so hard that she couldn’t speak.

“You alright?” I asked as I laughed, too.

She nodded, unable to speak, her shoulders heaving up and down.

“You sure you’re alright?

“Ingen… ko… pa…” she managed to get out.

“Ingen ko på isen,” I said, realizing what she meant.

“No cow on the ice,” we both said at the same time –

Then she doubled over with laughter again.

30

Rachel

Ifind it very sexy when a man can make me laugh – and Lars made me laugh harder than any man I’d ever met.

Add to that the fact he was already mind-blowingly hot…

And that he’d saved my life just a few hours earlier…

And the vodka (SO much vodka)…

Let’s just say my resolve to not sleep with him was fading fast.

I wanted to take him to bed – I absolutely did – but I’d seen it destroy other women’s careers in MI6. Not to mention I’d had a terrible experience in the past from merely flirting with a colleague.

But he’s not a colleague, a little voice whispered in my ear.

Plus, he’s staying in Afghanistan, and you’re leaving in just a few hours.

You’ll never see him again.

I told the little voice to shut up and leave me alone.

Unfortunately, all the vodka made the little voice much louder and quite persistent.

After another half-hour of trading idiomatic phrases in Italian and Swedish – and Lars nearly making me wet my pants with laughter – I knew I had to call an end to it, or I was going to do something I’d regret in the morning.

So I put down my paper cup and said, “Well, this has been absolutely lovely, but I should probably go grab a nap before my flight.”

“You’re in the visitor quarters near the main gate?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Alright. I’ll walk you back to your room.”

Ah.

So that was how he was going to play it.

“I can get myself back safely,” I said.

“I know you can,” he agreed. “But you’re also drunk, and this isn’t exactly the safest place to be drunk.”

A bit of unease shot through me as I glanced around the room at the Special Forces soldiers. “Are you saying…”

“No. None of these guys are like Delgado.”

Delgado.

What with the terror of nearly dying on the mission, and now the happiness I felt being with Lars, I’d almost forgotten about what had happened earlier.

I knew I could handle just about any attacker –

If I was sober.

But I wasn’t sober.

Lars seemed to know what I was thinking. “It’s not like that. Just – trust me. You’ll see.”

I gave him some more side-eye. “Maybe walking me back is just a ruse to try to get into my pants again.”

He smiled. “No. You already shot that one down.”

I playfully raised one eyebrow. “You better not try anything, Henriksson.”

“Oh, I know better than that. I saw what you did to Delgado.”

I thought about saying, Too soon –

But it actually was a bit too soon, and the joke felt forced.

So I didn’t say anything at all, other than my goodbyes to the other soldiers as we left the Swedish barracks.

31

Lars

As we left the barracks, Rachel said goodbye to the other troops.

Several of them looked at me when she had her head turned, raised their eyebrows, and grinned. Attaboy!

I just shook my head. It’s not like that.

I ignored their looks of, Yeah, RIGHT, and walked out of the barracks with Rachel.

We found Gunnar outside talking with a couple of other guys as they passed a pipe between them. The smell of pot was thick in the air.

The other soldiers immediately turned away, looking guilty as hell, but Gunnar just beamed and held out the pipe. “Change your mind?”

“No,” Rachel said drily.

“You don’t know what you’re missing! Afghan kush is the best!”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” She stuck out her hand. “Gunnar, it was a privilege to meet you.”

“Same here!” he said and took her tiny hand in his giant one. “Have a safe trip home!”

“Thanks.”

We left him and began strolling towards the main entrance of the base.

“So,” I said, “what’s your real name?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Well, you’re half Italian – but your mother’s Italian, so it’s probably not an Italian name – ”

“You see? I shouldn’t have even told you that.”

“Why? Afraid I’m going to come after you?” I teased.

“No. Just a precaution in my line of work.”

“Seriously?” I asked, a little surprised. “You can’t tell me anything?”

“No. So far as you’re concerned, I was never here.”

I looked at her closely.

She gazed back straight into my eyes.

“You’re serious,” I realized.

“I am.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“Why?”

“I was hoping to see you again someday.”

“Seeing as you’re in the Swedish Special Forces and I’m in British Intelligence, I somehow don’t think that would – ”

Suddenly, far away in the darkness, there was a muffled BOOM.

“What the fuck!” Rachel shouted.

As she whipped around towards the sound of the explosion, she lost her balance slightly and pressed up against me.

Her body was firm and muscular, mostly –

But her breasts were soft and feminine as they pressed against my arm.

I liked the feeling.

A lot.

“That’s why I didn’t want you to be out here drunk,” I said with a smile.

Another BOOM! was followed by the distant chatter of gunfire.

“Are they attacking the base?!” she asked.

“No, mostly just being annoying.”

She glanced up at me, silently demanding an explanation.

“They shell the perimeter of the base around the same time every night,” I explained. “Don’t worry – they don’t usually get close enough to hit us.”

“…usually?!”

“Every so often, a mortar gets through and hits a building – but that’s pretty rare. If they come too close, they know the perimeter snipers will shoot them, so mostly it’s a bunch of noise and not much else.”

BOOM!

Bratta-tatta-tatta-tat!

Rachel stared out into the darkness. “Well, I’m glad you were here to tell me what the fuck that was, or I’d have thought we were about to be overrun.”

Only then did she finally pull away from me.

It had been nice while it lasted.

If I wasn’t going to be able to sleep with her, then it was nice to feel her body against mine – if only for a moment.

“I’m glad, too,” I said.

We finally reached the visitors’ quarters. I walked her inside and we stopped outside her room. We could still hear mortars exploding in the distance.

I extended my arm to shake hands. “Nice to meet you, Rachel Bauer. Or whatever your real name is.”

She looked at me and smiled incredulously. “You’re seriously not going to try anything.”

It was a statement more than a question.

I lowered my hand since she made no effort to take it. “You said you weren’t going to sleep with me.”

“I did, didn’t I?” she said in amusement, like she was recalling some inconsequential decision from years ago.

“You did. Which is too bad.”

“Is it.”

“It is, actually.” I smiled and turned slightly as though I was about to leave. “You should get some sleep before your flight leaves.”

She looked deep into my eyes. “Actually… considering jet lag… it would probably be better for me to stay up until the flight leaves.”

I turned back all the way to face her. “Is that so.”

“It is.”

“I can keep you awake,” I murmured.

She looked at my lips, then back up at my eyes. “…you can, can you.”

“Mm-hm,” I said as I took a step forward, circled my arms around her waist, and kissed her.

Her lips were soft… just like her breasts as they pressed against my body.

She returned my kiss with equal enthusiasm. After a few seconds, she opened her mouth to me all the way, and my tongue gently slid inside her mouth.

We French-kissed for almost a minute until she broke it off.

I figured that was it –

Until she fumbled for the key in her pocket, hurriedly unlocked the door, and pulled me into the room after her. As soon as I was inside, she clicked on a bedside lamp and shut the door.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to sleep with me,” I teased her.

“Who’s planning on sleeping?” she asked, then cupped my face with her hands and kissed me.

32

Ihadn’t been with anyone since I’d left Sweden – a no-strings-attached fling right before I deployed.

That had been nine months ago, and Rachel was by far the most beautiful woman I’d ever been with.

So I took my time and savored every moment.

As I kissed her passionately, I put my hands under the edge of her t-shirt and slowly caressed her skin.

She arched her back like a cat, pressing her body against mine.

I worked my fingers up to where I thought I would find a bra strap –

And then realized it was a sports bra with nothing to undo.

She pulled back and grinned…

Then, staring me in the eyes, pulled her t-shirt over her head.

My breath caught in my throat as I stared at her body.

The light from the lamp kissed the toned curves of her muscles. She was feminine and graceful, but it was very obvious she was in amazing shape.

I ran one finger along her ear… down the side of her neck… across her collarbone… then brushed my entire hand against her breasts beneath the sports bra.

Her eyes were half-lidded like she was hypnotized, and she stared at me as I caressed her body.

When I traced my fingertips over her flat stomach, her skin got goosebumps beneath my touch.

She immediately started to yank my t-shirt up. I raised my arms and let her pull it, then helped her get it completely off me.

She stared at my body like she wanted it badly but was hesitant to touch me…

And then she put one hand on my chest and let it trail down to my abs.

She looked up at me hungrily –

And then we both started unbuckling each other’s belts at the same time.

I got her pants down first, tugging them past her hips. She had on a tiny bikini bottom – a sexy little black slip of cloth.

By then, she’d finished unbuckling my belt and had started pulling down my pants – but they got caught on my erection, which was already hard as a rock. Rather than waste time, she just reached for the band of my boxer briefs, pulled them outward, and slid them down over my cock, which jutted up in the air.

She paused for a second as she stared at it.

“Fuck,” she whispered under her breath…

And then she slowly took it in her hand, running her palm down my entire length.

I groaned as she cupped my balls and then slid her hand back up my shaft.

She looked at me –

I looked at her –

And we attacked each other’s mouths, kissing frantically as we pressed skin against bare skin.

Only problem was, we hadn’t fully taken off our pants yet.

Mine were around my thighs, and hers were around her knees.

We both waddled like penguins towards the bed – and then burst out laughing at how ridiculous we looked.

In silent but mutual agreement, we both pulled off our own boots and finished undressing ourselves.

I was completely naked when she stripped down to just her underwear.

I pressed up against her and kissed her…

And put my hand on the front of her bikini bottoms.

The little black triangle of cloth was soaked.

She moaned as I found the cleft beneath the material and slowly slid my fingertip up, following the contour of her lips to a slightly firmer spot… and began to gently rub it.

She grabbed onto my arms, and her entire body tensed as I slowly circled the spot.

Then she pushed my hand away and hurriedly yanked her underwear down to the floor.

My mouth watered as I stared at the thatch of dark hair between her thighs.

She immediately tugged at her sports bra, pulling it off her body and over her arms –

And I stared again at her perfect breasts, small and round as apples.

I reached out and touched one, cupping it in my hand… so soft… my thumb brushing against the dark areola and hard nipple.

She moaned and grabbed my cock, running her hand up and down its length.

“Condom,” she moaned.

I nodded and frantically searched my pants on the ground until I found my wallet. I hadn’t thought I would need a condom while deployed in Afghanistan… but I figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

I’d never been happier to have prepared ahead of time.

I tore the foil packet with my fingers, pulled out the latex circle, and rolled it over the head of my cock.

Rachel watched, seemingly hypnotized, as I rolled it all the way down my entire length.

Then she pulled me urgently towards the bed.

It was little more than a cot with a two-inch thick mattress. As she lay down and pulled me on top of her, the springs creaked and groaned beneath our combined weight.

She stared into my eyes as she parted her legs.

I reached down, took my shaft between my fingers, and guided my cock to her pussy…

And then slowly eased inside her.

Her eyes rolled back in her head as my swollen head parted her lips.

“Oh my God,” she gasped.

I couldn’t feel her wetness through the condom, obviously, but I could tell she was soaked by how easily I moved inside her. She was fairly tight, though, so I took my time.

A couple inches inside her, then I withdrew an inch…

A couple more inches, then withdrew again…

She was impatient, though. She grabbed my ass with her hands, dug her fingers into my skin, and forced me deep inside her all at once.

“Oh FUCK,” she whispered.

For once, I was glad to have a condom on – otherwise, I might have come too soon.

I hadn’t had sex in nine months, and I hadn’t jerked off in weeks.

Add to that the sounds she made…

The sweet, musky scent of her pussy…

Her firm, taut body beneath mine…

Her dark hair on the pillow wreathing her gorgeous face…

The incredible heat of her pussy as it enveloped my cock…

Without a condom, it would have been too much. The physical sensations would have pushed me over the edge.

Even with the numbing layer of latex between us, I was still dangerously close.

So I stayed still and just kissed her until I was sure the danger was past.

Only then did I begin to move inside her.

33

Rachel

Holy SHIT was he hot.

Without his clothes on, I could see everything – and his body was absolutely mouth-watering.

His massive chest…

His muscular shoulders and bulging arms…

His abs so firm that they felt like stone beneath his skin…

And his cock.

Oh my God, his cock…

I couldn’t stop touching it.

It was so much bigger than anyone else’s I’d been with…

So much thicker, from the base all the way up to his swollen head.

I loved stroking it. I loved feeling how soft the skin was and how rock-hard it was underneath as I glided my hand up and down it.

I loved cupping his heavy balls in my hand.

But I stopped.

Because I really needed to feel his cock inside me right NOW.

“Condom,” I whispered.

He squatted down and searched the pockets of his pants, which were lying on the floor. While he was down there, I took the opportunity to just take him in.

His back was so muscular… so broad…

And his ass?

Let’s just say that when I’d ogled him in the briefing room, I had no idea how perfect it actually was.

I stared at its round, muscular perfection.

I wanted to clutch it in my hands as he fucked me –

Suddenly he stood up, snapping me out of my fantasy.

A gold foil packet was clutched between his fingers – a Trojan Magnum XL.

I could believe it.

I watched as he tore it open and placed the tip of the condom over his swollen head.

His fingers rolled the circle of latex down, past the bulging veins on his shaft…

Down… down…

The condom tighter and tighter around his massive girth…

Until it unrolled completely.

There was still an inch to go above the curly thatch of hair at the base of his cock.

Jesus.

I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to take it all…

But I was sure as hell willing to try.

I reached out, took his hand, and dragged him towards the cot.

I immediately lay on my back and pulled him down on top of me.

His weight pressing heavily against my body…

God it felt good.

I stroked his soft beard and stared into his crystal blue eyes…

And opened my legs to him all the way.

I could feel his hands brush against my thighs as he grabbed his cock, guiding it –

And then I felt it.

A glorious, pleasurable thickness easing inside me.

“Oh my God,” I gasped.

He was big.

And he felt AMAZING.

Plus, he was quite the gentleman. He went very slow so I could get used to him.

A little bit in, then a little bit out…

A little bit more in, then only partially withdrawing…

Very considerate of him.

But I was hungry to have that gorgeous cock all the way inside me –

And I wanted it NOW.

Plus I wanted to grab his ass, so I clutched it with my hands –

Ohhhhhhhhhh

Sunk my fingers into his flesh –

And forced all of him inside me.

Maybe… it was a little too fast.

I was drunk, after all.

Not the best judgment.

“Oh FUCK,” I whispered as his head touched someplace deep inside me that I’d never felt before.

And the pressure –

Stretching me out with the tightest bit of pain –

But also the hottest, sexiest sensation I’d ever had of being completely filled up.

I didn’t love condoms – I would have much preferred it to be skin-to-skin –

But it was already dumb enough to fuck him.

Best to limit the amount of stupidity I engaged in tonight.

Anyways, the overwhelming pleasure from his size more than made up for it.

He didn’t move, though.

He just stayed still inside me as he kissed me…

Softly… sensually.

I wondered if he was trying to give me time to get used to how big he was…

Or if he was fighting the urge to come.

please God PLEASE don’t let it be over, not THIS early –

I didn’t have to worry, though.

After a minute of French kissing, Lars began to move inside me.

And then the real magic began.

34

Lars

Ibegan rocking inside her – slow, deep movements to go along with our slow, deep kisses.

Then I moved my mouth to her ear. I licked along the edge… sucked on her earlobe… and softly whispered, “You feel amazing.”

Her only response was a muffled cry…

But her fingers clawing at my back spoke far louder.

I began thrusting a little harder, a little quicker.

The squeaking of the cot, though, was distracting.

Eee-eee-eee-eee-eee-eee –

So I stopped.

She opened her eyes and looked at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t you hear that?” I asked.

And I gave a couple of thrusts.

She opened her mouth wide and crinkled her brow like she was overwhelmed with pleasure – which I loved seeing –

But despite the sensations she was feeling, she knew exactly what I meant.

Eee-eee-eee.

“I didn’t even notice it until you said something,” she whispered.

I gave another couple of thrusts.

Eee-eee-eee.

Then she started laughing – and I could the muscles of her pussy gripping me tighter with every laugh.

It felt incredible.

Just for emphasis, I gave another couple of thrusts –

Eee-eee-eee.

She put a hand to her mouth and snorted with laughter. “Oh God – now I can’t NOT hear it – ”

“What do you want to do?” I asked with a grin.

“You better not stop,” she said very seriously.

“Okay,” I agreed.

I slid one arm under her back, lifted her body up, and picked us both up off the cot – all with my cock still inside her.

“What – !”

“Just hold on – ”

As I stood up, she wrapped her legs around me and looped her arms around my neck. At the same time, I held her ass cheeks with both hands to support her weight.

Gravity did the job of pulling her all the way down on my cock.

She stared into my eyes with a look of open-mouthed pleasure.

“Oh fuck… ” she whispered. “That’s deep…”

“Is ‘deep’ good?” I asked with a smile.

She nodded vigorously. “Very good.”

“Mm… good,” I murmured, then pressed my mouth to hers.

We stood like that for a moment, kissing…

Her suspended midair, her legs and arms encircling me…

Me clutching her gorgeous ass in my hands…

And then I began to move, rocking my pelvis back and forth.

She moaned louder, so I sped up.

“Oh my God,” she groaned. “Oh yes – ”

I began fucking her in earnest – driving deep inside her, my movements speeding up as I thrust harder and deeper.

“Oh – oh – oh – oh – ” she cried out, trying to keep quiet but still making tiny noises of pleasure.

I moved one hand to her breast and squeezed it – gently at first, then harder.

She arched her spine and leaned all the way back, her long dark hair hanging to the ground –

And I bent my head to her nipple and sucked, all while I drove my cock deep inside her.

Slap slap slap slap slap

“Oh God – oh God – oh GOD – ” she whispered louder and louder.

Then she whipped her head up to look at me. Her eyes were wild and huge as she stared deep into my soul.

“I’m going to come – I’m going to come – ” she whispered harshly.

I didn’t alter my movements one iota. I just kept thrusting into her with exactly the same speed and intensity.

Slap slap slap slap slap slap

“Oh – OH – I’m COMING – oh GOD – ” she whisper-shouted.

Her face took on the most beautiful look of agony and ecstasy I’d ever seen as her eyes rolled back in her head and her entire body shuddered uncontrollably.

It took everything I had not to come right then.

Finally she stopped trembling, and I slowed down my thrusts until I stopped completely.

Her eyes focused on mine again. Her breathing was ragged, a fine sheen of perspiration covered her body, and she gave me a look like she wanted to devour me whole.

“…you didn’t come…?” she whispered, panting as she said it.

I shook my head ‘no.’

“…you didn’t… it wasn’t…” she asked haltingly.

“I didn’t want to,” I whispered. “In case you wanted to keep going.”

She stared at me like that was the sweetest thing she’d ever heard –

And then she kissed me hard, crushing her mouth against mine.

When she finally pulled away, I was breathless.

“I want you to come,” she whispered.

“Okay,” I started to answer, “I – ”

But she started to move her body against mine, undulating her torso in a sensual wave, over and over, working my cock inside her…

And I stopped talking because I could barely think.

She stared at me with those fuck me eyes, her mouth open, her sensuous lip parted, as she writhed her body against mine.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

We stared into each other’s eyes – that is, when I wasn’t staring at her body. Everything about her was mesmerizing. The muscles of her stomach as she moved… her breasts jiggling slightly…

She kept moving up and down like she was giving me a lap dance, except I was standing up and had my cock deep inside her.

“I want you to come, too,” I whispered.

She laughed, and I felt it in her pussy. “Oh, I’m going to… eventually…”

I supported her ass with my left hand, but reached my right hand down between her legs and brushed my thumb through her damp curls.

She frowned. “What are you – ”

And then I found what I was looking for, and her mouth opened wide as I softly stroked her clit.

“Oh God,” she whispered hoarsely.

She sped up her movements and grinded harder on my cock.

I stared into her eyes, stroking her clit in time with her movements –

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” I whispered. “Fuck – ”

She nodded frantically, never breaking eye contact. “Come for me – come for me, Lars – I want you to – OH GOD – ”

She threw her head back again and arched her body again.

I kept rubbing her clit, but I started to thrust into her hard and urgent with need.

Her entire body trembled and shook as I pounded inside her.

SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP

And then my orgasm crashed through my body.

“FUCK!” I whispered hoarsely.

My cock pulsed inside her, her pussy tighter than before –

I felt my cum filling up the condom with spurt after spurt –

And then I slowed down gradually as my contractions lessened…

Stopping completely as they finally ebbed away.

Rachel lifted her head again to look at me. Her eyes were unfocused, like she was drunk – but not just from the vodka.

Sweat dripped from her body, glinting in the lamplight.

She stared at my mouth, her full lips parted, inviting me in…

And I kissed her, soft and slow.

We stayed like that for a long time, my cock still hard inside her…

Her legs around my waist, her arms looped round my neck…

And our mouths locked in a slow, sensual kiss.

35

Because it was for visitors to the base, Rachel’s bedroom had its own bath. After I disposed of the condom and washed up, I came back to bed and lay down with her.

The cot was so small that she had to lie at my side with her body pressed against mine.

I don’t think she minded. I certainly didn’t.

“Hope I succeeded in keeping you awake for a while,” I said smiling as I lay there with my arm around her.

“Mmmmm… that was an incredibly nice way of passing the time before my flight,” she murmured.

Suddenly, a mortar shell exploded nearby – closer than the others we’d heard on the walk over, and close enough to rattle the building slightly.

BOOM.

Rachel’s head jerked up off the cot.

“It’s fine,” I said, taking her hand in mine and kissing it. “That was still pretty far out.”

“I don’t think I could have slept anyway with all that going on,” she muttered.

“Then all my efforts were wasted,” I joked.

“Mm. Definitely not wasted,” she said right before she kissed me.

A second mortar round made her flinch, though. She broke off our kiss and looked around, although there were no windows to see outside.

“How do you do it?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Keep so calm!”

“You get used to it.”

“But how do you sleep with those explosions?”

“I didn’t at first. I had a really bad week when I first got here – barely slept at all. And then I reached the point of exhaustion and decided that if my number was up, it was up, and there was nothing I could do about it but accept it. After that, I slept like a baby.”

“I don’t know if I could do that…”

“I’ve had a lot of experience accepting things I couldn’t change,” I said quietly.

She lifted her head again, not saying anything.

It took me a moment to realize she was listening for another explosion… but there wasn’t one.

“The shelling stopped,” she said.

“It comes and goes. Sort of like you.”

She frowned quizzically.

“You come… and then you go…?” I said, explaining the joke.

She rolled her eyes but still gave a tiny snort of a laugh. “Oh my god.”

“That’s what you said when you came. ‘Oh my god – ’”

She gave me a real laugh that time. “Well, you said ‘fuck’ an awful lot when you came.”

“Did I.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“I did,” she purred, then said with exaggerated helplessness, “Without the explosions, however will I stay awake?”

I grinned. “I can think of a way.”

“You can, can you?” she murmured back. “Sei cosi seducente.”

The way she said it was like music.

“What did that mean?” I asked.

“‘You’re quite seductive.’”

“Mmm. Tell me more.”

“You tell me something in Swedish.”

“Jag vill ha dig.”

She frowned. “…what?”

“It means, ‘I want you.’”

She raised an eyebrow. “…I like the sentiment…”

“Just not in Swedish,” I suggested, and we both laughed. “If we’re going to keep it sexy, let’s stick to Italian.”

“I agree… Hai gli occhi più belli che abbia mai visto.”

Her voice was like a velvet glove.

“What was that?”

“You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,” she whispered as she peered at me.

“Sounds like something I should say to you. Just not in Swedish.”

She laughed out loud.

“Tell me something else,” I murmured.

Her hand dropped below my waist and softly stroked my cock. It was already getting hard from me hearing her speak Italian… and her touch sped up things considerably.

“Hai un cazzo incredible… e lo voglio dentro di me adesso.”

I tilted my head and asked her with my eyes what it meant.

“It means,” she whispered, “you have the most incredible cock… and I want it inside me right now.”

Fuuuuuuck.

I kissed her hard and cupped her breast as she ran her hand up and down my shaft.

“Hold on,” I said as I turned and reached down for my pants again.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting another condom.”

“…have you been tested?”

I looked back at her and nodded. “We have to whenever we deploy. And I haven’t had sex since I’ve been here.”

“…I’m on birth control… if you want to without the condom…”

I looked deep into her eyes. “Are you sure?”

She stared at me… then silently nodded yes.

I cupped her face in my hands… kissed her… got on top of her… and slowly eased inside her.

Her mouth dropped open in that sexy look of surprise. “Oh…”

“Unh,” I grunted as I slowly slid inside her, inch by inch.

Sex with a condom had been very, very good.

But being inside her, skin to skin?

It was amazing.

She was so wet… so soft… so warm…

I’d never felt anything as good in my life.

From the look on Rachel’s face, I was pretty sure she felt the same way.

36

Rachel

Iactually was on birth control. My periods were irregular, and with a job that demanded I fly around from country to country all the time, being able to predict my time of the month was a huge benefit.

But yes, I know…

It was stupid to trust a guy I’d just met.

Especially when unprotected sex was the reward for telling me what I wanted to hear.

I could almost hear my mother’s bitter, scolding voice:

ALL men lie. Every last one of them.

But I believed Lars. I believed that he’d been tested and hadn’t had sex since he’d been deployed.

I justified my trust with He saved my life today up on the roof. If I could trust him with that, I can trust him with this.

Besides, ‘doing stupid stuff’ seemed to be the theme of the night.

But while it might have been stupid…

…oh my GOD was it worth it.

The feeling the first time he slipped inside me without a condom on…

JESUS.

It was the difference between a decadent tiramisu and a really good biscuit.

For you Americans, a biscuit is British for ‘cookie.’ And tiramisu is the quintessential Italian dessert. It’s made of ladyfingers soaked in coffee (preferably espresso)… layered with a creamy whipped mixture of eggs, sugar, and sweet mascarpone… and dusted with cocoa.

A good biscuit can be excellent. Crisp… crunchy… a wonderful addition to tea time.

But good tiramisu is a world of difference.

The way it feels on your tongue and lips…

The explosion of flavors in your mouth… the sensual feel of the cream…

No biscuit in the world can match it. The only way you prefer a biscuit is if you hate tiramisu.

And there are plenty of people who hate tiramisu. Just like there are plenty of lesbians who wouldn’t touch a cock with a ten-foot pole. (There’s a joke in there somewhere about ‘touching his pole with a pole.’)

But I love tiramisu.

And while Lars’s cock with a condom on was the best goddamn biscuit I’d ever had –

His ‘version’ of tiramisu was absolutely mind-blowing.

I could feel every inch of him like a caress inside my pussy…

The difference between satin and plastic wrap.

My eyes rolled back in my head, and I let out a little cry just from him slipping inside me.

And remember, this was after already having two ‘lifetime best’ orgasms within the last 30 minutes.

I should have been sated. Not as hungry. Less sensitive.

But the feeling of him inside me with nothing between us?

That long, thick, gorgeous cock filling me up?

His incredible hardness covered by the softest of skin, leaving nothing but overwhelming pleasure every place it touched inside me?

Best goddamn tiramisu in the world.

37

Lars

There was just one little problem.

Once I was inside her and started moving my hips, the same issue as before reared its ugly head:

The cot started squeaking.

Eee-eee-eee-eee-eee.

We both burst out laughing.

FUCK her pussy felt amazing as she laughed, her muscles gripping my shaft with firm but slippery softness.

I didn’t want to leave – ever – but I pulled out of her.

“What are you doing?!” she gasped.

“We’ve got to fix this.”

“Awww,” she pouted in playful disappointment.

“Get up for a second,” I said, taking her by the hand.

Once she was standing, I stripped the mattress off the metal frame and dropped it on the cement floor.

“There, that’ll be better.”

I looked over at her and was struck by how lovely she was standing there naked in the lamplight.

“My god, you’re beautiful,” I whispered.

She smiled and kissed me.

Then I lowered her gently to the ground…

And we did it all over again.

Without a condom, the sensations were so much more intense – so much more pleasurable.

Thankfully, coming 20 minutes earlier gave me just enough control to keep from finishing.

Barely.

She was gorgeous. I couldn’t stop staring at her.

And when her eyes weren’t rolled back in her head, she gazed deep into mine.

Without the creaking cot and without having to focus on holding her upright, I was able to be a bit more vigorous in my thrusting…

Which Rachel seemed to enjoy quite a bit.

She had to bite down on her lower lip the first time she came, and even then she could barely contain her muffled cries as her entire body trembled with orgasm.

I slowed down after that… with slow, long strokes, just enough to keep my cock at its hardest… and we kissed romantically.

Then I asked, “Can you get on top?”

She grinned and nodded. I quickly pulled out of her, and we exchanged places.

She straddled my hips with her legs, took my shaft in her hand, and stared me in the eyes as she guided it between her lips…

And gave a look of intense pleasure as she slowly sank down on my cock.

“Ohhhhhh…” she moaned.

“Fuck…” I grunted.

I loved this view of her. I loved cupping her breasts in both hands, squeezing them, pinching her nipples…

And I loved the way she moved her body, rocking her hips, working my cock like her pussy was devouring it…

She looked like she was getting close to coming again, so I licked my thumb, put the pad of it against her clit, and softly rubbed in a circle.

“Oh… oh… OH…” she choked out in a whisper as she grinded her hips even harder against me.

When she came again, her entire body shuddered.

Thirty seconds later, she collapsed on my chest, my cock still rock-hard inside her.

“You didn’t come?” she asked breathlessly.

“I’m trying to hold off.”

“How long?”

“You leave at 0400, right?”

“Yeah…?”

“…I’ll come at 0359, then.”

She laughed, and I felt the tremors through her pussy and around my cock.

It was quickly becoming one of my favorite sensations in the world.

“I have to take a shower and get dressed,” she pointed out.

“Alright… 0330, then.”

She looked up at the clock next to the bed. “It’s 0150.”

“I guess we’ve got a lot of fucking to do, then.”

She laughed again, then leaned over me, her hair falling around both sides of my face.

“Fuck me, Lars,” she whispered.

“Your wish… is my command.”

I pulled her down on top of me, chest to chest, her breasts crushed against my skin, and began thrusting up inside her.

She cried out with little whisper-shouts, her eyes half-closed in pleasure.

We switched positions over and over.

Doggy-style, with my pelvis slamming into her ass with every thrust and a cry of delight from her every single time…

Fucking her against the wall…

Fucking her lying down on the mattress again, this time on our sides – me lying behind her, so I could reach around and rub her clit…

And back in missionary so we could kiss while I was deep inside her.

“I don’t think I can hold out much longer,” I whispered in her ear.

She laughed, although it was tinged with exhaustion. “I lost count of how many times I came a long time ago. Go ahead.”

“Do you want me to come outside you, or…”

She stared deep into my eyes. “Inside me.”

Fuck –

Her saying it almost made me come right then.

I nodded and stared back at her as I began moving faster –

Thrusting harder –

That electric feeling of orgasm building in my cock.

Rachel’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened in an ‘O’ as she stared into my eyes. “Oh god – oh god – OH GOD – ”

The sound of her coming pushed me over the edge.

I burst inside her with the most explosive orgasm I’d ever had.

“FUCK!” I hissed, trying to stop from bellowing and only halfway succeeding.

The tendons in her neck stood out beneath her skin as she whisper-screamed one final time, her entire body tensing and shuddering with release.

The best part about it was that we stared deeply into each other’s eyes the entire time.

When it was over – or at least when my orgasm was over; hers seemed to have aftershocks that made her entire body tremble for another minute – I kept slowly moving inside her…

And then we kissed…

Long…

Slow…

And deep.

When we finished, I looked up at the clock.

“Made it till 0315,” I said.

She laughed long and hard, and I felt every pulse all around my cock.

And then we kissed some more.

38

We showered quickly – 60 seconds apiece, just enough to wash away the scent of sex. I went first while Rachel packed what few belongings she’d brought; then we exchanged places. We dressed just as hurriedly as we’d showered.

We paused at the door before she opened it. There could be no public displays once we crossed the threshold, so we took a moment before reentering the everyday world.

“This was absolutely amazing,” she said with a smile, her arms looped around my neck as she looked up at me.

“‘Absolutely amazing’ doesn’t even begin to describe it for me,” I said – and I meant it.

The sex had been the best of my life, bar none – but it was more than that: far more emotional and far more intense.

I felt like I could lose myself in her eyes forever if I only got the chance.

She kissed me again softly, her lips lingering on mine… and then she pulled away. “I have to go.”

“I know,” I said, and kissed her again.

Then I pulled away and she opened the door.

I escorted her out to the airfield in the early morning darkness.

“Are the mortars going to be a problem when the plane takes off?” she asked worriedly.

“No,” I reassured her. “The airfield’s too far away.”

“So, the military makes it a priority to guard the planes… just not the soldiers.”

“What, you had to ask?” I joked.

I didn’t tell her about the anti-aircraft missiles, though. They were uncommon, but I didn’t want to put ideas in her head.

I was silently grateful we’d pulled two dozen of them off the market during the raid this afternoon.

We got to the main runway, where a C-130 Hercules – a flying mountain of an aircraft – had its gangplank down. Soldiers were busy loading pallets of cargo into the hold.

Rachel put out a hand. “Well, Lars, it was a real pleasure.”

I shook her hand and squeezed it lightly. “I want to see you again.”

She looked surprised. Then she smiled sadly. “Lars… you don’t have to pretend this was something it wasn’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

She shrugged. “It was fun. We had a great time. But you don’t have to say that – ”

“I’m saying it because I mean it. I want to see you again.”

“That’s going to be difficult, given that I’m going back to London and you’re here in Afghanistan.”

“My deployment ends in 3 months. When I go back to Sweden, I’ll have some leave accrued. I want to use it to come see you.”

She looked at me for a long moment before she answered. “…I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

My stomach twisted. “Is there someone else?” I asked, trying to sound as neutral as I could.

“No.”

I immediately felt better. “Then why isn’t it a good idea?”

She smiled sadly again. “Because nothing will ever come of it.”

“You’ll probably come,” I said in a quiet voice, low enough that none of the nearby soldiers would have a chance of overhearing.

She burst out laughing, then nodded. “I’m sure I would.”

“Several times, even.”

“Oh, way more than several.”

“So let me come see you, then.”

I could see her inner struggle playing out on her face. “…this is a bad idea…”

“I think it’s an incredible idea.”

Finally she gave in and grinned. “…alright.”

“Yeah?” I asked happily.

“If we’re not seeing anyone else in three months,” she added hastily.

I looked around the darkened base. “Given my surroundings, I think it’s fair to assume I won’t be seeing anyone else.”

She grinned. “Alright… if I’m not seeing anyone else.”

“Fair enough. Can I get your phone number?”

“No.”

She said it so quickly and definitively that it took me by surprise.

“…no?!”

“It changes frequently. Part of my job.”

“Alright, how about your email address?”

“Give me yours and I’ll contact you.”

I looked at her sideways. “You promise?”

She smiled. “Yes.”

“No – seriously – you promise?”

Her smile broke into a full-toothed grin. “Yes, I promise.”

“Alright. Got a pen?”

She produced one from her pack, and I wrote my email address on her hand.

“Oh, this doesn’t look suspicious at all,” she said in a deadpan voice.

“It’s so you don’t lose it,” I said, clicking the pen and handing it back to her. “It was a true pleasure, Agent Bauer.”

“I’m pretty sure the pleasure was mostly mine, Sergeant Henriksson,” she said with a naughty smile. “But it was wonderful.”

We grinned at each other as we shook hands one last time…

And then she walked away and went up the gangplank of the C-130.

I stood there the entire time and watched.

She had a beautiful way of walking… the way her hips swayed back and forth…

God, what a woman.

When she got up to the top of the ramp, she looked back over her shoulder, flashed me one more smile, and went inside.

I walked until I was far enough away to be safe, then waited until the propellers of the C-130 fired up.

I watched as it pulled down the runway… gained speed… and took off.

And then I watched it disappear into the dark Afghan sky.

Only then did I turn and walk back.

The barracks were dark as I snuck in. Snoring filled the air.

When I sat down on my mattress and the springs creaked, Gunnar rolled over on the cot next to mine.

“…Lars…?”

“It’s me,” I whispered in Swedish. “Go back to sleep.”

“What, before I hear the big news?” he asked sleepily. I could hear the grin in his voice. “Did you get lucky?”

“Incredibly lucky.”

I could hear the slight confusion in his voice. “What do you mean?”

I smiled in the darkness. “I think she’s the One.”

39

Rachel

Isat on a jump seat in the C-130’s darkened cargo hull. Ignoring the loud drone of the engines, I recalled everything Lars had said when we’d parted.

‘Absolutely amazing’ doesn’t even begin to describe it for me.

I want to see you again.

I’m saying it because I mean it.

My deployment ends in 3 months. When I go back to Sweden, I’ll have some leave accrued. I want to use it to come see you.

It was a true pleasure, Agent Bauer.

And my final words to him:

I’m pretty sure the pleasure was mostly mine, Sergeant Henriksson… but it was wonderful.

And it had been wonderful.

Honestly, it might just have been the best night of my life.

Laughing with him…

The sexual tension as we’d walked back to my room…

His personality, his handsome face, and his insanely hot body…

And the sex.

My god, the sex.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

I felt the pleasant ache between my legs and closed my eyes, imagining how it had been to have him inside me… his thickness… how he had made me come, over and over…

And how he had kissed me so romantically.

I opened my eyes and forced myself to stop. It was turning me on too much, and it was a long flight back to RAF Brize Norton, the military airbase where we’d be landing.

Instead, I went back to our conversation at the airstrip and marveled again at how sincere he had been. And how persistent.

Not even the insane barriers required by my job – like not giving him my cell phone number or email address – had deterred him. He really wanted to come see me in London.

It was a bad idea.

I knew it was a bad idea.

I could almost hear my mother’s voice yelling, What are you DOING?!

To be honest, though, it wasn’t even worth worrying about – because it would probably never happen.

He would lose interest over the next three months, and after a few emails, I would never hear from him again.

Or I would get distracted by my job, like I always did, and stop answering… and Lars would just fade away into a memory.

That one fantastic night I spent in Afghanistan with a Swedish Special Forces soldier.

But for right now, I allowed myself to indulge in fantasy and think about the possibility of sleeping with him in the future… and having the best sex of my life again.

I pictured those gorgeous blue eyes staring down passionately as he was inside me…

And the affection and real emotion in them when he’d said goodbye at the airfield.

I grinned like an idiot for over an hour until the need for sleep finally overwhelmed me.

And even then, I dreamed of him all the way back to London.

40

Lars

Ididn’t hear from her until late the next day, almost 40 hours later – but I had expected as much.

I had seen her off at 4 AM in Afghanistan. Not only did she have to fly 10 hours back to London, but she would have to brief her superiors at MI6. And hopefully she crashed for a long nap after our night of no sleep.

But eventually, I got an email from a strange Gmail account composed of a random jumble of letters and numbers.

Lars,

I enjoyed our time together.

I hope you’ll understand if I don’t say more than that.

Like I said, if we’re not seeing anyone else in 3 months, email me and we’ll set something up – if you still want to visit.

Rachel

As I read her email, I had a grin so big it hurt my face.

And I didn’t take offense at the vagueness of the message; I figured that her job at MI6 was why she was being so coy.

Hey Rachel,

I WILL want to visit. There’s absolutely no doubt about that.

I truly enjoyed our time together, too. I can’t wait for 3 months to pass.

Is there another way to talk? A phone number or a Zoom call, maybe?

Talk to you soon,

Lars

Over the following week, we emailed back and forth dozens of times.

Unfortunately, the phone call and Zoom were off the table. She didn’t say why, but I assumed it had to do with the secrecy of her job.

The good thing was that she returned my emails within hours of me sending them. There were never any games – she seemed as enthusiastic to hear from me as I was from her.

And then, a week later, I got an email from a totally different, completely random Gmail address.

Lars,

It’s me. I have to change email accounts every so often – just part of my situation. So be on the lookout for new messages from odd email addresses. Come to think of it, I’ll give you a heads-up in future emails when I’ll be switching.

You might not hear from me for a week or so. I have to make a business trip out of town and probably won’t be able to contact you.

I hope you’re doing alright. I think of you all the time.

Rachel

If her ‘business trip’ was anything like her mission to Afghanistan, I was concerned for her safety. I knew she was more than capable of protecting herself and tried not to worry – but I didn’t do a very good job of it.

Rachel,

Thanks for the heads-up on the email addresses. I’ll keep a close watch.

I hope your business trip goes well.

Please travel safely and let me know as soon as you can when you’re back home.

And if you can email me while on the road, I wouldn’t say no to hearing from you.

But if not, don’t worry – ‘there’s no cow on the ice.’

I think of you all the time, too.

Talk to you soon.

Lars

She wrote back almost immediately.

Lars,

I’ll definitely let you know as soon as I’m back home.

Unfortunately, I probably won’t be able to contact you during the trip.

No internet reception where I’m going.

Think of me while I’m gone. I know I’ll be thinking of you.

Rachel

For most people, our emails would have been laughingly mundane. But for me, this was more passionate than I had ever been in my life – at least in writing. Putting my emotions into words wasn’t my strong suit.

Add in the fact that these were our first messages after spending only one night together and that she had to be discreet because of her work –

And what probably seemed tame to others felt incredibly intense and personal to me.

Then, just as I felt we were getting closer…

I didn’t hear from her for two weeks.

The first week wasn’t so bad. She’d said ‘a week or so.’

But then seven days became eight… and then nine…

I got increasingly nervous every time I checked my laptop and didn’t see a message from her.

I’ll admit, worrying about not getting an email was pretty funny coming from a Special Forces operative who had been in over 40 gunfights.

But these were different stakes. I was used to risking my life. I was not used to being this far gone over a woman and not hearing from her.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t worry that she’d simply stopped emailing me… that she’d grown tired of our interactions and ghosted me.

But mostly, I was worried that something had happened to her.

I wrote her a couple times when my worry for her became too intense.

Hey Rachel,

Just checking in. You okay?

Lars

No reply.

I even emailed her previous account as a sort of ‘Hail Mary,’ hoping she would respond.

Finally, on Day 15, I got a reply from a completely new email address.

Lars,

I’m so sorry I couldn’t contact you sooner. I just got back in town 2 hours ago.

My trip was hell… but it’s over, and I’m back home safe.

I thought about you the entire time I was away.

In fact, I repeatedly told myself, ‘I HAVE to get back…Lars is counting on me.’

Maybe it was silly, but it got me through some rough nights.

I hope you’re doing well.

Love,

Rachel

I stared at the screen.

There were so many things packed into that one short email –

But the most important by far was the closing:

‘Love, Rachel.’

I reread her message about a hundred times.

When I typed out my reply, I couldn’t stop grinning.

Rachel,

I’m so glad you’re home safe.

Thank you for letting me know as soon as you could.

I thought about you every hour I was awake.

Probably way more than that, actually.

I’m glad that the thought of me helped you out in trying circumstances…

And you’re right: I AM counting on you.

And I’m counting the days until I get to see you. 68 more to go.

I can’t wait.

Love,

Lars

I paused…

Deleted ‘Love’…

Then retyped it and sent it before I could convince myself to do otherwise.

From that point onwards, she continued to reply with ‘Love, Rachel’…

And I did the same.

41

The next two months passed at a snail’s pace.

Every mission seemed that much more dangerous, that much more likely to go bad…

But finally I got down to my last week in Afghanistan.

American soldiers talk about being ‘short’ when their deployments are close to an end. As in, their time was short.

I’m so short I could sit on the edge of a dime and swing my legs.

I also heard them talk about I got ten more wake-ups and a glorious arising.

Ten more days in-country, followed by the day they woke up and left.

I had spent most of my military career not caring where I was stationed or for how long –

But now it felt like a matter of life or death.

The only thing that kept me going was Rachel’s emails.

In the final week, we started making specific plans.

I told her there was one thing I had to do before I came to see her.

Rachel,

Just to let you know, I’m going to spend as much time with you as possible – but I need to make a stopover in my hometown in Sweden, just for half a day or so.

But as soon as that’s done, I’m on the next plane out.

Love,

Lars

Her reply was sweet and considerate:

Take as much time as you need to see your family and friends – I’ll be here.

I told her the truth, although I didn’t tell her the details why.

I only need half a day. I can’t wait more than that to see you.

There was one detail that irked me – but it was completely about me, not her.

Lars,

Unfortunately, I can’t have you stay with me.

Sorry about that – has to do with my job.

However, book a hotel and I’ll come stay with YOU. I’ll even pay for it.

I’ll meet you at the airport. Just send me your flight number and time.

I can’t WAIT to see you.

Love and kisses,

Rachel

Not being able to stay with her at her place seemed a bit suspect.

Was her job really so secretive that I couldn’t know where she lived?

Or was it just that she wanted to have a bit of distance in case things didn’t go well and she wanted to bail?

In the end, I got over my petty doubts.

Rachel,

A hotel is great.

Can you recommend one that’s near you and very nice?

I want our time together to be luxurious.

Thank you for the offer to pay for it, but I’ll be fine. I’ve got a lot of combat pay.

I can’t wait to see you either.

Take as much time off as possible – I want you all to myself.

Love,

Lars

She forwarded me a list of hotels, all near the Vauxhall area in London.

Interesting… because Vauxhall was where MI6 headquarters was located, right on the River Thames.

I didn’t know if that meant she lived nearby, or if she wanted to be close to her office in case she needed to drop in from time to time.

It didn’t matter. I made a week-long reservation at a suitably nice hotel – not the most expensive on her list, but near the top – and told her I would email my flight info as soon as I booked it.

Then I settled in for the interminable wait until I stepped on a plane and flew out of Afghanistan…

To her.

42

Gunnar and I flew out together on a military transport departing Bagram at noon. With the time zone differences, we got into Karlsborg – Swedish Special Forces headquarters – at 8PM local time.

The plan was to rent a car early the next morning, drive the three hours to Gothenburg, do what I needed to do, then drop the rental car at the airport and catch a non-stop flight to London.

I used my phone to book the car and plane reservations, then emailed the information about the flight to Rachel. Then I packed my civilian clothes, which I’d left in storage, and crashed in the barracks for the night.

Before I went to bed, Gunnar said his goodbyes. While I was gone, he would be on a week-long vacation in Amsterdam – for obvious reasons.

“I don’t think you’ll need it, but good luck, my brother,” he said cheerfully.

“You need the luck, not me,” I retorted. “Don’t smoke too much weed.”

He laughed. “Not possible! And say hi to Rachel for me!”

“Will do.”

When I woke at 5 the next morning, I checked my email for Rachel’s response.

Hurry up and GET HERE, already!

I can’t wait to see you!

I grinned like an idiot the entire time I dressed. Then I shoved my laptop in my rucksack and ran to catch the bus into town.

I picked up a car at the local Hertz outlet and drove three hours to Gothenburg.

As soon as I arrived, I stopped at a florist and bought two bundles of roses – one red, one white.

Then I drove to the cemetery where my mother and aunt were buried side by side.

It took me a while to find them, but I finally located their graves.

I stood there for a long moment, fighting to keep my composure.

Everything else in my life was so happy, I hadn’t thought I would feel so overwhelmed –

But a tidal wave of emotion crashed into me as I stared at the two marble tombstones.

I laid the red roses on my mother’s side.

“I love you, Mom,” I said softly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you when you needed me.”

Then I laid the white roses on my aunt’s grave.

“Thank you for taking care of her, all the way to the end,” I whispered.

After a few minutes of standing there, I finally walked away.

I’d contacted Leif back in Afghanistan and told him my plans. He wanted to see me before I left Gothenburg, so we met for lunch.

He looked older, like my aunt’s death had prematurely aged him. But he also looked happy. He said he’d started dating again and met someone he really liked.

That bothered me a little, though I couldn’t say why. It had been nearly a year since my mother and aunt’s deaths; it was good that Leif was getting on with his life. Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

He asked me all about Afghanistan. I told him about the military but didn’t tell him about Rachel. That was my own secret, and it felt too personal to share.

It was nice to see Leif again, but we’d never been that close – and our brief time together drove home the fact that without Aunt Ingrid, we were essentially two men with a connection that no longer existed.

I shook his hand and wished him well, and then I left.

Thirty minutes later, I returned my car at the airport and went to the terminal.

An hour and a half later, I was in the sky.

43

The flight to London gave me enough time and space to put Gothenburg behind me and let me look forward to nothing but Rachel.

My plane touched down at Heathrow Airport around 6 PM local time.

My heart thudded in my chest as I walked out to the waiting area, my rucksack slung over my shoulder.

What would it be like?

Would it be awkward after all this time?

Would she still feel the same?

Then I saw her in a crowd of civilians waiting for their loved ones.

My heart stopped.

She was dressed in heels and a black skirt that showed off her legs. A red silk blouse and black leather jacket completed the outfit.

Her hair was loose and fell to her shoulders in waves.

She had on lipstick and light makeup – the first time I’d seen her wearing any.

She was absolutely stunning.

A huge smile spread across her face as I walked over to her.

She started to say, “Hello, L– ”

But I interrupted her by grabbing her around the waist and kissing her passionately.

She seemed flustered at first –

But then she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me back just as hard.

It was almost 30 seconds later when we broke apart long enough to speak.

I grinned. “Hello, Rachel.”

“Well, hello,” she purred.

I pulled her harder against me, nearly crushing her body against mine. I did it so she could feel my raging erection pressing hard against my pants.

“OH,” she gasped, her eyes suddenly wide.

“I need you. Right now.”

She burst out laughing. “Wow. Okay – um, can you at least wait until we get to the hotel?”

“No promises.”

She laughed again. “Then let’s get out of here quick. Is that your only luggage?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go.”

Somehow I managed to keep my hands to myself as she drove us out of Heathrow in her Audi sedan.

Well… mostly to myself. I rubbed my hand along her bare leg almost continuously, as though to reassure myself that she was real, that she was actually here.

We exchanged a few pleasantries. She asked me how the flight was and I told her Gunnar said hello.

We’d just left the airport when she said, “You’ve got to stop touching me.”

I looked at her in surprise. “Why?”

“Because it’s driving me wild and I can’t think straight.”

I laughed. “Now you know how I’ve been feeling the last three months.”

“I’m serious, Lars – you’ve got to stop, or I’m going to pull over the car right now.”

“Well, then, I’m definitely not stopping. In fact, I’m going to go… even… further.”

I slid my hand up between her thighs…

And got quite the shock.

My fingers touched bare skin.

She wasn’t wearing underwear… and she was drenched.

“Holy shit,” I murmured.

She grinned. “That was supposed to be your ‘welcome home’ surprise.”

“Well, it was definitely a surprise, and I definitely feel welcomed home.”

I let my finger trace across her wet lips… softly searching for…

There.

“Oh fuck,” she whispered as I found her clit and lightly stroked it.

The car suddenly screeched across two lanes of traffic and headed for the nearest exit.

“Whoa!” I exclaimed with a laugh. “Okay, I’ll stop – ”

“Don’t you dare stop,” she ordered.

So I kept lightly caressing her clit as she roared along the street towards a multi-story garage for long-term airport parking.

She grabbed the ticket at the automated gate and sped into the building.

As she drove up the levels, I continued to stroke her clit… although a little bit firmer and faster now.

She held onto the steering wheel with a death grip and stared straight ahead, her face intent and focused.

The parking structure was jam-packed with cars, but there was nobody around.

We found an empty space on the fifth floor, and she backed into the spot with the assured control of a Hollywood stuntman.

Then she reached over, grabbed my shirt, and hauled me close for a deep kiss.

Ten seconds later, she broke it off. “Get in the back,” she ordered as she opened the driver’s side.

“We’re doing it here?” I asked with a grin as I got out.

“Fuck yes, we’re doing it here. I can’t wait for the hotel.”

We quickly got into the back seat and slammed the doors behind us –

And then our hands were all over each other.

She bit my lip as we kissed savagely.

I pulled her skirt up around her waist as she unbuckled my belt. Seconds later, my pants were down around my thighs and she was lying beneath me on the backseat, her bare legs wrapped around me.

I paused just as I was about to enter her, my head barely touching her wet lips.

She looked at me like I was about to drive her crazy. “For fuck’s sake, put it in!”

I laughed. “I just wanted to check – condom or no condom?”

She stared deep into my eyes. “Were you with anyone since we saw each other last?”

“No. I couldn’t even think about anyone but you.”

“Me neither.” She shook her head. “No condom.”

I grinned… kissed her… and slowly entered her.

44

Rachel

Before I’d picked him up at the airport, I had thought I would drive us to the hotel… we would ditch his luggage in the room… go out and have a nice dinner… get reacquainted… and then go to bed together.

Fucking him in the backseat of my car hadn’t been part of the plan.

But when it came to Lars, nothing was part of the plan. He’d just stumbled into my life and taken over.

I’d thought he was exaggerating at the airport when he said he couldn’t wait –

Until I’d felt his erection throbbing beneath his pants. It was so long that several inches jutted up over his belt, under his loosely tucked shirt.

Everything about our night in Afghanistan flooded back, and I wasn’t sure I could wait until the hotel.

When he started rubbing my leg in the car, I knew I couldn’t wait.

And so, like a horny teenage boy, I didn’t.

I found the nearest parking garage and drove as fast as possible until I found a spot with no one around.

The way he touched me between my legs… using my wetness to caress my hood and only occasionally stroking my clit…

It drove me fucking insane.

And all the while, I had to be the responsible one, driving the fucking car up to find a parking spot, ignoring how he was torturing me.

He had me on the brink of orgasm even before we got in the backseat.

When I’d returned home to London from Afghanistan, I’d masturbated every single day thinking about our night together –

But none of that prepared me for just how intensely I needed him – how much my lust for him consumed me.

Before I knew it, I was on my back with my legs wrapped around his ass, staring into his gorgeous face and crystal blue eyes –

But he paused right as the tip of his cock touched my lips.

What a cruel fucking bastard!

“For fuck’s sake, put it in!” I cried out.

He laughed. “I just wanted to check – condom or no condom?”

“Were you with anyone since we saw each other last?”

He stared at me intently. “No. I couldn’t even think about anyone but you.”

“Me neither.” He had no idea how much I couldn’t think of anyone but him. “No condom.”

He grinned… kissed me… and then he slid inside me in one incredible, pleasurable stroke.

So deep… so thick… so big… so GOOD.

I immediately came.

Like I said, best fucking tiramisu in the world.

45

Lars

“Oh my GOD,” she cried out as I slid all the way inside her.

Then she dug her fingers into my back, and I felt her body trembling underneath me as she came.

I nibbled her ear and waited for her moans to subside before I teasingly said, “Wow, that was fast.”

She glared at me with mock irritation. “It’s not like you were rubbing my clit for the last ten minutes or anything.”

“Mmm… so that was foreplay?” I murmured as I slowly began rocking inside her.

“Hell yes it was foreplay,” she moaned.

“Then we get straight to the fucking?”

“Fuck YES.”

I laughed – and began to thrust inside her.

She gasped and raked her fingers down my back.

Within a couple of minutes, one of her high heels was braced against the ceiling of the car, her other leg was wrapped around my bare ass, and she was coming again.

“Oh Lars – oh my God – oh my GOD – ”

I kept thrusting hard and fast, driving myself into her over and over as her entire body was racked with those tremors I loved so much.

“Oh my God… wait… stop,” she panted as her trembling subsided.

I kissed her again as I slowed down and stopped.

I looked down at her dark hair surrounding her face… the flush of color in her cheeks… her beautiful eyes half-lidded with post-orgasmic bliss…

“It’s been three months, and you’re lasting this long?” she gasped.

I grinned. “Barely hanging on.”

“I want you to come.”

“Why?”

She made a face. “So we can stop fucking in a parking garage and go to the hotel.”

I burst out laughing, and she laughed, too – which I felt through her pussy and all around my cock. The sensation that I absolutely loved.

I looked at the fogged-over windows. “I don’t think anybody can see us.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the rocking car and moans aren’t suspicious at all. If we got caught by the cops, I’d never hear the end of it at work.”

I grinned. “That would be pretty bad, huh?”

“It would be awful. So hurry up and come.”

“Yeah? You want me to come?” I whispered as I stared into her eyes and began to rock back and forth inside her again.

She bit her lower lip and nodded silently as she stared back at me.

“Tell me,” I growled as I began to thrust harder… deeper…

Her eyes rolled back in her head for an instant, but then she focused back on me. “I want you to come…”

“Come inside you?”

“Yes…”

“Do you know how much that’s going to be?” I whispered in her ear. “I’ve been saving up for months, just for you…”

She gave a guttural moan.

“You want my cum inside you?” I whispered softly as I thrust hard inside her.

“Yes… yes…” she groaned.

“You sure?” I murmured.

“Yes – I want it all – ”

“Look at me,” I growled, pulling back enough to see her eyes.

They were wild with lust.

“Rachel!” I gasped as my face contorted.

“Come inside me,” she pleaded –

And I exploded.

“OH FUCK – ”

“OH GOD!” she cried out as her body started trembling again.

I felt her sweet little pussy gripping my cock as I spasmed uncontrollably –

Both of us coming as we stared into each other’s eyes.

Finally I collapsed on top of her, completely spent.

Her legs and body trembled for another ten seconds, then slowed to the occasional shudder.

She breathed heavily as she brushed the hair away from my damp forehead.

“God, I missed you,” she whispered.

“I missed you even more,” I murmured, and kissed her soft and slow.

46

After our adventure in the backseat, we made it to the hotel without further incident… although I still rubbed Rachel’s bare leg the entire way there.

The hotel was wonderful. Luxurious by Swedish military standards, anyway. It was one of those corporate chains – but the place was new, the rooms were spacious, and the seventh-story view over the River Thames was spectacular.

But the bed?

The bed was the best, by far.

Soft sheets… lots of pillows…

And king-sized, which meant plenty of room to move around in. Unlike the car.

Rachel grabbed me by the shirt and kissed me hard.

“Let’s try it again now that we’ve got a bit more room,” she whispered.

We hurriedly undressed each other in the glow of the bedside lamp, laughing as we pulled off each other’s clothing –

Until I unbuttoned Rachel’s blouse and she was standing there in a lace bra.

That’s when I saw the bruises all along her right arm and right side.

They were old – fading to a dull green and purple. But they covered her entire right torso.

I hadn’t seen them until now because she’d been dressed in the car and her legs hadn’t been hurt.

I stopped, shocked –

And then volcanic rage built inside me.

“Who did this to you?” I hissed.

All I knew was that whoever did it, I wanted to kill him. Slowly. Painfully.

She smiled like she thought my reaction was sweet. “You have your job, I have mine, and they both come with occupational hazards. You know that.”

“But – ”

“Shhh,” she whispered as she caressed my beard. “Don’t worry. He paid for it.”

“Did you kill him?” I asked angrily, hoping she would say ‘yes.’

“Let’s just say he won’t hurt anybody else ever again,” she murmured, then kissed me.

I’m not going to lie: the casualness with which she said it was a tiny bit unnerving.

But…

It was also kind of hot.

What a fucking woman…

47

Rachel

His worry for me was sweet.

It was also a little condescending – like he thought I couldn’t handle myself. Like the clusterfuck on the rooftops in Kabul was what always happened on my missions.

But I chose to ignore that and instead focus on what I saw in his eyes:

Fiery protectiveness…

And deep concern.

He really, truly cared about me.

When I realized that, I misted up a little.

Then his concern started to get in the way of our fun.

For the first few minutes of sex, he treated me gingerly, like he was afraid I might break. There was no need; the bruises barely hurt anymore. Besides, I was used to much worse.

“Lars, I’m not a porcelain doll,” I finally said in a deadpan voice. “Fuck me, for God’s sake.”

He grinned – and fully obliged.

Half an hour and several mind-blowing orgasms later, I lay in his arms, spent. “I am so glad you’re finally here…”

He chuckled. “I am, too.”

I bent my arm and propped up my head on my hand so I could look at him better. “Anything you’d like to do while you’re here in London?”

“You.”

I laughed. “Besides me.”

“I don’t think we’ll have time.”

I gave him a look like Yeah, RIGHT. “You’re going to be here for a whole week, aren’t you?”

“I have a lot to make up for in that one week.”

“I still think we’ll have plenty of time to do something besides sex.”

He made a face like Don’t be so sure. “I don’t know…”

I laughed again. “I know you have amazing powers of stamina, but I’m not sure even you can go that long, that many times a day.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” he growled as he started kissing my neck. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I can last longer than you.”

“Oh, really.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“How about a friendly contest?” he suggested. “First one who can’t take any more orgasms taps out.”

“Mmm… alright, I’ll take that challenge,” I murmured as I crawled on top and straddled him.

I was the one who tapped out –

Two hours later.

48

Lars

After all that sex, I was starving – so we ordered room service. It arrived around 10 PM.

“So,” I said as I cut into my ribeye, “are we staying here because it’s close to your work?”

“Yes,” she answered as she took a bite of sole fillet. She looked absolutely lovely in a terrycloth robe from the bathroom with nothing beneath it. “I had to be close by in case something came up.”

“You didn’t take the week off?”

“I did, but that means I probably won’t get called in. We’re monitoring a few situations, so I might get called in for a meeting or two. Not likely, but it’s possible.”

“So I can know where you work but not where you live?”

Rachel gave me a bit of side-eye. “You know better than to ask that question.”

I grinned. “Can I finally get a phone number to call you?”

“If you’re good.”

I laughed. “Giving you – what was it, a dozen orgasms over the last two hours – ”

“I lost count after a dozen.”

“That’s not good enough?”

She gave me a smile that was both impish and alluring. “It’s a good start.”

49

Rachel had been right, though. As endlessly enthralling as sex with her was, cabin fever set in around day three. I finally gave in and said I’d like to take a walk. “Maybe you could show me around the neighborhood.”

“There’s not much here. Let’s go to one of the nearby parks instead.”

“Sounds good to me.”

After we showered and dressed, we took a taxi to St. James’s Park. It was across the Thames River, right next to Buckingham Palace.

The park was gorgeous, with beautiful views of the palace across a central lake. The May weather was cool but not cold – around 60 degrees Fahrenheit – and the sun peeked out frequently from behind the ever-present clouds.

As we walked along, I held Rachel close to me, and she snuggled up under my arm.

“I wish you could stay here forever,” she murmured.

I stopped walking, so she was forced to stop, too.

She immediately looked afraid, like she wished she hadn’t said it. “I’m sorry, that was way too early – ”

“It wasn’t too early,” I said gently.

“It was,” she said like she was beating herself up.

I put my finger under her chin and tipped her head up so we were looking into each other’s eyes. “Rachel – ”

She tried to avert her gaze. “Just forget I – ”

“I love you,” I said.

She gasped and stared at me in shock.

“You don’t have to say anything back,” I said quietly. “You don’t even have to feel the same way. But I love you, and I wanted you to know. I fell for you that first night in Afghanistan – and I fell even deeper in love with every word you wrote me over the last three months.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I… I love you, too.”

I leaned down and kissed her soft and slow.

When I finally pulled back, I said with a smile, “See? Not too early.”

She exhaled and smiled. “Okay. Not too early.”

“But are you serious? Would you want me to move here if I could?”

She smiled sadly. “Yes. I would. But you have another three years left in the military, right? And that’s if you even wanted to get out. I assumed you intended to make a career out of it.”

“That was the plan… until I met you.”

There was a hitch in her breathing, and her eyes opened wide.

“Is there any chance you could move to Sweden in the meantime?” I asked. “Maybe, I don’t know, some kind of international branch?”

“As close of allies as our countries are, I doubt Sweden would take kindly to British Intelligence setting up shop in their backyard,” she said wryly.

“Would you ever consider leaving your job?”

She winced. “Please don’t ask me to do that.”

“I won’t. I just wanted to know if it was in the realm of possibility.”

She caressed my beard. “I… probably not.”

“Good to know.”

“I would never ask you to leave your career, either.”

“I know,” I said, and brought her hand to my lips so I could kiss it.

She looked conflicted. “Lars – ”

“We don’t have to figure it out right this instant. Like you said, I’ve got three more years before I even have any options. I love you, and you love me – that’s all we need to know right now. Let’s just enjoy this week and not worry about the future, okay?”

She nodded…

And I pulled her to me and kissed her again.

50

Rachel

Ilove you.

Hearing Lars say those words was both thrilling and terrifying.

In fact, I would say those three little words filled me with more fear than most of the brushes with death I’d had in my job.

I’d never said ‘I love you’ to anyone before. Other than my mother –

And my father when I was little.

…before he left.

But it was what Lars said next that broke me.

You don’t have to say anything back. You don’t even have to feel the same way. But I love you, and I wanted you to know. I fell for you that first night in Afghanistan – and I fell even deeper in love with every word you wrote me over the last three months.

My heart swelled and nearly burst with emotions I’d never felt before.

But I could hear my mother screaming, Don’t believe him!

He’s a man and ALL men lie!

They ALL leave in the end!

But Lars was so sweet and earnest that I believed every word he said.

And it awoke something overpowering in me.

Before I knew what I was doing, I whispered back, I love you, too.

And it felt right to say it.

It felt like I was finally acknowledging what had been building inside me over the last three months, ever since our first night together in Afghanistan – and what had been building inside me even more since he’d arrived in London.

But things took a slight turn when he asked if I would ever consider leaving my job.

After my father abandoned us, my mother had drilled into me that I must never, EVER build my life around a man. That I had to invest in my life and dreams without considering what any man wanted.

But for the first time ever, I realized what the cost of that might be.

I loved my job. I’d fought for it. I’d sacrificed for it. The idea of giving all that up…

Lars said it was good to know about me not leaving my job. He made it sound like just one more piece of information he needed to plan for the future.

I tried telling him that I would never ask him to leave his job if he didn’t want to –

But from how he reacted, I could tell he wanted me more.

More than his job…

More than anything else.

And while it was intoxicating…

It was also frightening.

To know that after years of keeping men at arm’s length, one was so close to me now that he might consider giving up everything just to have me.

It was also scary to feel the first faint stirrings of maybe, just maybe, considering doing the same for him.

In the end, he said, We don’t have to figure it out right this instant. Like you said, I’ve got three more years before I even have any options. I love you, and you love me – that’s all we need to know right now. Let’s just enjoy this week and not worry about the future, okay?

I agreed, and we went back on our walk.

Later, I told myself variations on what I’d said when I’d left Afghanistan:

That it wasn’t worth worrying about because it would probably never happen.

That Lars would lose interest over the next three years, and everything would fade away.

Except this time, I didn’t believe it.

Not one bit.

51

Lars

We started to get hungry, so we caught a taxi back to Vauxhall – the neighborhood my hotel was located in. There was a cool little Portuguese bar/restaurant nearby that Rachel liked, so we walked in to be seated –

When I heard a male British voice say, “Rachel?”

I turned to see a guy in an expensive suit, white shirt, and loosened tie. He was as tall as me, though he was wiry and much lighter. He had neatly trimmed brown hair, a clean-shaven face, and the straightest posture I’d ever seen.

“Alistair!” Rachel said in a surprised voice – though not exactly pleasantly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“A few of us came for drinks after work.”

I had thought Rachel spoke with an elegant English accent, but Alistair’s practically screamed ‘aristocrat.’

“I thought you were more a fan of Le Gavroche or Club Gascon,” Rachel said.

Those sounded like far more expensive restaurants than the one we were in. What with his suit, his accent, and a name like Alistair, it seemed a likely bet.

“Yes, well, one doesn’t always get to choose,” Alistair said with a smile, then looked expectantly at me. “And you are…?”

“I’m sorry, I’m being rude,” Rachel said. “Alistair, this is my friend Lars.”

Considering that we’d just said ‘I love you’ a few hours ago, I was a little surprised to be introduced as a ‘friend’ – but I saved that conversation for later.

Rachel continued. “Lars, this is Alistair, a colleague of mine.”

“Lars Henriksson,” I said, offering my hand.

“Alistair Webb,” he said as we shook. “So – you must be why Rachel’s taken a week off from work. How’s the trip so far?”

I noted the slight discomfort on Rachel’s face when he mentioned her vacation time.

“Wonderful,” I replied. “She’s quite the tour guide.”

“Do I detect the slightest hint of Swedish beneath your American accent?”

“You do.”

“Charming,” he said, and his smile seemed genuine. “How did the two of you meet?”

Before I could answer, Rachel grabbed my arm and said, “Dating app.”

I looked at her in surprise.

“Oh – how long ago?” Alistair asked.

“A while,” Rachel shot back.

Alistair gestured towards the bar section of the restaurant. “Well, if the two of you would like to join us for a drink, I’m here with Reginald Blakely and Patricia Leighton – you know both of them, Rachel.”

She smiled. “Thank you for the invitation, Alistair, but we really must be going.”

“But… you just arrived,” he said, confused.

“Yes, well, we’re late for something.”

“What?”

“Sex. Toodle-oo,” she said as she pulled me towards the door.

“Oh,” Alistair said, a look of shock on his face as he watched us go.

As soon as we were outside in the twilight, I asked, “What was that all about?”

Rachel looked grumpy. “I don’t like mixing my work and private life.”

I laughed incredulously. “If you don’t want to mix your work and private life, telling him we were late for sex was a hell of a way to do it.”

“It was the only way to shut him up.”

“Why did you need to shut him up? Why not have a drink with your co-workers?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“I have drinks with the guys in my unit all the time.”

“Your job and my job are very different.”

I came to an abrupt stop. Rachel was hanging onto my arm, so she got pulled up short, too.

“Do you not want other people to know about me?” I asked, slightly offended.

She sighed. “No, it’s – it’s not like that. It’s Alistair’s job to go poking his nose into things. I don’t want my personal life to be one of them.”

“He was just asking normal questions.”

“When someone works in British Intelligence, there are no normal questions.”

“Is that why you lied about where we met?”

“Yes. He doesn’t need to know that.”

I frowned. “But – ”

“In my line of work, information is currency. And every piece of information you give away is a little bit of power you lose that they can use against you.”

“‘They’? Who’s ‘They’?”

“I think you know who ‘They’ are,” she said wryly.

“I thought ‘They’ were your bosses.”

“They are. So I know whereof I speak.”

“You sound a little bit paranoid.”

“Maybe I am.” Her tone turned jokey as she said, “Doesn’t mean they’re not still out to get me.”

I still didn’t understand. “You work in Intelligence.”

“Yes, and?” she replied impatiently.

“They must do background checks on you all the time. They probably have a dossier on you two inches thick.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to let them add another inch.” She grinned. “Besides, you’re giving me plenty of inches already.”

I smiled in amusement. “Glad you feel that way.”

“Oh, I definitely feel it. Come on, I want to go feel it some more,” she said, tugging at my arm.

“What about dinner?”

“We’ll get room service.”

I let her pull me along the sidewalk towards my hotel.

But the whole incident with Alistair – and Rachel’s obvious desire for secrecy – made me start going back over the entire conversation in my head.

That’s when I remembered something that had bothered me.

“By the way, what was that about me being a ‘friend’?”

She looked back at me with a knowing smile. “Ohhhhh – is that what you’re upset about?”

“I’m not upset,” I protested.

“Mm-hm. So why bring it up at all?”

“It just seems to me that we’re a bit more than ‘friends.’

“We are,” she agreed.

“What are we, then?”

She laughed out loud. “You’re the girl in this relationship!”

“I am not,” I said, incensed.

“Yes you are! ‘What are we, what is this’ – that’s a girl thing to ask!” she said, finding it hilarious.

I stopped and pulled her back into my arms. “Alright, then – just this once, I’ll be the girl in the relationship. What are we?”

She smiled up at me. “We’re really good together.”

I smiled back because I agreed, but I wasn’t going to let it go at that. “Will you be my girlfriend? Just us and no one else?”

She beamed. “Yes.”

And then we kissed again – long, slow, and romantic.

I finally broke off the kiss and playfully looked at my watch. “You know… we really do need to get to that sex.”

“…mmm… yes, we do…” she purred, and pretty much dragged me back to the hotel.

52

We were already kissing and undressing each other as we stumbled through the door of the hotel room.

As soon as I shut the door, I said, “Get undressed and get on the bed.”

She looked at me like Ooooooooh and said, “Yes, sir.”

I watched her peel her clothes off as I finished pulling off mine.

By the time I was standing there naked, my cock was rock hard and jutting up into the air. Rachel couldn’t take her eyes off it.

She started towards me, her hand out –

“On the bed,” I reminded her.

She grinned and lay on her back, legs crossed demurely to one side like a pinup model. “Is this what you had in mind?”

“No,” I said as I strode over and pulled her legs open wide.

“Oh,” she said, amused. “Going to put it right in, huh?”

Truthfully, she was wet enough already for me to do it – but that wasn’t the plan.

One thing I hadn’t done much of was go down on her.

And what I really wanted to do right now was taste her.

I lowered my head between her legs, inhaling her scent – sweet and musky –

And gently kissed her exposed lips.

“Oh,” she whispered. This time she wasn’t amused… just turned on.

I kissed her over and over again, up and down her pussy, just a light press of my lips against hers… but I spent a little more time on her clitoral hood, pressing my lips more firmly against her skin.

By the time I was finished, her lips were glistening with her juices, and a drop slowly trickled down towards her ass.

She propped herself up on her elbows so she could look at me.

“Put it in,” she begged.

“No,” I murmured.

“Please – ”

“Not yet,” I said –

Then licked her softly in one long stroke, from deep down between her legs all the way up to her clit.

As I did it, her arms buckled, and she collapsed back onto the mattress.

“Ohhhhhhhhh,” she groaned.

I began stroking her over and over again with my tongue, parting her lips with the tip… then finally sinking inside her.

The heat of her core surrounded my tongue as the taste of her flooded my mouth.

“OHHHHHH,” she moaned.

I pulled back out and began licking her clit, slowly circling it, as I inserted a finger inside her.

“LARS,” she gasped.

“Is that okay?” I murmured from between her legs.

“It’s more than okay – but don’t you want to – ”

“Shhh. This is what I want to do.”

She lay back on the bed and whimpered as I slowly caressed her inside while I lovingly circled her clit with my tongue.

When her whimpers became moans, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I promised myself I would go down on her later until she came, but I wanted something else at the moment.

I lifted my head, used the bed sheet to wipe her juices from my beard, and then crawled across the mattress above her.

I saw her look in my eyes –

And then down at my jutting cock.

She reached out her hand –

53

Rachel

Fuuuuuuuck it felt amazing when he went down on me.

His finger softly curling inside my pussy…

His tongue lapping at my clit…

An orgasm was probably still several minutes away, but I was beginning to build towards one when he stopped.

I looked up at him as he crawled towards me on all fours, his body suspended above me –

And his cock bobbing slightly beneath him, hard and thick.

I looked down at it – and gasped.

He was so turned on that the head of his cock had pre-cum dripping from the tip, with a long, thin strand dangling in the air.

I don’t know why, but that made me SO hot.

I mean, you can obviously tell by a guy’s erection when he’s turned on –

But that extra sign of how aroused he was?

It made me even wetter. Which was pretty amazing, considering how drenched I already was.

I reached down and grabbed his swollen head, and the hot juices dribbling from his cock made my palm slippery and wet.

I began to rub my hand over his crown, swirling my hand over his taut, swollen skin.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned and grabbed my hand to make me stop.

“What?” I asked, a mischievous grin spreading across my face.

“Too much,” he said in his deep voice.

Then he placed my hand on the bed, away from his cock.

I was so turned on that I licked my palm as I held his gaze.

“Mmmm,” I murmured. He was so salty…

He frowned in that Oh my God I’m so turned on kind of way as he watched me lick his pre-cum from his hand.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered hoarsely – and then he grasped his cock and positioned the tip between my lips.

Oh yes oh please God yes –

“Rachel?”

“Uh huh?” I whispered sexily as I looked into his eyes. All I was thinking about was how good it was going to feel as he slid inside me, filling me up –

“I love you,” he murmured.

I froze in panic.

I knew we had said it earlier in the park – it had been wonderful, after the initial flood of fear I’d felt then –

But this was different.

I was naked, and exposed, and vulnerable.

We’d never said anything like that before, not during sex –

But all I could do was lie there staring into his blue eyes.

And then all of a sudden, his cock slowly entered my body.

I gasped as the pleasure of it flooded my pussy.

“I love you,” he murmured again as he slowly eased inside me.

I couldn’t say anything, even if I wanted to.

The fear in my chest was warring with the pleasure between my legs – and the pleasure was winning.

But the fear was still there, growing.

And there were other feelings, too – feelings that frightened me.

“I love you,” he whispered as he sank deeper – deeper –

And a moan escaped my lips.

Now he was all the way inside me, and he cradled my face with one hand as he stared into my eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered, then kissed me.

I just lay there, paralyzed by my emotions, until he pulled away.

He frowned as he peered down at me. “Are you okay?”

Only then did I realize that tears were streaming from my eyes and trickling down the sides of my face.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

I shook my head, unable to speak.

I don’t know, I wanted to say, but my lips wouldn’t form the words.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, and he started to pull out –

NO!

All I knew was that I didn’t want him to leave. I desperately wanted him inside me.

Not just because it felt so good –

But because I was afraid if he pulled out of me, I would lose him.

Crazy, I know – but I didn’t understand anything I was feeling.

I was overwhelmed, tossed on a sea of emotion –

But I knew I wanted him.

I wanted him more than anything…

More than everything.

I grabbed under his arm and stopped him from pulling out any further.

“Don’t,” I managed to choke out as tears streamed down my face.

“Are you sure?” he whispered in concern.

I nodded, unable to speak.

He slowly eased back all the way, and I closed my eyes with the pure pleasure of feeling him so deep inside me.

He gently brushed back the hair from my face. “If this is too much – you don’t have to…”

He trailed off, but I knew the next words:

You don’t have to say it back.

You don’t have to say ‘I love you.’

But I did love him.

I did –

But it just terrified me to say it.

It felt like I was opening myself up in a way I never had –

Baring my heart for him to stab me.

But…

I wanted it.

I wanted to open myself all the way to him… to let him inside. Past the walls I’d constructed around my heart.

I wanted it as much as I wanted him inside me right now.

I just… couldn’t say it yet.

“Let’s stop,” he said. “We can talk about – ”

“Tell me you love me,” I whispered through my tears.

He looked shocked, but he said, “I love you.”

I put my hand on his face and gazed deeper into his eyes than ever before. “…again…”

“I love you.”

“…again…”

He kissed me softly, then pulled away and smiled. “I love you so much.”

A tremor ran through my chest.

“…please… again…”

He smiled even wider. “I LOVE you.”

“…make love to me… please…?”

He nodded silently, and he began to move slowly inside me. “Rachel… I love you…”

Tears flowed down my face.

“I love you more than anyone else in my entire life, ever…”

His cock inside me felt so good…

But it was the look in his eyes – the softness, the gentleness, the sweetness – that overwhelmed me.

“I love you, baby,” he whispered as he began to move faster… harder… deeper.

My eyes rolled back in my head from the pleasure… but I forced myself to look at him again.

“I love you… I love you… I love you…” he whispered as he peered deep into my soul.

And as every thrust brought me higher and higher –

Something inside me broke wide open – an icy dam in the river that had been there for so long.

Whatever it was, a flood of joy and love and sorrow drowned me, and I sobbed like a baby as I climbed up, up, up –

And as I reached the peak, I was finally able to say it:

“I love you,” I whispered.

The words must have put him over the edge, because he stared into my eyes as his face contorted.

“Oh fuck!” he shouted. “Rachel – ”

And it made me so happy – so happy! –

That I said it again.

“I love you!” I cried out –

“I LOVE YOU – ” he roared as his cock spasmed bigger and thicker inside me –

And suddenly he was coming, and I was coming, and we were both coming together as we stared into each other’s eyes, crying out I love you over and over and over –

Until he collapsed on top of me and I hung onto him for dear life.

“I love you,” I whispered in his ear, a big smile on my face.

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye again, and smiled as he tenderly wiped the tears from my cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered, then kissed me softly.

His cock was still hard in my pussy…

And his kiss awoke something deep inside me.

I pulled away from his lips, looked into his eyes, and murmured, “I love you…”

Then I began to rock my hips, moving my pussy just an inch up and down his shaft.

He stared down at me, a big grin on his face –

And then he said, “I love you,” as he began to thrust.

This time there were no tears, just joyful smiles and laughter as he fucked me –

Until I came again, and he came again, too –

Both of us crying out I love you! together.

54

Lars

It was the best week of my life.

The first night we spent together in Afghanistan could have possibly been the best day of my life…

Though saying ‘I love you’ in St. James Park and making love afterwards was probably the winner.

But the seven days I spent with Rachel won out for ‘Best Week,’ hands down.

There was lots more sex. Sometimes making love, other times fucking each other’s brains out –

With day trips to some of the most scenic parts of London, followed by more sex when we got back to the hotel at night.

When the week finally came to an end, my heart felt extremely heavy.

I knew she was feeling the same way, because I could see it in her face.

We drove to Heathrow in silence, but held hands the entire way.

Inside the airport, she looked like she might cry.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered.

“I don’t want to go, either,” I said as I brushed her hair away from her face. “But I’ll be back.”

“When do you think you’ll be able to get away?”

“My leave accrues over time. It’ll be three months before I can take off a whole week.”

“I don’t know if I can wait that long,” she said miserably.

“Then I could come sooner for just three or four days.”

Her expression grew worried. “What if you’re deployed again?”

“They won’t deploy me again for at least six more months – not after being in Afghanistan for so long.” I paused. “You know, you can always come to Sweden, too. Just for a long weekend – ”

She winced. “I think it’s best if you come to London. My job…” she said, then trailed off.

I wasn’t happy with her answer, but I nodded. “Whatever you want.”

She play-scolded me to break the tension. “Remember, you’re my boyfriend now – so don’t go dating anyone else.”

I chuckled. “I won’t. Same goes for you.”

She buried herself in my arms and squeezed tight. “Long-distance relationships suck,” she said miserably.

“It’ll work.”

She pulled back her head to look at me. “How do you know?”

I smiled. “Because we’re going to make it work.”

Then I kissed her, holding on to her until the last moment I could before I had to hustle through security to make my flight.

The last thing I saw as I rounded the corner was her standing on the other side of the divide, waving to me, tears streaming down her face.

My heart ached to see her in such pain.

I waved back, then sprinted for my gate.

55

Eight months went by like that. A week together every three months… and occasionally a three-day weekend when we couldn’t wait any longer.

Despite how much Rachel said she hated it, she still refused to come visit me in Sweden.

I told myself it didn’t really matter. In the long run, it was probably for the best. If she didn’t travel to see me, she could save up vacation days for when I came to visit.

But it still felt like she wouldn’t compromise.

It rankled me a bit, but mostly I just ignored it.

At least she finally gave me her phone number. Now I could talk to her every day.

The only problem was her phone number changed nearly every month.

“That’s why I never gave you my number – because I knew it would change so often,” she told me after the third time it switched.

“Because of your job?” I asked incredulously.

“Yup.”

“I mean – didn’t James Bond get to keep one phone number?”

“Lars,” she warned.

References to MI6 were strictly forbidden over the phone.

“Okay, okay,” I muttered.

I was intensely curious about her job, but the topic was off-limits. That was part of the agreement if I wanted to be with her.

Like her refusal to come to Sweden, the secrecy around her career bothered me, too… but I swept it under the rug and ignored it.

Since we couldn’t discuss her job and since my missions were top-secret as well, our conversations revolved around domestic details. The new dishes she was learning to cook, which she promised to prepare for me on my next visit… the stray cat I befriended on base… drama with co-workers… all of it carefully crafted to avoid the particulars of our jobs.

Best of all, we got to start using video.

She never sent me photos of her face (more job secrecy), so I finally got to see her.

Zoom calls… Facetime calls…

Which meant sex.

Or at least being able to get off with each other.

Seeing her naked body as she touched herself…

Hearing her high-pitched cries as she came…

It relieved some of the burden of waiting so long to see her.

And it kept the fires burning. Every time we saw each other in London, we nearly tore each other’s clothes off.

In fact, every time I flew in, we fucked in that parking deck because we couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel.

Strangely enough, another big plus for me about the video was I finally got to see the inside of her apartment. Rachel still wouldn’t invite me over, so I took in every little detail I could whenever we were videoconferencing.

Another thing that bothered me was when Rachel told me she was estranged from her mother and that they hadn’t spoken in years.

Seeing how my own mother had been taken from me too soon, Rachel’s refusal to even try to patch things up seemed incomprehensible.

I suggested that maybe she could introduce me to her mother as a way of bridging the divide.

“Trust me, you don’t want to meet my mother.”

“Why not?”

“She’d probably ask you when you were going to cheat on me. Or where you’re hiding the wife and kids you ran away from.”

I stared at her in shock. “Seriously?”

“You think I’m joking. I’m not.”

“Okay… but don’t you think I should meet her at some point?”

“Are you going to introduce me to your father?” she asked sassily.

I had already told her about my mother’s death and how we had run away from my father when I was only four years old.

“No,” I said, “but that’s different. I haven’t spoken to him since I was four.”

“Trust me,” she said grimly, “there are times I wish I hadn’t spoken to my mother since I was four. I haven’t spoken to my father since he walked out on me and my mother when I was seven.”

I stared at her. “Really.”

“Yeah. I’ve never told you about my mother, have I?”

“No.”

“She worked as a waitress in the city where she was born – Pescara. It’s a beach town on the Adriatic. When she was 20, she was serving drinks to a handsome British guy, and he flirted with her until she agreed to go out dancing with him. They had a fling until he went back to London… and then she found out she was pregnant. She called him and told him, he flew her to London, they got married… and seven years later, he walked out on us to go live with another woman. Ever since then, my mother hates anybody with a penis, and I’m 100% sure that would include you. So, no – I don’t ever intend to introduce you to my mother. Not if I can help it.”

“But – ”

“Lars,” she said sternly. “Trust me on this one and drop it.”

So I dropped it.

Like everything else, I swept it under the rug.

There were a lot of things under that damn rug.

56

Gunnar left the military six months after we got back from Afghanistan.

He had finished the full amount of time he’d committed to when he’d joined Special Forces. Technically, he could still be called back into service at any point over the next decade – but that would only happen if Sweden went to war.

“What are you going to do?” I asked him.

“Go to Amsterdam and smoke a lot of pot.”

“You know what I mean. You wouldn’t become a mercenary, would you?”

“HELL no. If I wanted people to shoot at me, I’d just stay in Special Forces. I dunno… maybe I’ll figure out a way to combine hacking with my military clearance.”

Lots of guys who left Special Forces used their top-secret clearance to get jobs with military contractors. There was an invisible pipeline directly into defense companies throughout Scandinavia. If he could combine his security clearance with his talent for computer hacking, Gunnar could probably write his own ticket.

The only problem was that defense companies expected you to not smoke pot, which was a deal-breaker for Gunnar… but maybe he could figure something out.

“What about you, brother?” he asked. “How much longer you got on your bid?”

“A little more than two years.”

“Oof,” he said sympathetically. He knew just how serious it was between me and Rachel. “Can you wait that long, bro?”

“I have to,” I said quietly. “I have no other choice.”

57

Shortly after Gunnar got out, I went to London for another week with Rachel.

It was wonderful –

Although I still didn’t see her apartment.

And I couldn’t ask about her job.

Other than that, it was perfect…

Until the last night.

The night before I left was always the worst. We tried to put on a brave face, but both of us were dreading my departure in the morning.

To make it worse, I hadn’t deployed since Afghanistan, which meant it was getting more and more likely that I would be sent overseas for the next twelve months.

And if I got sent to a combat zone, I wouldn’t be able to visit her at all during that time.

After making love, we lay on the bed in my hotel room. I stared up at the ceiling, and she snuggled up against my body.

“How much longer?” she asked softly.

I knew exactly what she meant. “Twenty-six months and five days.”

She was quiet for a while before she asked, “Do you really want to leave the military, though?”

“So I can be with you? Of course.”

“…what if I weren’t in the picture?”

“But you are.”

“But what if I weren’t?”

I frowned. “Why are you asking that?”

“Because I want to know what you’d do if I weren’t a factor.”

I shrugged. “I’d probably stay in.”

“…do you love it?”

I thought about it before answering. “I don’t know that I love it. But I’m very good at it.”

“But you’d keep doing it… so you must love it.”

“I say it’s more like it’s part of me. I’m not addicted to it; it’s not like I chase the rush. But it’s a part of me that doesn’t come out in any other area of my life. It makes me feel alive.” I added with typical Special Forces humor, “You never feel more alive than when you might be dead in the next few seconds.”

“Stop,” she whimpered.

For someone who had a very dangerous job, she was extraordinarily sensitive to my jokes about death.

“I was kidding,” I said.

“Yes, but you were serious when you said it makes you feel alive.”

“But I also feel alive when I’m with you.”

Her voice grew bitter. “I don’t want to be a substitute for something else.”

“You’re not. Where’s this coming from?” I asked, both irritated and bewildered.

“I just… I don’t want you to leave something you want to do.”

I rolled over on my side to face her. “I want you.”

She gazed at me with pain in her eyes. “But if that means upending your entire life, and giving up something you love…”

A growing fear began to rise in my chest.

This sounded suspiciously like she was trying to back out of something.

“Do you not want to be with me?” I asked in alarm.

“NO!” she cried out. “I do! I just…”

“What?”

“…I feel guilty that you’d have to give up so much.”

I caressed her cheek with my hand. “But I’d get you in return. I’d get to have a life with you. That’s the best possible trade I could make.”

She smiled sadly but didn’t say anything.

“You could always give up your job and come to Sweden,” I said with a hint of a smile.

She knew I was trying to lighten the mood. “No, thank you,” she said archly.

“Come onnnn. I’d get you barefoot and pregnant – ”

She laughed and smacked my arm. “NO.”

“You could pop out four, five, maybe six babies – ”

She suddenly looked somber. “I’m not sure I want kids.”

I shrugged. “That’s fine.”

“You don’t want children?”

“I didn’t say that. But I want you more than anything. With kids or without, I don’t care – as long as I get to have you.” I lifted her chin and kissed her. Then I asked, “Why so glum?”

“I hate the night before you leave. When you come here, it’s like Christmas vacation. Every day is wonderful… but then the last night comes, and I know I have to face reality the next morning.”

“Twenty-six months and five days,” I said quietly.

She closed her eyes as though she were in pain. “…I know… I just wish…”

“What?”

“That I could wave a magic wand and make it go by instantly.”

“Me too, Älskling,” I murmured, using the Swedish word for darling. I pulled her close to me. “Me too.”

58

Six weeks later, we decided I should come back to London for a shorter trip: four days instead of the usual week. Three months was too damn long to wait.

It was a good thing we decided on an earlier trip because the day before I left for London, I found out I would be deploying to Afghanistan again.

Shortly after I returned from my vacation, I would be shipping out for an entire year.

As I read the orders, ice-cold dread filled my stomach.

An entire year away from Rachel.

Three months seemed like an eternity –

And now it was going to be four times as long?

Something else was adding to my dread. The first time I’d gone to Afghanistan, I’d actually been excited. I’d wanted to see combat. I’d wanted to be thrown into the thick of things.

But back then, I didn’t have as much to lose. The hardest part had been leaving my mother to deal with her cancer diagnosis alone.

Yes, I realized I could have been wounded or killed – but that was just a given. When you joined Special Forces, you had to come to terms with the inherent danger.

So besides my fears for my mother, that first deployment felt like I wasn’t giving up much. Just a few creature comforts.

This time, it felt like I was going to lose everything.

I didn’t tell Rachel about my orders. I knew it would cast a pall over the entire trip.

I had to tell her, of course, but I figured I would break the news to her once I was there… maybe the day before I left.

She deserved at least a couple days of happiness before the other shoe dropped.

While I was at the airport waiting to board my 8AM flight, I got a text from Rachel.

The shit hit the fan at work and I got called in.

I don’t think I’ll be able to pick you up at the airport.

Can you grab a taxi to the hotel instead?

I’m so sorry. I’ll get out of here as soon as I can – I promise.

I texted back, No cow on the ice. See you soon.

I got on the plane with a heavy heart, both because of the news about my deployment…

And because I was worried that her work emergency might rob us of what precious time we had left.

59

Icaught a taxi from Heathrow to Vauxhall and checked into my hotel at 2PM. Then I walked down the street to a local café to get a bite to eat. Once I was situated, I texted her.

Got here safe.

At St. George’s drinking some coffee.

Everything calm down?

Ten seconds later, my phone rang.

“Hey, babe,” I said.

“Hey… I SO wish I was there with you right now…”

“Me too. Everything okay?”

“Unfortunately, no.” She sighed. “I might have to work late tonight. I’m SO sorry, Lars…”

“It’s okay. Shit happens.”

“I’ll make it up to you later.”

I grinned. “In bed?”

“Of course,” she answered mischievously.

“Good – then the delay will be worth it. I love you.”

“The feeling is reciprocated.”

She only talked like that in one particular circumstance.

“What, are you there with co-workers?” I asked.

“Yes, so I’ll see you later.”

“Say it – saaaaay it – ” I teased her.

“Goodbye.”

“I looooove youuuuu – ”

She snorted and ended the call.

I grinned and pocketed the phone.

A few minutes later, I’d just finished my sandwich when I heard a vaguely familiar voice behind me.

“Excuse me… Lars, isn’t it?”

I looked up and saw a familiar man – tall, wiry, brown hair, aristocratic – carrying a cup of to-go coffee.

It was Rachel’s colleague from the Portuguese restaurant a year ago. His suit looked just as expensive as last time.

“Yes – ah – ”

“Alistair.”

“Right. Rachel’s co-worker.”

“Exactly. So, is she around?” Alistair asked, looking from side to side.

“No, she got called into work last minute.”

“That tends to happen,” he said sympathetically.

“You weren’t called in, too?”

“Different divisions,” he explained, then gestured to the empty chair across from me. “Mind if I sit?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Rachel had been eager to get away from Alistair last time, but I had no problem with talking to the guy. If anything, I might be able to find out a few details about her work life. Rachel was notoriously close-lipped about her work at MI6.

Alistair sat down across from me and sipped his coffee. “So… I never asked, what do you do for a living?”

“SOG,” I said automatically, then realized he had no idea what I was talking about. “It’s – ”

“Särskilda operationsgruppen,” Alistair said, even pronouncing it correctly.

I stared at him in surprise. “You know Swedish?”

“I know our NATO partners and their Special Forces divisions. Part of my job.”

“And what job is that?”

“Let’s say I’m in planning and leave it at that.”

“Well, that’s more than Rachel’s ever told me.”

“She doesn’t talk about her job much?”

“Not at all.”

“Our superiors would approve. We’re in a rather… delicate sector of MI6.”

“Is there anything more you can tell me?”

“If I did, I’d have to kill you,” he joked. “Or hire someone else to do the job, more likely.”

I chuckled politely. I’d heard a couple dozen variations of that answer from Rachel.

If I told you, Lars, I’d have to kill you… only AFTER I fucked you, though.

If I told you, I’d have to kill you… which would be a pity.

If I told you, I’d have to –

“You a career man?” Alistair asked politely. “In the military, I mean?”

“No – actually, I’m leaving at the end of my bid.”

“When’s that?”

“Twenty-four months, two weeks, and six days from now.”

Alistair laughed and raised his eyebrows. “You know it down to the day.”

“And the hour, but I figured that would be overkill.”

“And after you get out…?”

“I’ll move here.”

“To be with Rachel,” he said, nodding.

“That’s the plan.”

“Doesn’t Sweden require you to be available for involuntary recall for ten years after you leave the service?”

The man knew his NATO partners; I’d give him that.

“They do, but that usually only gets enforced if they really need warm bodies.”

“Hopefully World War III doesn’t break out, then,” Alistair joked.

“Hopefully.”

“It must be hard on the two of you. I can’t imagine that you have a lot of time off. Or as much as you’d like, anyway.”

“I don’t.”

“If you could get out earlier, would you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Alistair looked at me thoughtfully. “What if I could help you with that?”

I laughed. “Short of convincing my commanding officers I’m up to something illegal, and they boot me out instead of throwing me in jail, I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“Well, even though they’re not in NATO, Sweden is our close partner. In my job, I have a certain amount of sway. I would almost certainly be able to get you transferred.”

I frowned. “To another branch?”

“Let’s say… to an organization that lies outside the jurisdiction of the Swedish military.”

I stared at him. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Deadly serious.”

Whatever the hell he was talking about, it sounded like the answer to my prayers.

“Let’s talk a walk,” Alistair suggested. “That is, if you’re interested.”

“I am,” I said. “Very interested.”

60

We strolled through a park called the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, though the name was severely misleading. It was basically just a gigantic, grassy field in the middle of the urban sprawl.

“Two centuries ago, this was the center of London nightlife,” Alistair explained. “Gardens everywhere… drinking, eating, and illicit assignations. The epitome of scandal and intrigue. Though I suppose we still have the intrigue, just not the scandal.”

He gestured towards a nine-story building made of cream-colored stone and dark green glass.

The headquarters for MI6.

I’d seen the building many times before, though always in the distance. Rachel never took me anywhere near it.

I wondered if there was any chance she might be gazing down at us right now. Even if she was, the building was so far away that I’d probably look small as an ant.

“I can’t tell you exactly what I do,” Alistair continued, “but you know I work in MI6.”

“Yes.”

“We have certain objectives that cannot always be achieved through… normal channels. So sometimes we have to go outside of them. Color outside the lines, as it were.”

“You’re revealing an awful lot to someone you met once in a pub,” I said with mild skepticism.

Alistair smiled as he began to recite from memory. “Oversergeant Lars Henriksson, age 24, member of the Särskilda operationsgruppen. Third year in the Special Forces and sixth in the Swedish military. You were born in Stockholm, but you moved to Gothenburg at the age of four. You enlisted at 18 without finishing high school. Your mother’s name was Annika, maiden name Ahlstrand. She passed away in a car crash along with her sister Ingrid shortly after you deployed to Afghanistan. Your father’s name is Nils Henriksson. Other than the divorce proceedings, there are no records of any interaction with him after you and your mother left Stockholm. You were an only child, and your mother never remarried. When you arrived in Gothenburg as a child, you lived briefly with your aunt. Ingrid eventually married a man named Leif Carlgren but had no children, so you have no cousins. You served a year-long stint in Afghanistan – where you met Rachel – and in two weeks, you’re slated to return for another tour of duty.”

I stared at him in shock. “You certainly did your homework.”

“It was mostly because we had to check up on Rachel – to make sure you weren’t a foreign agent.” Alistair looked concerned. “Does she know about your impending deployment to Afghanistan?”

“No. I haven’t told her yet.”

“Good. Hold off on telling her for a bit.”

“When did you start looking into me? After we met that night in the bar?”

“When you came to England the first time, yes.”

That wasn’t exactly the answer to what I’d asked.

“Even before you and I met?” I asked in surprise.

“Yes.” Alistair smiled. “Our meeting in the restaurant wasn’t by chance.”

So Rachel wasn’t paranoid…

“But now you’re recruiting me?” I asked.

“You could say that.”

“Is Rachel involved in this? Did she ask you to – ”

“NO,” Alistair said vehemently. “And I must insist you do not tell her.”

“Why not?”

“Because if she were to find out, our superiors would most likely terminate her current position.”

I was shocked. “She’d be fired?”

“Just transferred. But not willingly. She rather likes what she does.”

I might not have known much about Rachel’s job, but I knew she didn’t want to leave it.

So I couldn’t tell her about Alistair. Not unless I wanted to destroy her career.

“Why would she get transferred? I don’t understand.”

“One of our organizational principles is maintaining a firewall between agents – no fraternizing or romantic relationships allowed. Not only does the policy eliminate distractions, it also makes certain that one agent can’t be compromised if their significant other is captured in the field. Can you imagine how a man might react if he knew a terrorist was torturing his wife halfway across the world? And what he might do if the terrorist contacted him and threatened to kill his wife unless he did exactly what the terrorist told him to do?”

“That could happen with a regular husband or wife,” I protested. “Someone could kidnap them in London and – ”

“True, but the odds of it happening increase exponentially if the spouse is constantly going into dangerous situations overseas. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I grunted. He had a point.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed the almost obsessive lengths we go towards protecting Rachel’s identity,” Alistair said. “For instance, how often her phone number and email address change.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m assuming she’s told you that Bauer is not her real last name.”

“…yes,” I said warily, wondering if admitting it might get her in trouble.

Alistair narrowed his eyes. “She hasn’t told you her real last name, has she?”

“No.”

“Good. We take these precautions because we don’t want her to be traceable in any way, shape, or form. Otherwise, it might compromise her ability to do her job.”

“I still don’t understand why me telling her about you would compromise her ability to do her job.”

“If you accept my offer and she becomes aware of it, then the firewall is breached. Simple as that.”

“But if I accept your offer, the firewall is breached anyway,” I pointed out. “I’ll be working for you, but I’ll be involved in a relationship with her. So why is it okay for me to know, but not for her?”

“Number one, because you know next to nothing about her job. The firewall is largely in place because of that. And number two is because I’m willing to make an exception in your case. You would be entirely separate from the main organization – a ghost. No one would know your connection to MI6 except me and my immediate superior.”

“Why make an exception for me?”

“Because a man with your experience would be extraordinarily useful to us.”

I frowned. “Where would I be doing this job? I’m assuming not behind a desk.”

“Heavens, no. Your duties would take you all over the world, although primarily Europe and Eurasia. Maybe the occasional job in North Africa.”

“Look – I’ve got to tell you right now, if you ever ask me to do something that goes against the Swedish military or government, then – ”

“Not at all. We take our relationship with our allies very seriously. We would never do anything to compromise Sweden’s government or military. On that, you have my word.”

“What would the job involve?”

“Basically what you do for SOG. In a more… focused capacity.”

“Military operations?”

“Of a sort.”

“What sort of military operations?” I asked, disliking his vagueness.

“Your primary job would be to remove certain ‘bad actors’ from the theater of operations.”

Assassinations.

I looked at Alistair in silence. He just gazed back at me calmly.

“So you want me to kill people,” I finally said.

“You kill people now. Or you did in Afghanistan, anyway.”

“I killed Taliban – terrorists – ”

“You killed whomever Sweden and NATO told you to kill,” Alistair pointed out. “All that would change is that MI6 will tell you who to target. All to the benefit of Sweden and NATO, I might add.”

In reality, it wasn’t the killing that bothered me. I was a member of Special Forces and a sniper. I had killed dozens of men during my time in the military. Looking through a scope and pulling the trigger was my job.

It was more who I would be killing that gave me pause.

“What kind of ‘bad actors’?” I asked.

“Those acting against the best interests of NATO and Britain. Terrorists… rogue arms dealers… leaders of organized crime… people like that.”

Alistair could tell I still wasn’t entirely sold, so he continued:

“Think of it this way: you can be deployed back to Afghanistan and target a bunch of low-level combatants who are basically just cannon fodder… or you can go after the people at the top, the ones who fund the terrorism and give the orders for the atrocities. The ones who profit from the death and chaos they sow. This job would allow you to lop off the dragon’s head instead of trying to kill it with a thousand cuts.”

I had to admit that was appealing. Back in Afghanistan, I’d always felt I was just killing grunts who would be replaced by someone else the next day. Except for the time Rachel came to Bagram and we took out Massoud, we never bagged a big target. Nothing ever seemed to change. Or at least nothing that mattered to the big picture. We were just treading water until the day that NATO or the US decided it wasn’t worth their while to stick around anymore.

The frustration was immense. You felt like you were punching a clock on a job that might kill you, and yet nothing you did would ever make a difference. The only thing you cared about was making sure you and your buddies came back home.

Speaking of which…

“Would I be on a team?” I asked.

“No. You would be a one-man operation reporting directly to me. You’ll probably interface with other operatives in the field – receiving support from them so you can complete your mission. But otherwise, you’d be a lone wolf.”

“And you think you could get me out of my military service?”

“I don’t ‘think’ – I know it.”

“I don’t want a black mark on my record.”

“Not a problem. You would receive an honorable discharge.”

“If I’m going to be a secret agent, won’t it be a problem that they’ve got my fingerprints and pictures of me on file?”

“If you accept my offer, I’ll have them destroy your records and completely erase you from their system. There will be no trace of your time in the military.”

I stared at him. “You can do that?”

“It would astound you, everything I can do.”

I turned that over in my head for a few seconds before I asked the next question. “What’s the pay?”

“Given your experience, I think we could start you off at 120,000 per year.”

“…pounds?” I asked in shock.

He laughed. “That was the plan.”

The military paid me in Swedish krona, but I’d grown used to exchanging my money for pounds every time I came to visit Rachel. So I knew that Alistair was offering me almost three times my salary in Special Forces. In US dollars, it would be about $150,000 a year.

“That’s… quite nice,” I said, stunned.

“Good, I’m glad it’s to your liking. There would be bonuses and raises, of course. But there are a few caveats before we proceed any further.”

“Like what?”

“My department is ultra-secretive, even by the standards of MI6. Many of the things we do would cause international incidents if it became known we were behind them. Other governments don’t take kindly to foreign agents entering their countries for any reason whatsoever – even if they would benefit from the mission’s objective. Totally understandable, by the way. We would be outraged if a Swedish operative came into the UK and knocked off a crooked arms dealer, no matter how much the bastard might deserve it. But what this means in practice is that no one can know what you do. No one. Not even Rachel.”

“If I get out of the military two years early, she’s going to want to know why,” I pointed out.

“Does she tell you everything about her job?” Alistair challenged me. “About her life?”

“She doesn’t tell me anything.”

“There you go. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

I frowned. “I, uh, don’t quite understand – ‘gander’?”

“Sorry – colloquial phrase. A gander is a male goose. Rachel is secretive, so you have every right to be, as well. What’s good for her is good for you, too.”

“…I guess…”

“Just tell her that you were hired by an organization that works with the Swedish government and that the military voluntarily let you go work for them. It’ll be the truth – she just doesn’t need to know that the ‘organization’ is the same one she works for.”

“Huh,” I grunted as I pondered that.

“Second caveat: you would be a freelancer, and our department has to have complete and total deniability as to our freelance agents’ actions. If you’re caught… by the target or a foreign government, it doesn’t matter… you’re on your own. You must never try to leverage your connection with MI6 to obtain release. We will categorically deny that we know you. If you get caught, no one is coming to get you. You and you alone will suffer the consequences of failure.”

I frowned. “In the Special Forces, we don’t leave anyone behind.”

“This isn’t the Special Forces,” Alistair said brusquely.

When I didn’t reply, he said, “Plausible deniability on MI6’s part is the bedrock principle underlying this position. You must accept that condition, or we might as well end the discussion right now.”

“So if I’m on a job for you and I get in trouble, then what – I’m fucked?” I asked, unable to hide my irritation.

“No, of course not. We have operatives all over the globe who can provide support. Plus, there’s a phone number for every mission in case you need extraction… if you haven’t been captured yet, and if you can be retrieved without implicating MI6. But if you’re caught or compromised, you will have to deal with the consequences on your own.”

I thought about it in silence as I walked alongside Alistair.

In a way, it wasn’t much different from going behind enemy lines on a Special Forces operation. There were always inherent dangers –

No, actually, it was a whole lot different.

The Swedish military would never send me on a mission and then not try to get me back if I was captured.

However… if it meant I could get out early and not have to go back to Afghanistan…

Then Rachel was worth the risk.

“Alright,” I said. “I’m interested.”

“Interested, or in?”

“Before I commit, I’d need to know exactly what I’d be signing up for.”

Alistair shook his head. “I can’t tell you any specifics without you signing a mountain of NDAs.”

Non-disclosure agreements.

“You’d tell me everything if I signed a bunch of papers?” I asked with a Give me a fucking break smile.

“To cover the legalities. If you break your word and reveal anything, by the way, we won’t bother with court. We’ll just throw you in solitary confinement for a decade or two.”

“Better than a bullet in the back of the head,” I said darkly.

Alistair smiled.

I immediately got the message:

We’ll throw you in solitary confinement… IF we don’t kill you.

Jesus.

“Alright,” I suggested, “how about I say something, and you react silently.”

Alistair looked at me with slight disdain. “Seriously?”

“Hey, you were the one talking about ‘removing bad actors from the theater of operations.’ This isn’t any different.”

“…fine,” Alistair grumbled.

“Overthrowing governments?” I asked.

Alistair shook his head ‘no.’

“Political assassinations?”

“Define ‘political.’”

“Government officials.”

“There are many corrupt governments in Africa, South America, and Asia, you know,” Alistair said breezily, as though he were discussing the weather. “Most of them aren’t even our allies.”

“Look, I don’t – ”

“You kill people for a living, do you not?”

“I do a lot more than that,” I said in annoyance.

“But it is an essential and necessary part of your job, is it not?”

“I kill people when I have to, yes. But they’re…” I tried to think of the translation of the Swedish phrase I had in mind. “…enemies of the state.”

“It won’t be any different in this job. The only difference is that ‘the state’ will no longer be Sweden… but it will still be Sweden’s ally.”

“I don’t want to kill anyone or do anything that would go against my country.”

“We would never ask you to do that.”

“I also don’t hurt women or children.”

Alistair gave me a look from the corner of his eyes. “You might have to compromise on that one.”

I gave him a stern look. “No.”

“There are female terrorists, you know,” Alistair exclaimed in a tone that suggested I was being ridiculous. “Female spies, female assassins – you might be called upon to – ”

“If hurting women or children is part of the job, then I’m not interested.”

“Alright, fine,” Alistair huffed. “I’ll make sure that men are your only targets.”

That seemed fair enough.

“…okay.”

“What does ‘okay’ mean?” Alistair asked impatiently. “Are you in or not?”

“I’m in… but I need to see something official first. To make sure you are who you say you are.”

Alistair smiled smugly. “Would an honorable discharge from the Swedish military do the trick?”

“…yes,” I admitted.

“So, we are in agreement: if I can obtain an honorable discharge for you, you accept the terms I’ve set forth in our conversation.”

I paused.

Rachel’s worth it.

“…yes.”

Alistair frowned. “I understand it’s a big decision, but I can’t have any hesitation on your part – ”

“I’ve made my choice. I’m in.”

He looked satisfied. “Alright. The discharge will be in motion by the time you get home. Don’t tell Rachel until it’s complete. And do not, under any circumstances, reveal that you and I talked – or what we talked about.”

“What should I do after I get the discharge?”

Alistair gave me a white business card with a handwritten phone number and nothing else. “Memorize that, then destroy the card. Once you receive word on the discharge, call that number.”

“I’ll need some kind of cover story if I’m going to move here,” I said. “I mean, I have to be able to tell landlords where I ‘work’ if I want to rent a flat.”

“Don’t rent anything just yet – just continue staying in hotels for now. I’ll even throw in a relocation bonus on top of your salary to handle the expenses. But don’t worry, we’ll have an entire story worked up for you by the time you move to London.”

“…okay.”

Alistair stuck out his hand. “Good to have you onboard.”

I shook his hand. “Thanks.”

Although I couldn’t quite bring myself to say, Good to BE onboard.

All I knew was that I wouldn’t have to go back to Afghanistan…

And I could wake up every morning next to the woman I loved.

61

Rachel didn’t get off work until 9PM. She came directly to my hotel, where I had dinner from room service waiting.

She kissed me, then saw the table set with food and a bottle of wine.

“Oh my god, thank you so much,” she moaned as she sat down and took a sip of wine.

“Bad day?”

“Not a good one,” she said as she cut into her chicken piccata. “But enough about my professional woes – what did you do all day?”

Talked to one of your fellow spies and accepted a job offer to kill people for a living.

“Walked around,” I said nonchalantly. “Sat in a café. Nothing in particular.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and I could see she meant it. “My job – ”

I reached for her hand and held it across the table. “It’s okay.”

“But you’re only here for a few days – ”

“And you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

She looked at me searchingly. “You’re really okay with it?”

I smiled. “More than you know.”

62

The remaining time I spent in London was a whirlwind of sex and room service. We didn’t even bother to venture outside the hotel; with only limited time, and already having lost one day, every moment together was precious.

The only difference for me was that after my conversation with Alistair, I had high hopes that everything would change for the better.

Rachel didn’t have that reassurance. She was gloomy as usual on our last night and acted a little irritated when she dropped me off at the airport the next day.

“I don’t understand,” she said as we walked up to the security screening area. “You’re way more cheerful than usual when you leave.”

I didn’t want to get her hopes up until Alistair came through on his promise, so I kept it vague. “Because I think things are going to go our way very soon.”

“Based on what?”

“A gut feeling,” I said and kissed her.

She melted into me, and we kissed until I had to go catch my flight.

I had just arrived on base via the shuttle from Linköping when I got a text to report to my commanding officer.

The secretary for the Överste – the equivalent of a colonel in the American military – ushered me in to see him as soon as I arrived.

Colonel Holmgren was a bulldog of a man – 5’9” with broad shoulders, a bullet-shaped head, and a perpetual scowl. As soon as I walked in the door, he held up a piece of paper.

“Henriksson, what the fuck is this?!”

My heart leapt in my chest, but I played dumb until I knew for sure what he was talking about. “Sir?”

“MUST just sent over an order for your immediate discharge!”

MUST was an acronym for Militära underrättelse- och säkerhetstjänsten, the Swedish Military Intelligence and Security Service. It was a division of the military but served roughly the same purpose as the American CIA: foreign intelligence and counter-intelligence.

If Alistair wanted to pull strings without leaving any fingerprints, going through MUST was exactly how to do it.

He’d actually made good on his promise… and in a miraculously short period of time.

“What the fuck are you up to, Henriksson?” Holmgren snarled.

I decided I had to be somewhat open. “Sir, I was recruited by an agency that deals with NATO. To work for them, I couldn’t remain in SOG any longer.”

“What agency?”

“I can’t say, sir. Top secret.”

“Bullshit – my security clearance is higher than yours.”

“I can’t say, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Who recruited you?”

“I can’t say, sir.”

“Does this have anything to do with your trips to London?”

“I can’t say, sir.”

Holmgren narrowed his eyes. “This is suspiciously good timing, considering your deployment to Afghanistan.”

I stayed quiet.

The colonel shook his head as he stared at the paper.

“Twenty years in SOG, and I’ve never seen anything like this.” He glared back up at me. “You sure you know what you’re getting yourself into, son?”

I decided to be honest. “Not entirely, sir.”

He sighed and stood up, then walked around the desk with his hand extended. Though he was all angry bluster on the outside, the colonel cared deeply about everyone under his command.

“You’re a goddamn good soldier, Henriksson. You’ll be sorely missed.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said as I shook his hand.

Holmgren handed me the paper. I scanned it for a particular phrase and found it: the Swedish term for ‘honorable discharge.’

Alistair had fulfilled his promise to the letter.

“As of this moment, you’re a free man,” Holmgren said. “Bit of advice?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Whatever the fuck it is you’ve gotten yourself into, watch your fucking back. Dismissed.”

63

The first thing I did was call the number I’d memorized – the one on the business card Alistair had given me.

A male voice I didn’t recognize answered with a British accent. “Name?”

“Lars Henriksson.”

There was a pause as he typed on a keyboard. Then the voice said, “Did the discharge come through?”

“Yes. Please thank Alistair for me.”

“I have no idea who that is,” the voice said in a bored tone, “and I recommend you never use that name again on future phone calls.”

Damn – the secrecy was starting right away.

“Alright,” I agreed.

“I have you with a Swedbank checking account with the last four digits of 7263. Is that correct?”

Shit – I hadn’t given Alistair that information. His ability to reach every single part of a person’s life was scary.

“That’s correct.”

“I’m wiring 10,000 pounds into your account for relocation expenses.”

I almost choked. 10,000 pounds was more than I made in three months.

“I also have a note here to remind you to stay in hotels,” the voice continued.

“I remember.”

“Good. Settle your affairs in Sweden, then come to London. You’ll be expected to report for duty next Thursday at 10 AM.”

One week from today. Things were moving fast.

“How do I report for duty? Where do I go?”

“Meet your contact at the same place you met him three days ago. You recall where that was?”

The café.

“Yes.”

“Any other questions?”

“What about my cover story?”

“Your contact will have all the pertinent information. ”

“Should I tell other people I’m coming?”

“Anyone who needs to know, tell them you’re relocating. But stay away from specifics. If you absolutely must, say that you’re consulting for a joint UK-Swedish military task force and leave it at that. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Any other questions?”

“No.”

“Alright. Goodbye.”

The man on the other end hung up without waiting for a response.

64

The next thing I did was check the bank account app on my phone.

131,000 Swedish krona had just been deposited into my account. The source was listed as ‘UNKNOWN.’

Even Alistair’s money transfers were secretive.

131,000 krona was worth about 10,000 British pounds, or $12,500 US. I stared at the number in amazement.

The only time I’d had more in my account was when I got back from Afghanistan. I hadn’t needed to spend any money while I was away, so it had accrued in my absence – and then I’d spent it on my trips to visit Rachel over the last year.

After a moment of daydreaming about what my new life would be like, I finally placed the phone call I’d been wanting to make ever since I’d accepted Alistair’s offer.

The phone rang a couple of times before Rachel answered.

“Couldn’t even go eight hours without hearing my voice, could you?” she teased.

“Nope, especially since I have some great news.”

“What?”

“I’m moving to London. Permanently.”

There were a few seconds of silence –

Followed by Rachel nearly screaming in joy.

“WHAT?!”

I laughed. “I’ll be coming to London in the next few days… and this time I won’t have to leave.”

“This is – Lars – this is incredible! But what about your military service?!”

“I got discharged.”

There was a longer silence.

When she spoke again, she sounded wary. “How is that possible?”

“It was part of the agreement for the new job.”

Now she was downright suspicious. “WHAT new job?”

“It’s a joint UK-Swedish military task force.”

“Why is this the first I’m hearing of this?”

“I wasn’t sure it would go through. I didn’t want to get your hopes up if it didn’t.”

“How long have you known it might be a possibility?”

“Not long,” I said vaguely.

“What’s the name of this joint task force?”

“I can’t tell you.”

She bristled. “What? Why not?”

“It’s classified. I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

“You’re joking.” Her tone was obviously displeased.

“Come on, now – you of all people should understand.”

“Understand what?”

“The need for secrecy in a job.”

“Yes, but – this is all a bit sudden. You’ve been telling me forever that you have another two years to go, then suddenly you call me out of the blue and say, ‘No, just kidding, I’m out – but I’m part of a top-secret task force I can’t tell you anything about.’”

I frowned. The conversation wasn’t going the way I’d thought it would.

“You don’t let me know anything about your life. I don’t even know where you live, for God’s sake.”

“And that’s been part of the agreement since the very beginning. You signed up knowing that’s how it was. But in the last 30 seconds, you’ve gone and changed everything I thought I knew.”

“Look… there are aspects of your job that are secret. I get that. But in exchange for me being able to live in London, there are aspects of my job that have to remain secret, too. I need you to respect that.” What was it that Alistair had said? “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

She laughed, but not pleasantly. “This is more like the gander showing up and saying, ‘By the way, luv, that whole thing about me being a gander? I’m actually a duck.’”

I frowned. I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about with ganders and ducks, but I refused to get distracted. “I thought you’d be happy about this.”

“I am! Deliriously happy! But you have to understand, it’s a huge change in an extremely short period of time. I’m going to have questions – it’s unavoidable.”

“Well, there’s nothing I can do about that. I can only tell you so much.”

“You do realize my employer will have questions about this as well, don’t you? I’m certain they’ll find it highly unusual.”

I wanted to tell her that we were working for the same people and that I doubted they would care – but I bit my tongue. “Let them do whatever they need to do.”

“…alright…”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Rachel finally broke it by asking, “When are you coming?”

“I don’t know yet,” I said brusquely. “I just found out 30 minutes ago. I have to settle some things over here before I can leave.”

“Okay… you’ll let me know, right?”

“Yes.”

Her voice softened. “Lars, please don’t be mad at me. It’s just… it’s a lot to take in.”

I felt dread pull at my guts as another possibility presented itself. “You want me to come to London, don’t you?”

“Of COURSE I do! This is amazing! I really am thrilled. I just… I’m rather shocked by it, too. That’s all.”

“Okay… I can understand that,” I said grudgingly.

“I feel like everything I thought I knew turned out to be wrong.”

“Not everything,” I said. “I love you. That’s why I did this – because I wanted to be with you. I didn’t want to ever have to fly back to Sweden and leave you again.”

“I love you, too,” she said tenderly. “And thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, but I was still too irritated to put much warmth into my words.

There was another uncomfortable silence.

“Well,” I finally said, “I should go. I’ve got a lot to do in a short amount of time.”

“Okay… Lars?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. Seriously. Whatever you had to do to make this happen… thank you.”

The thin layer of ice around my heart melted. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. I can’t wait to start a new life with you here.”

I smiled. “Me, too. Adjö, min älskling.”

Goodbye, my darling.

“A presto, tesoro mio,” she whispered in Italian.

See you soon, my dear.

Her words echoed in my ears long after I hung up.

65

The next thing I did was call the housing department. I lived in a furnished apartment administered by the base. Soldiers were always coming and going on deployment, so the apartments were only rented month-to-month and could be canceled anytime someone deployed. Married guys tended to buy houses near the base, which their wives and children stayed in while they were gone – but single guys like me typically took advantage of the short-term accommodations.

I let the housing department know I would be leaving in the next couple of days. They told me to remove any furniture I’d bought and throw out everything in the fridge.

After I hung up, I stood in my tiny bachelor’s apartment and looked around. Table, chairs, wall-mounted TV, desk… and a simple bed and bureau in the bedroom. That was it. None of it was mine, so none of it would go with me.

I owned next to nothing except clothes, a laptop computer, and an old motorcycle. I would probably have to sell the bike for cheap if not outright give it away.

It was like my entire life had been one long waiting period for the next stage to start.

And despite the mixed reception I’d gotten from Rachel, I was ready.

There was nothing left for me here.

Onward to better things… and the woman I love.

The news of my departure spread like wildfire through my unit.

Correction – my old unit.

As soon as the guys found out, they badgered me into going out drinking one last time. Truth be told, I didn’t need much convincing.

I was happy to start my new life, but I was still leaving behind people I’d fought beside and counted on for the last two years. Good friends and fellow soldiers. Brothers in arms. I wanted to say goodbye properly.

Which meant a lot of alcohol would be involved.

A dozen of us had dinner at a restaurant, then hit the bars.

There were a lot of questions.

“How the fuck did you do it, man?!”

Can’t tell you that. Sorry.

“What’s the job?”

Can’t tell you that, either. Top secret.

They tried to get me smashed so I’d start spilling secrets, but I never let anything slip.

“What about that hot chick in London? You gonna put a ring on that?”

I grinned. I’m thinking about it.

“Seriously – how the fuck did you get out early?”

Can’t tell you.

“You’re bug-fuck crazy, right? That’s what it is – you like smearing yourself in peanut butter and dancing around in women’s underwear under a full moon – right?”

I laughed. Fuck YOU.

“Take us with you, bro!”

Can’t do it.

The one thing I did do was ask one of my buddies to borrow his phone for a minute.

I figured MI6 might be monitoring mine, but I doubted they were keeping dibs on everybody in my squad.

Once I had his phone, I opened the Google app and searched for ‘Alistair Webb.’

Nothing came up.

At least nothing that mentioned MI6 – and there were no pictures that looked remotely like the man I’d met.

Hmm…

66

After waking up with a hangover from hell the next morning, I dealt with a few loose ends. I sold my motorcycle to another guy in the unit for $200 and gave away anything I couldn’t fit into two duffel bags.

Then I boarded a bus to the civilian airport at Linköping and got on a plane to Amsterdam.

This time, though, I didn’t immediately catch another plane to London.

Instead, I went to visit Gunnar.

As promised, he’d moved to Amsterdam after he got out of the service. I figured I’d hang out with him for a day or two before going to London.

He’d been super enthusiastic when I’d called him – “Sure, my brother, come stay with me as long as you want!”

But as soon as I saw him at the airport, I did a doubletake.

Holy SHIT had he gone downhill.

In the months since I’d seen him, he must have gained 40 pounds of belly fat.

Rachel had once said that Gunnar reminded her of the Dude from The Big Lebowski, mostly because of his beard. Now, he looked the part even more because of his weight. His clothes added to the effect: zip-up cardigan, dirty t-shirt, and pajama bottoms. Plus his beard had gone wild.

“Lars!” he cried out cheerfully. “Good to see you, my brother!”

“Hey, Gunnar,” I said, slapping his back as I hugged him. “Good to see you, too.”

“Any other luggage?”

“This is it.”

“Alright, then – let’s go!”

We caught a taxi and headed for his place. During the drive, I kept our discussion confined to our former unit and how the guys were all doing. Anytime Gunnar asked how I’d gotten out early, I promised I’d tell him later. I wasn’t about to discuss it in front of a taxi driver.

The cab dropped us off in front of Gunnar’s apartment building, an old stone building near the red-light district.

As soon as he opened the door to his apartment, the stench of marijuana slammed into me. It permeated the entire room.

The place was a disaster, with bongs, plastic baggies full of pot, and greasy fast food wrappers littering every surface. The furniture included a faux leather recliner, a threadbare couch, a couple of end tables with lamps, a rickety wooden table with two chairs, and an overstuffed bean bag.

One part of the room, though, looked unlike everything else: a computer workstation.

Five monitors sat in a semi-circle atop a desk. On the floor was a computer tower with cables spilling out of it. An expensive-looking computer gaming chair sat in front of it all.

“Throw your bags anywhere, bro!” Gunnar said as he cracked open a beer and held it out. After I took it, he grabbed the nearest bong and lighter. “You want some? They have the best shit in the world here in Amsterdam!”

“No, I’m good. Could we have a quick discussion before you start smoking out?”

“Sure – what’s up?”

“You mentioned you got a job working for a defense contractor. How’s that going?”

“It’s going great, bro! They let me work from home, and they don’t care about my ‘extracurricular activities.’”

He chortled as he gestured to the bong.

“What do you do for them?” I asked.

“Forensic hacking.”

“…what?”

“I try to hack their systems and find weaknesses and shit. Wanna see my rig?” he asked as he waddled over to the computer. “It’s super sweet.”

“Do you only hack the company you work for, or – ”

“Naah, my employer works with a bunch of other defense companies, so I’m usually trying to hack them, too.”

Gunnar typed in a password that seemed to be a hundred characters long. Suddenly, the monitors flickered to life with a stream of numbers and letters straight out of THE MATRIX. I stared at them, completely unable to comprehend what I was seeing.

“So… you’re pretty good at this, then?”

“Dude, I’m one of the best. When I’m really baked, I’m a freakin’ genius.”

“Could you hack anybody? Like… MI6?”

Gunnar swiveled around slowly in his chair. “Um… why would you want me to hack MI6, exactly?”

“I’m going to tell you something, but I need you to swear that it never leaves this room.”

“Lemme see your phone first.”

“What?”

“Gimme your phone.”

I handed it over. He reached into one of the desk drawers and pulled out a small black bag, unzipped it, placed my phone inside, then zipped it up again.

“Okay, go ahead,” he said cheerfully.

“What was that about?”

“Faraday pouch,” he explained as he held the bag up. “Blocks all electromagnetic transmissions. You know they can access your microphones and listen in on everything, right? Even when the phone’s off.”

I stared at him in shock. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. The Americans got into trouble for it a few years ago. Spying on their citizens and shit. Sweden’s doing it, too, just on a more limited basis. But if you wanna talk about hacking MI6, best to use a Faraday bag and make sure nobody’s listening.”

“Okay…” I said, slightly bewildered.

“Is this about Rachel?” Gunnar asked. “She works for MI6, right?”

“Yes – ”

“How’s that going?”

“Fantastic. That’s why I’m moving to London, so I can be with her.”

“That’s great, bro!” Gunnar said with a gigantic smile.

“Thanks. But I need you to swear that this conversation won’t ever be mentioned anywhere else.”

“Okay,” he said cheerfully.

“I’m serious, Gunnar.”

He beamed. “So am I.”

I hesitated… then decided that if Swedish defense contractors trusted him with their secrets, I could, too.

Either that or the defense contractors and I were both fucked.

“I got recruited by a guy in MI6 named Alistair Webb. I’m not supposed to tell Rachel or anybody else – ”

“And you told me?! I’m honored, my dude!”

“…you’re welcome,” I muttered. “Anyway, he’s the one who got me out with an honorable discharge.”

“Wow! How’d he do that?”

“Through MUST.”

Gunnar whistled. He knew the acronym for Swedish Intelligence; everybody who’d served in Special Forces did. “Daaaamn… dude must have some pull!”

“Yeah, but I want to know who I’m getting into bed with. I tried Googling him but couldn’t find anything.”

Gunnar chuckled good-naturedly. “You already made a deal with the devil, but you want to look into him now?”

“Yes,” I said, annoyed. “Can you do it but keep it quiet? I can’t have him find out that we’re poking around.”

“You want me to hack into one of the most powerful intelligence agencies in the world… look for dirt on a dude in one of their most classified departments… and do it without anybody finding out? That’s what you’re asking me to do?”

When he said it like that, it sounded ridiculous.

“…yeah,” I said hesitantly. “Can you do it?”

“Sure!” he said brightly. “I figure it’ll take me… oh… three or four months to do it right, so neither one of us goes to prison for the rest of our lives.”

My shoulders sagged.

“Or,” he said as he turned to the monitor, “I could just ask my MI6 homies if they know about this Alistair dude.”

I stared at him in shock, unsure I’d heard him correctly.

“Wait – what?”

“Oh, yeah, man – I got homies in all the major agencies in the world,” Gunnar said as he banged on the keyboard at a million miles an hour. “They all talk to each other, you know. I met most of ‘em in cannabis chatrooms.”

“…how is that even remotely safe?!”

“What, you mean like if there was a North Korean mole or something? After you work in intel for a while, you kind of learn the secret handshake. You do the little dance, you feel each other out, you doublecheck each other’s bona fides… and if everything’s kosher, you’re all good.”

“But you met them in cannabis chatrooms?!”

He chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe how many potheads there are in the intelligence community. Chills ‘em out enough to deal with all the fucked-up shit.”

I shook my head at the sheer bizarreness of what Gunnar was telling me. Hundreds of people smoking out and acting as back-channels to the most powerful government agencies in the world?

Insane.

…but it was a hell of a lot quicker than three or four months of hacking.

There was just one problem.

“You’ve got to keep this incredibly quiet, though,” I insisted.

“Okay,” Gunnar answered nonchalantly.

“These ‘MI6 homies’ of yours, they can’t let Alistair know that they’re – ”

“I think you need some bong time, dude,” Gunnar said cheerfully. “You want a hit?”

“No.”

“Then drink some beer, because you’re stressing the fuck out over nothing.” Gunnar smiled as he continued to type. “We help each other out on stuff all the time, bro – shit that could start World War III if anybody knew about it. Has World War III started yet?”

“No – ”

“Exactly. So chill out.” Almost as an afterthought, he asked, “What’s the job you’re gonna do for this Alistair guy?”

I hesitated about telling him, then decided he’d seen enough combat not to be shocked. “Assassinations.”

Gunnar stopped typing…

Paused for a couple of seconds…

Then slowly looked over at me.

It was the first time I’d seen true shock on his face in a long, long time.

“It’s what I do now,” I pointed out. “It’s what you did in Afghanistan.”

“I killed terrorists, bro.” He was no longer cheerful.

“You killed whoever the military told you to kill,” I said, then realized I was basically just parroting Alistair.

“I killed people who were shooting at me, dude,” Gunnar said with a slight scowl. “Are the people you kill gonna be shooting back?”

“If Command told us to take out the leader of a Taliban cell without anybody knowing we were there, and nobody was shooting at us – would you do it?”

Gunnar grumbled a little. “Are you gonna kill bad guys, at least?”

“Of course. Arms dealers, terrorists, organized crime figures – ”

“I kinda work for an arms dealer, dude.”

“Rogue arms dealers.”

“Kind of depends on who’s defining the ‘rogue’ part…” Gunnar muttered.

“Which is why I want more information on this Alistair guy. I need to know what I’m getting myself into – without him knowing about it.”

“Alright. Let me see what my homies in MI6 can tell us.”

“Gunnar – ”

“On the down-low, yes, yes,” he said, his voice finally becoming cheerful again as he turned back to his keyboard. “Calm down, Grandma. It’s gonna be fine.”

67

Isat in the recliner, drank a couple of beers, and tried to keep my nervousness under control as Gunnar talked to his network. Entrusting my safety to a bunch of strangers was not in my nature – especially pothead strangers.

Plus, I really didn’t want to antagonize the man who’d gotten me out of the military two years early. If Alistair found out about my snooping, there was always the chance he could stick me right back where he’d found me – with a brand-new deployment to Afghanistan.

Or he might just have me killed.

That was a joke.

Or at least, I hoped it was a joke.

But I didn’t have much of a choice. I had to know what I was dealing with.

After 15 minutes of banging away on his keyboard, Gunnar stopped typing. “Hmm.”

“‘Hmm,’ what?” I asked, leaning forward in the recliner. “What does ‘hmm’ mean?”

“Is this your guy?”

Gunnar rolled his chair aside, revealing an official-looking picture of Alistair. Underneath were the words, ‘Assistant Director of Operations – Europe Division.’

That certainly sounded like the title of someone who could get you out of military service.

“That’s him,” I confirmed.

“That’s from internal records at MI6. My homies came through,” Gunnar said proudly.

“Why couldn’t I find anything about him online?”

“I asked about that. Apparently, you stay in the shadows at MI6 until they absolutely have to out you. Like once you start working with politicians ‘n shit.”

“Alright, at least we know he’s legit. Thanks for looking.”

“By the way, I also asked about Rachel.”

“What?!”

I was alarmed – but also intensely curious.

“Yeah,” Gunnar said. “And there’s no record of her. Anywhere.”

“What does that mean?”

“According to my guy, it means that Rachel is deep in the shadows, bro,” Gunnar said in a wary voice. “Like, a ghost.”

Alistair’s words came back to me:

You would be entirely separate from the main organization – a ghost.

The fact that Rachel wasn’t in the databases made sense –

But Gunnar’s contact had gone looking for both Rachel and Alistair at the same time.

“Could looking for Rachel have triggered any sort of alarm?” I asked nervously.

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“Cuz my homie wrote the alarms. He’d know if somebody set a trap.”

“Okay,” I said, relieved. “Tell your guy thanks for me.”

“Already did,” Gunnar said cheerfully. “Sent him a nice package of Bubba Kush for his help.”

“You sent him marijuana?!”

“Relax, dude – I ordered it off the dark web. He’s got a private mail drop that can’t be traced back to him. It’s cool.”

I shook my head. If international security was actually in the hands of these people…

But then I remembered everything Gunnar had just done for me. “Thanks again. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem, my brother! Happy to help!”

“So what do you want to do now?”

“Well, if you were single, I’d say we could go to the red light district and spend some time with a couple of beautiful ladies – ”

“NO. I’m not going to cheat on Rachel.”

“Yeah, I figured. How about a pot brownie in one of the cafés, then?”

“No, thank you.”

Gunnar sighed. “Alright… I guess we just go get drunk.”

68

Gunnar and I hit a nearby bar, where we drank and talked about our days together in Special Forces. I finally called it a night around 11 PM.

“No pot brownies?” Gunnar asked, disappointed.

“No pot brownies.”

“Aw…”

When we returned to his apartment, I told him I was going to grab my things and get a hotel room.

“Dude, you can totally crash out on the couch,” he offered.

I thought of all the greasy fast-food wrappers and bong juice stains and shook my head. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

“You can have the bed – I’ll take the couch.”

“I appreciate the offer, but no.”

“Aw, c’mon – ”

“When was the last time you washed your sheets?”

Gunnar looked up in the sky as though the answer was written in the stars. “Um…”

“Do you have any other sheets?”

He looked at me blankly. “…other sheets?”

I smiled grimly. “I’ll just go to a hotel.”

I grabbed my stuff and called an Uber, then used my phone to scan Hotels.com for vacancies.

“I’m gonna see you again before you go, aren’t I?” Gunnar asked sadly.

“Of course. I’ll come by tomorrow morning and we can grab breakfast before I leave.”

“What time tomorrow morning?” he asked warily.

“How about 8? That way I can get a flight to London around noon.”

Gunnar made a face. “Um… could you come back around noon and book the flight for three or four o’clock?”

I stared at him. “Seriously?”

“Dude, I never get up before 11 anymore. I stopped that shit as soon as I left the military.”

“Fine,” I said. I figured it was the least I could do after he’d researched Alistair for me. “See you at noon.”

“Alright, buddy.” He grinned and gave me a bear hug. “See you tomorrow.”

Just then, the Uber arrived. I waved goodbye and got in the back seat.

As we drove away, I sniffed my clothes. I stunk like weed just from hanging out in Gunnar’s apartment for a couple of hours. No telling what I would smell like after an entire night.

I just sighed and chuckled as the Uber sped away into the night.

69

Ichose a five-star hotel. I figured I could afford it, given the bonus sitting in my bank account.

It was a wise choice. Despite it being after midnight, I got the desk clerk to have my clothes dry-cleaned and returned by 11 AM the next morning. It would be well worth the extra 60 euros just so the rest of my clothes wouldn’t smell like Gunnar’s apartment.

The next morning, I woke at 5 AM – a habit drilled into me from years in the military. After a round of calisthenics to start the day, I showered and went to a nearby café for a quick bite. Then I checked flights out of Amsterdam and called Rachel. I knew she would already be up.

“Good morning, international man of mystery,” she said cheerily.

“Good morning, equally mysterious woman,” I said with a smile. “Could you pick me up at Heathrow at 5 PM?”

“I should be able to manage that. You connecting through Amsterdam?”

“Actually, coming from there. I flew in yesterday to see Gunnar.”

“Reeaaaaally,” she said with fake suspicion. “Anything you want to get off your chest?”

“Nope. I was good – no sex workers or pot brownies.”

“Well, you still have time,” she teased.

“No, thank you. I’ll have lunch with Gunnar before I go, then see you at 5. I’ll text you the flight info.”

“And you won’t need to fly back!” she said, almost giddy with happiness.

“No,” I said with a smile. “This time, I’m coming to stay.”

70

Ireturned to Gunnar’s around noon, and we went out for lunch.

He didn’t mention Alistair again, and I certainly didn’t revisit the subject. We just talked about the old times. Then I hugged him and left to catch my plane.

When Rachel met me at the airport, we kissed.

“Welcome home,” she said with a big smile.

Welcome home.

It had a nice ring to it.

I noticed that she drove past the parking garage, though.

“No sex in the back seat of the car anymore?” I asked.

She smiled. “I figured you’re here to stay, so we can do it anytime we want. Plus, you were just here a week ago.”

I didn’t know why, but her answer made me a little sad. Like we’d lost some of the spark that had made things so passionate.

Then things got slightly strained when I realized we were heading for the hotel I’d always stayed at.

“I didn’t make a reservation,” I said.

“I’m sure they’ve got room.”

Her answer irked me, though I played it off with a joke. “When I get my own place, you’re not invited over, either.”

She gave me a sharp look. “Nothing has changed about my job just because you moved here.”

That just irritated me more. “I realize that, but – ”

“Look,” she sighed, “I don’t want to fight – especially not on your first night. I just want to pop some champagne, have amazing sex, and go to sleep knowing you don’t ever have to leave again.”

“…same here,” I said grudgingly.

When she stopped at a light, she gave me an impish smile. “Even if you never invite me over to your place, we’ll still go to hotels to have sex, right?”

I was still feeling grumpy. “I guess we’ll have to.”

“Good,” she whispered as she leaned over and kissed me. “As long as we have someplace to fuck.”

All was forgiven after that…

Especially once we got to the hotel room.

71

Rachel

Ifelt bad about our tiff in the car, so I wanted to make it up to him.

That’s why I did something I didn’t ordinarily do:

I went down on him.

It’s not that I didn’t enjoy doing it. It’s just that his cock was so big it wasn’t exactly easy for me.

But it always turned me on.

When we got to the hotel room, I kissed him. I could tell he was still a little grumpy when he didn’t reciprocate as warmly.

I could have gotten pissed off, but I really didn’t want to fight.

And, if I’m being honest, a tiny part of me wanted it to just go back to how happy we’d been on past trips…

And I was willing to do whatever it took to get that feeling back.

So I took a pillow from the bed, dropped it on the floor, got down on my knees, and unbuckled his belt.

“What about the champagne?” he asked.

I made eye contact with him as I pulled down his pants. “I want this more.”

His cock was still soft – another departure from usual. Normally when we started kissing, he was raring to go.

But I kind of liked that he wasn’t turned on yet. I didn’t get to play with him often when he was soft.

His cock was lovely… not as huge as usual, obviously, but still big and thick. It hung pendulously from his body, swaying slightly with every movement.

I took it lightly in my hand and felt how heavy it was.

Then I kissed it.

“Mm,” he grunted as he watched me intently.

I closed my eyes and brushed my cheek against it like I was caressing myself with the softest silk. That’s what it felt like – except that it was also warm. Warm and soft against my skin.

“Mmm,” he grunted again.

I could feel his cock starting to grow. I had to act quickly before it got too big.

I pulled it away from his body, opened my mouth, and slowly ran my lips over the side of his shaft, moving from his base to the head and then back again.

It started to swell even more, gently lifting up, not just dangling limply anymore.

That’s when I looked up at him…

Gave him the most seductive doe eyes I could…

And took him all the way into my mouth.

When he was soft, I could do it – and I took full advantage of that.

I sucked softly, wetly, as I gazed up into his eyes.

At the same time, I fondled his balls with my right hand, feeling the heaviness of them on my palm. I used the tips of my fingers to tickle his sack lightly with my fingers.

“Fuck,” he groaned quietly as he stared back at me. All his grumpiness was gone, replaced by a look of surprise and desire.

His cock started getting a lot bigger, a lot faster.

I felt it swell in my mouth… pressing against my tongue, the back of my throat, the roof of my mouth –

And as it did, I got wetter and wetter.

“Mmmmmm,” I moaned as his cock filled up my mouth.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned again. I could hear the desperation and need in his voice.

It was so big that it wasn’t comfortable anymore, so I pulled back and focused on just half of it. It was only about three-quarters hard and wasn’t jutting up into the air just yet, so the angle was still manageable.

I kept slowly moving my head back and forth, caressing his balls with my right hand and gripping his shaft lightly with my left.

Within seconds, his cock was jutting up at a steep angle, so I switched to licking the underside as I moved my hand up and down his shaft and squeezed his balls.

Suddenly, his hands grabbed my arms and pulled me to my feet.

“What – ”

And then he kissed me roughly.

I looped my arms around his neck and kissed him back, feeling his cock pressing against my belly.

He stopped kissing me, bent over, and lifted the edge of my skirt up around my waist.

One hand clutched my bare ass, and his other ran over my front, his fingers caressing my pubic hair.

“You didn’t wear any underwear,” he whispered huskily.

“I never do the first night you come see me.”

He grunted – then moved his other hand to my ass –

And lifted me effortlessly up in the air.

“Oh,” I exclaimed in surprise and wrapped my legs around his waist. “Do you want to undress first?”

I was still wearing all my clothes, even if my skirt was bunched up around my waist. His pants were down around his ankles, but he still had on his shirt and jacket.

“No. I need you now.”

The urgency in his voice turned me on even more, and I let him do whatever he wanted.

He positioned me just right, supported me with one hand while reaching for his cock with the other –

And put his dripping wet head between my drenched lips.

Then he let me sink down on him.

“Oh, Lars,” I moaned as his cock slid all the way inside me.

“Rachel,” he groaned, then started kissing me passionately.

I started to rock my hips, grinding him inside me, luxuriating in his length and size.

Then he began to draw back his pelvis and thrust – hard, fast, deep.

Slap slap slap

“OH LARS,” I gasped as intense pleasure bloomed deep within my body.

“Rachel,” he grunted with his face buried in my neck.

His hands were kneading my ass, his fingertips caressing my lips as his cock slammed into me, over and over.

The frenetic energy of his movements – the crazy abandon of his fucking –

It got me drunker than any champagne ever could.

My fingernails scraped down his back as pleasure built up inside me, taking me higher and higher –

“OH GOD!” I cried out as I hit the point of no return. “LARS, I’M COMING – ”

“RACHEL!” he grunted into my tousled hair, his fingertips touching my ass, my pussy, and everything in between as his soaking wet cock slammed inside me over and over. “OH FUCK – ”

And then he was coming, his cock spasming in waves as jets of hot cum spurted inside me.

“LARS!” I screamed, my pussy throbbing with waves of pleasure as his cock rammed inside me.

He eventually slowed down and finally stopped. He still held me suspended in the air, my legs wrapped around him as my own waves of bliss ebbed away.

“Rachel…” he whispered into my ear.

I pulled away so I could look him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said earnestly.

I smiled. “Fuck me some more, and maybe I’ll forgive you,” I whispered.

He grinned… shuffled towards the bed, his cock still deep inside me… and proceeded to fuck me silly for the next half hour.

72

Lars

The next morning, everything between us was back to normal. Rachel kissed me goodbye, then left to go home and get ready for work.

I didn’t mind; I had my own job to get to.

I was sitting outside the café at 10 AM sharp when Alistair walked up. I searched his face for an indication that he knew about Gunnar’s snooping, but I couldn’t detect anything unusual in his expression.

“You want a coffee?” I asked as he sat down opposite me.

“I won’t be here that long,” he said as he pulled a bulky manila envelope out of his jacket and slid it across the table.

I took it from him. “Right out here in the open, huh?”

“It would be far more suspicious if we met in some darkened back alley.”

“What about at your workplace?”

Alistair smiled without humor. “That will never happen.”

“Aren’t you worried somebody could take photos of us?”

“Not particularly.”

Okay, then.

“Open it now?” I asked as I tapped the envelope.

“Go ahead.”

Inside, I found a sheaf of papers, a cheap cell phone, and a UK passport.

I opened the passport and saw my picture staring back at me –

But with a new name beside it.

“Lars Kinberg?” I asked.

“Just for this job. You’ll get a new identity for each assignment.”

There was also a driver’s license and credit card with ‘Lars Kinberg’ on them, along with a stack of 50,000 Norwegian Krone – roughly 4400 euros or $4700 US.

“Use the credit card only if it would raise suspicion not to,” Alistair instructed. “Hotels, that sort of thing. Pay cash for everything else. Whatever you don’t use, I’m going to need back.”

“Where am I going?”

“Kirkenes, Norway. Up in the Arctic Circle.”

“Sounds cold.”

“It’s freezing. Appropriate gear will be provided for you when you arrive, but take some warm clothes anyways.”

“What about a car? Am I supposed to rent one?”

“A man will meet you at the airport with your name on a piece of paper – your new name. He’s one of ours. He’ll take you to a car and give you the keys.”

I flipped through the passport. The pages were filled with stamps from other countries – Sweden, Greece, Norway, Spain. “Impressive. It looks like I actually went to these places.”

“You did,” Alistair said with a slight smile. “If anyone checks, they’ll find airline records with ‘Lars Kinberg’ listed as a passenger on those dates. The reasons for your travel are in your dossier. Memorize them.”

Your dossier.

I thumbed through the sheaf of papers.

“Your cover story is all there,” Alistair said. “After you’ve memorized it, destroy it.”

Along with the papers, I found a surveillance photo of a fifty-something man in an expensive suit. He had curly grey hair and a worried-looking face.

“Your target is a Norwegian national named Hans Solner,” Alistair said. “He’ll be on vacation at his estate near Kirkenes for the next three days. He likes to ice fish – that’s where we suggest you take him. He’ll have a bodyguard with him, maybe two.”

I glanced around. No one else was sitting outside the café, but I couldn’t help but check that no one had overheard.

“Don’t look around like that,” Alistair scolded me. “It makes you look suspicious.”

“I was just making sure – ”

“I wouldn’t have met you here if it was unsafe,” he said coldly. “You do your job, I’ll do mine.”

Now that he was my employer, Alistair was starting to turn into a real dick.

“Study the photo,” he ordered. “I’m going to need it back when I leave.”

As I stared into the eyes of the man I was going to kill, I asked, “What did he do?”

“He’s the CEO of a company that makes munitions for NATO. Because of that, he’s privy to some rather sensitive information – which he gave to the Chinese after they blackmailed him over his 20-year-old mistress, who’s on their payroll. Rather than lose half his fortune in a divorce, Solner decided to commit treason.”

That sounded like a good enough reason to kill somebody.

“I’m going to need a gun,” I said.

“A .300 Win Mag with a suppressor and Bushnell scope will be in the vehicle. There will also be a suppressed Glock 22 for any close-up work.”

I raised my eyebrows. Everything Alistair had mentioned was top-flight quality.

“I’ll need to shoot the rifle a couple times to adjust the scope to my liking,” I said.

“Kirkenes is extremely remote. Just drive 10 miles in any direction and have at it.”

“What do I do with everything after I finish?”

“Just put them back in the car. Our agent will take care of it when you drop off the car.”

I picked up the cell phone. The screen was locked.

“What’s the password?” I asked.

“546237. The phone pad numbers for Kinberg, just without the ‘G’.”

I entered the password and opened the phone. There were only a few apps installed, including Google Maps.

I checked the contact list. There was only one number programmed in.

“Do NOT contact Rachel on that phone,” Alistair warned me. “In fact, don’t make any calls unless it’s to that number. Memorize it just in case you lose the phone, and call it when you’re done or if you get in trouble.”

“How’s cellular reception in Kirkenes?”

“The phone has satellite connectivity. It’ll work even out in the middle of nowhere. All the other pertinent information – your tickets, hotel, and itinerary – are in that packet. Memorize and destroy everything but your tickets and hotel reservations. Your flight is tomorrow evening. You’ll have to spend the night in Oslo and catch a morning flight to Kirkenes.” Alistair cleared his throat. “I know we discussed this already, but it bears repeating: if you get caught – by the Norwegians or Solner’s men – you cannot rely on us. You cannot call Rachel, your friends, or anyone you know. You cannot contact the Swedish or the British embassy. You’ll have to deal with the mess yourself. Do you understand?”

“What if I’m wounded?”

“If you get hurt but are otherwise uncompromised, call the number in the phone. They’ll arrange extraction.” Alistair stared me dead in the eyes. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I need the photograph back.”

I handed it to him and he tucked it inside his jacket.

“What about renting a place to live here in London?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about that until you get back. In fact, keep things as they are for at least a month. I might be able to arrange a flat for you under a shell company.”

“What do I do when I get back home?”

“Relax. Enjoy time with your girlfriend.”

“No, I meant – will there be a debrief?”

Alistair shook his head. “Not unless something goes wrong. So make sure nothing goes wrong.”

“When do I see you next?”

“When I need you, I’ll contact you. We’ll meet at this same spot unless I tell you otherwise. Any questions?”

I shook my head.

Alistair stood up and smiled wryly. “Godspeed, Mr. Kinberg.”

Then he turned and walked off down the street.

73

Rachel and I went out to dinner that night at our favorite restaurant. When I told her I would be out of town for three or four days, she did not take it well – especially when I told her I wouldn’t be in contact.

“I can’t even call you?!” she exclaimed.

“There have been lots of times when you were off on some mission and I couldn’t call you.”

“Again, something you knew about from the very beginning,” she snapped. “It feels like you keep springing something new on me every time I turn around.”

“Well, there’s nothing I can do about that. I just found out myself.”

“Can you at least say where you’re going?” she pleaded.

“No. I’m sorry.”

She could tell by my voice that I wasn’t sorry at all. I’d put up with all sorts of restrictions because of her job – including not even being allowed to know where she lived. It seemed to me the least she could do was admit my situation wasn’t any different from her own and accept it gracefully.

What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.

Of course, that wasn’t how she saw it. Not at all.

Dinner continued with an atmosphere of tension hanging over every word.

When we returned to the hotel, I reached for her – but she forcefully pulled away from me.

I was on the verge of getting angry when she turned and looked up at me with frightened eyes. “Will you please, please let me know as soon as you can that you’re safe? Please?”

“Yes – of course,” I said, suddenly realizing that maybe her reactions were coming from a place of fear and not some double standard. “As soon I can, I’ll call you – I promise.”

“Okay,” she whispered as she melted into my chest.

When we made love, it was slow and soft, and she seemed almost frightened to break eye contact with me –

As though I might disappear if she looked away for even an instant.

74

Rachel

Iknew it was irrational, but I was frightened about Lars’s new job.

The secrecy… his refusal to provide any details… the bizarre circumstances of the Swedish military letting him out two years early…

And now he wouldn’t be able to contact me while he was away for the next several days.

Yes, I knew that he’d had to put up with much of the same from me (as he kept incessantly reminding me) –

But like I’d said, he’d known about all of that from the very beginning.

And he had never seemed afraid about my job.

But I was definitely nervous about his.

When I kissed him goodbye the next morning, I reminded him of his promise.

“You’ll call me as soon as you can – right?”

“Yes,” he said, trying to repress a smile.

“I’m serious, Lars!”

“I am, too,” he said as his smile disappeared. “Everything’s fine – you have nothing to worry about. And I’ll call you as soon as I possibly can.”

“…alright…” I said grudgingly.

But it wasn’t alright.

It wasn’t even halfway close to alright…

So I took matters into my own hands.

When I got into work, I went to Sean Cooper in Operations. He was the research guy for all my missions and got me intel I needed on the fly when I was in the field.

“Good morning,” he greeted me when I appeared at his cubicle. “Wasn’t expecting to see you today. I haven’t got the report for Jakarta ready yet – ”

“Don’t worry about that. I, uh… I have a request that’s a bit outside the norm.”

He arched one eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“I need you to do some research on my boyfriend.”

He closed his eyes as though in pain. “Rachel – ”

“It’s not what you think. He’s former Swedish Special Forces – but they let him out two years early so he could take a job with a private contractor.”

Sean opened his eyes in astonishment. “Is that normal?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What’s the job?”

“He won’t tell me.”

Sean’s eyes widened, and he looked all around us nervously. “Um, is this a conversation you really want to have here?”

No. It wasn’t. But I didn’t really see any alternative.

“I just need you to do a search on him, that’s all. In particular, see if you can find out what he’s been up to the last couple of weeks.”

“That’s really Background’s purview,” he pointed out.

Background was the division within MI6 that researched non-essential targets…

Like the romantic relationships of agents.

“I know, and I’m sure they’re already looking into him, but I’d like you to take a crack at it.”

“On the books or off?”

Sean was asking me if he needed to keep it secret – so if something unsavory came up, my bosses wouldn’t know about it.

But if something did come up and it looked like I was trying to hide it, then Sean and I were both fucked.

I swallowed hard. “On the books is fine.”

“Alright… what’s his name?”

“Lars Henriksson,” I said and spelled it out. “He’s in the report I filed on Kabul – he was the sniper who saved me on the rooftop.”

“Ah, now I remember. Okay, give me a couple of hours and I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks, Sean. I owe you.”

“More than you can possibly repay,” he said with a smirk, then went back to his computer screen.

A couple of hours later, Sean surprised me by knocking on the door of my temporary office. As a field agent, I didn’t spend much time at headquarters, so I grabbed a temporary room whenever I needed one.

“Hi, luv,” he said brightly as I looked up from my laptop. “Fancy a bite to eat?”

“No, I’m good. Did you find out about – ”

“I’m simply famished,” he interrupted, then said forcefully, “How about you join me for lunch?”

“…sure,” I said, finally getting the message. “Let’s go.”

We took a taxi so traffic cameras couldn’t track our cars’ license plates.

Sean didn’t say anything until we were sitting in a deserted pub ten miles from MI6. Even then, he kept glancing around like he was afraid the boogeyman would pop out of the shadows any second.

“How well do you know this guy?” he asked.

“Pretty well.” Or at least I thought I did. “Why, what did you find?”

“Are you sure he was in the Swedish military?”

I frowned. “Uh, yes – that’s where I met him. In Kabul, remember? I told you, it’s in the report – ”

“Which is what I went back to when I started the search. His name’s not in there anymore.”

“It was redacted?”

‘Redacted’ meant blacked out so that only someone with a higher security clearance could see it.

“No. It wasn’t redacted; it’s just not there anymore. Now all it says is a sniper in Special Forces. Nothing about a Lars Henriksson.”

“But – that’s – ”

“Very strange,” Sean finished. “It would take somebody way above our paygrades to alter a field agent’s report after it had been finalized and entered into the system.”

My stomach churned with fear. I felt like I had walked out into the middle of a field, and someone from the sidelines had screamed that there were land mines all around me.

Sean continued. “When I couldn’t find him in the report, I went looking in the Swedish military databases – and there’s no record of a Lars Henriksson for the last 25 years.”

“…what?!”

“I checked the NATO databases as well. Nothing.”

“How is that possible?!”

“It’s not. Or it shouldn’t be. It’s like somebody erased him completely from the record. No pictures, no fingerprints, no record… nothing. It’s like he never existed.”

I sat there, stunned. “But…”

Sean leaned forward. “You need to go to Background with this.”

He meant the department responsible for checking up on agents’ significant others.

“Why didn’t you?” I asked.

“I wanted to tell you first.” Sean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “In case Background had to…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to; I knew what came next.

In case Background had to bring Lars in for questioning… and then he mysteriously ‘disappeared,’ never to be heard from again.

I nodded numbly. “Right…”

“But we have to let them know,” Sean said urgently.

I winced. “Can you at least hold off for a few days?”

Sean frowned. “Rachel, if there’s a fire here – and there’s a fuck-ton of smoke, so it’s looking like there’s a goddamn fire – you can’t tip him off. If he gets spooked and runs, you’re looking at a Section 36.”

Section 36 was the part of the penal code that dealt with high treason.

Like informing an agent of a foreign power that he was under investigation, giving him time to flee the country.

I felt absolutely sick, but I knew my duty.

“…go ahead and file the report.”

Sean raised his eyebrows. “You’re sure?”

“First you tell me I’m committing treason if I say anything to him,” I snapped, “and now you want to talk me out of it?”

Sean held up his hands like Please don’t hurt me. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it when we get back to the office.”

I nodded in silence.

“Out of curiosity, why’d you ask me to wait a few days?” Sean asked. “Why not just a couple of hours so you could talk to him?”

“Because,” I said miserably, “he had to go out of town… and I can’t contact him while he’s gone.”

Sean stared at me. “Where did he go?”

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me.”

I knew exactly how bad that sounded.

Sean’s eyes bugged out. “Rachel – ”

I gave him a warning look, and he dropped it.

When our food came, we ate in silence.

After a couple of hours trying to concentrate on my work and failing miserably, I decided to leave early. I had no idea what I would do to take my mind off Sean’s discovery, but I figured it would probably involve getting black-out drunk.

I was packing up my laptop when Sean rapped on the door again. He looked absolutely bewildered.

“What happened?” I asked nervously.

“After I filed the report, I went to Background and asked to speak to a Division Chief. Said it was a matter of utmost urgency. When I went into his office, I laid it all out while he looked at the report. After about 30 seconds, he cuts me off, smiles, and says, ‘Great. We’ll take it from here.’ And that was that.”

I stared at Sean. “…what?!”

“I know.”

Given the possibility that my boyfriend might be a foreign agent, Sean’s report was the equivalent of a four-alarm fire…

And yet the Division Chief had treated it like a memo about Casual Friday.

“Did you mention my name?” I asked, stunned.

“Yes.”

“And he knows – ”

“Everything’s in the report. Which he totally ignored.”

I stared at Sean, unable to figure out what was going on. “Does this mean… that Lars could be one of ours?”

“MI6’s?” Sean whispered. “If he is, then why the fuck don’t we know about him?”

I didn’t have an answer for that.

Sean shook his head. “It’s far more likely he’s with somebody else.”

I knew exactly who he meant: Russia or China.

“Then why was the Division Chief so blasé about it?” I shot back.

“I don’t know. Maybe your boyfriend’s already in their sights and they’re getting ready to pick him up, and they don’t want us mucking it up for them.”

My stomach churned as I realized that was a definite possibility.

“All I know is,” Sean continued, “if they don’t come to you with questions, then don’t bring it up. EVER. Because I’m getting the feeling we stumbled onto something we weren’t supposed to know about.”

I was quiet for a few seconds. Then I managed to say, “Okay… thanks, Sean. I’m sorry I got you wrapped up in this.”

He gave me a sympathetic look. “Whatever it is… good luck.”

Then he walked away.

I sat there in stunned silence.

Lars… what the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

75

Lars

The first mission went off without a hitch.

I left Heathrow at 5:30 PM and flew into Oslo at 8:40 PM with only a carry-on duffel bag. From there, I caught a cab to a nearby hotel. I ate a late dinner delivered by room service, then went to bed early.

The next morning, I grabbed breakfast at the Oslo airport before boarding my flight to Kirkenes at 8:10 AM. Two and a half hours later, we arrived.

Kirkenes was located within the Arctic Circle at the northernmost tip of Norway, on a narrow strip of land that curved around the top of Scandinavia. The Finnish border lay 15 miles to the west, and the Russian border was only three miles to the east.

It was a tiny town with only 3500 residents. However, it was a kind of mecca for ice fishing from February to May when the weather warmed up after the worst of the brutal winter. The airport consisted of a single runway nine miles from town.

Having grown up in Sweden, I was used to cold weather, but it was still a chilly 12 degrees Fahrenheit when we landed. I was thankful for my leather jacket, gloves, and the thermal underwear beneath my jeans.

When I reached the baggage claim, I saw him: a man holding up a sign with ‘Kinberg’ written in black marker. He wore a heavy parka and a fur-lined trapper hat – the kind with two flaps that hang down on the sides like a Bassett Hound’s ears.

When I walked up to him, he looked at me with dead, emotionless eyes.

“You Kinberg?” he asked in English with a heavy Norwegian accent.

“Yes.”

“First name?” he asked, checking that I wasn’t just some random asshole trying to get a free ride.

“Lars.”

“Come with me.”

I followed him out to a battered blue Toyota pickup truck, and he drove us down the narrow highway leading towards town. I didn’t ask any questions, and he didn’t volunteer any information.

About ten minutes later, we reached a tiny town called Hesseng. He drove to a small grocery store, parked beside a white BMW X3 SUV, and dropped a car remote in my hand. “There is cold-weather gear in the vehicle.”

“Where are the guns?”

“In the back, under a blanket.”

As soon as I got out of the pickup truck, he drove off.

I opened the rear passenger door of the BMW and looked inside. There was a white parka on the backseat, white snow pants, a pair of white boots, white gloves, and a white trapper hat lined with white fur. Perfect for a sniper trying to blend in with the snow.

A grocery store parking lot wasn’t the best place to check the guns, so I decided to wait.

When I got behind the wheel, the interior was cold as an ice box. I cranked the engine and turned on the heater. It blew cold as an Arctic wind until the engine heated up, which took almost five minutes.

In the meantime, I searched Google Maps for an isolated field to test the guns and found a dead-end road about seven miles away.

When I reached my destination – a snow-covered field – it had been several miles since I’d passed a house and three minutes since I’d seen another car.

Perfect.

I got out and opened the back door of the SUV. Inside was a retractable cargo cover meant to conceal items from thieves. I unclipped it and let it wind back into its housing.

Underneath a black blanket was a padded gun bag – and inside that was a beauty of a sniper rifle. The suppressor was already threaded onto the barrel, the scope was brand new, and there were 12 magazines with 60 total rounds of ammunition. Everything was white so it wouldn’t stand out against the snow.

In another bag was a Glock with a suppressor and seven magazines full of ammo – all white, too.

To top it all off, there was a digital range-finder to determine distance – a good tool if you were shooting from further than 100 yards away.

I trudged out into the field with both bags and made sure there was no one around. When I saw no signs of life, I decided to proceed with my tests.

I made a dozen large snowballs, then arranged them into four very short snowmen, each about a foot tall. Then I trudged about 300 feet away, lay down in the snow, and sighted on the first snowman. I made the necessary adjustments with the scope and took my first shot.

The suppressor couldn’t completely silence the gunshot, but it did an excellent job of diminishing the loudness.

CRACK.

The first snowman’s ‘head’ exploded into a shower of white chunks.

I ejected the brass casing and put it in my pocket so I wouldn’t leave it behind for some nosy policeman to find. Then I walked another 300 feet so I was 600 feet away from my targets. I lay down and made my adjustments –

CRACK!

The second snowman disintegrated.

I repeated the process at 1000 and 2500 feet. At those distances, I had to use the range finder.

Both snowmen exploded on my first shot.

Once I was satisfied with the rifle’s accuracy, I shot off a few rounds with the Glock just to make sure it was functioning properly. The suppressor worked nicely, muffling the gunshots to a dull POP.

After I was finished, I gathered all the brass casings and trudged back to the BMW, where I hid the casings under a floor mat. I carefully stowed the guns and replaced the cargo cover. My guess was that the guns weren’t licensed to ‘Lars Kinberg,’ so if the police caught me with them, I would be in big trouble. Best to keep everything out of sight.

It was starting to get dark. This far north, the light began to fade around 1PM, and the overcast sky wasn’t helping matters – so I called it a day and drove 30 minutes north to Kirkenes.

The town was small, with maybe a hundred houses almost identical in construction: two stories with symmetrical sloped roofs. They all appeared to be at least 50 years old and varied in color, from white to red to bright yellow.

Everything sat on a bay, with snowy mountains and pine forests flanking the water. The best part about it, though, was how the lights glowed in the windows of the houses like beacons of warmth in the twilight.

It would have been pretty as a postcard…

If I weren’t there to kill someone.

I checked into my hotel – one of the town’s few modern buildings, all glass and boxy lines – and left the guns in the SUV. I doubted anyone would break in and steal them. I also figured I would attract far more attention by trying to transport the rifle bag, which looked very much like a gun was inside it.

After I dropped off my duffel bag in my room, I walked down the street to find a restaurant. After freezing my ass off for five minutes, I chose a mom-and-pop diner and enjoyed a meal of hearty stew.

If you weren’t in Kirkenes to ice fish, there were only a couple of other attractions: the Northern Lights and ice hotels. The Northern Lights were only visible when the weather was clear, so the overcast sky ruled that out.

Ice hotels were entire buildings built from blocks of ice, with elaborate ice sculptures in the lobby and luxurious furs to sleep on in the rooms. Since ice hotels were a tourist attraction – and not really conducive to keeping a low profile – I could see why Alistair hadn’t booked me a room in one.

Instead, I retired early to my hotel room, where I stared at my cell phone and wished I could talk to Rachel. I watched a bad action movie on TV and fell asleep around 10.

I woke at 5 AM, did my calisthenics, and showered. Then I walked through the cold and dark to the same restaurant from the night before and loaded up on a breakfast of porridge and fried eggs.

Back in the hotel room, I packed my clothes in case I got lucky and finished the job on the first day. Then I carried my bag to the BMW, checked the guns were still there, and headed out.

According to the dossier, Hans Solberg had a vacation home on the outskirts of Kirkenes. The mansion sat on 100 acres of land and was bordered by a dense forest of pine trees.

Rather than attack the house and face God knows how many armed bodyguards, I decided to lie in wait.

I parked on a service road that bordered the property, dressed in the white snow gear, and pulled out the rifle bag and Glock. Then I trudged through the snowy woods until I reached the frozen shore.

Kirkenes was about ten miles inland from the Barents Sea, the last major body of water before you reached the Arctic Ocean. The area around Kirkenes included a series of fjords – long, deep, narrow bodies of water that extended far inland from the coast. In the winter and early spring, the surface of the fjords froze to a depth of 5 to 7 inches. That much ice was considered safe for snowmobiles, so I wasn’t worried about it supporting my weight.

I walked along the frozen shore until I saw the mansion in the distance. Then I lay down in a snowbank, arranged my rifle, and settled in to wait.

I looked through my scope at the three-story house. A long wooden walkway led from the rear doors down to the frozen lake.

About 50 feet from the shore stood a large plastic hut to shelter fishermen from the worst of the cold. A lot of people used portable heaters to warm up the interior.

Though I had zero interest in ice fishing, I could vaguely understand the appeal. It was a meditative experience… calming… a way to disconnect from the stress of everyday life.

Unfortunately for Solberg, today’s ice fishing session was going to be extremely stressful.

I could shoot him at any point, but the natural choice was to wait until he reached the hut, came to a halt, and opened the shack’s door. Even though he wouldn’t be facing me, a single shot to his back would do the trick.

If I missed, he would either hide inside the hut or run back towards the house.

If he ran for the house, I’d have a second chance to nail him as he scrambled across the ice.

If he got inside the hut, I would have to go out there to finish the job. Which would expose me to anybody in the house with a gun.

Extra incentive not to miss.

I used the range finder and made all the necessary adjustments to my scope. Then I settled in for a long wait.

According to the dossier, Solberg had arrived three days ago. When he vacationed in Kirkenes, he usually stayed for a week – sometimes with his family, sometimes with his mistress (the one on the Chinese government’s payroll). In the winter, he only came out of the main house to fish.

Now I just had to see if this was a fishing day.

I lay still as a statue as the sun rose across the mountains. The sky was overcast, which I was thankful for. Too much light glittering off the ice would have made it blinding to look through the scope for an extended period of time.

Around 9 AM, Solberg emerged from the house dressed in a heavy gray parka. I could see his worried face outlined by the furry hood over his head.

A bodyguard walked behind him – a tall, Nordic-looking guy about 30 years old, dressed in an orange padded jacket. He probably thought he was going to have a shit day because he had to go wait out on the ice while his boss fished.

Unfortunately for him, it was going to be a shit day for a much worse reason.

It was one thing to die because you’d turned traitor and given secrets to a foreign government. It was quite another to die because you worked for the asshole who gave the secrets away.

The bodyguard probably didn’t even know what his boss had done… although he might.

Didn’t matter. Either way, he was going to die.

Not your lucky day, my friend. Sorry about that.

Solberg tottered unsteadily across the ice. The bodyguard stopped at the shore and just watched.

Lazy.

I was confident the bodyguard couldn’t see me in my hiding place, but the guy didn’t even try.

I focused my scope on the hut and waited for Solberg to walk into my line of fire.

As expected, he paused in front of the door to open it. I couldn’t see his head because of the hood covering it, but I didn’t need to – the back of the parka was a perfect target.

I breathed out and pulled the trigger.

CRACK.

Before Solberg could get the door open, blood spattered across the side of the hut. A half-second later, he collapsed against the shack, and his body slid down face-first on the ice.

I immediately ejected the spent shell onto the snow and swung my rifle over to the bodyguard.

Mr. Nordic was standing on the shoreline, staring at his boss in shock.

I could have let him go – but if I did, he might figure out where the shot had originated and come after me.

Best to avoid complications.

By the time the bodyguard had pulled out his pistol, my crosshairs were lined up on his head.

CRACK.

The back of his head exploded in a gout of red, and he collapsed backwards in the snow.

I ejected the shell and turned the scope towards the house, watching for anyone else who might come out with a gun.

No one did.

Either there wasn’t anyone inside, or they were being smart and had decided not to risk it.

If anybody else was in the house, they were calling the cops right about now. Although that probably meant a patrol car driven by the chief of police, the sole law enforcement officer for 50 miles.

Still, I didn’t want to tangle with law enforcement. I was not going to kill a cop – not unless it was a choice between me and him.

Which meant I needed to confirm the kill and get the hell out of there.

I swung the gun back over to Solberg. He wasn’t moving, and his head was unnaturally angled upwards against the base of the hut’s door. Not to mention a puddle of blood lay thick on the ice.

There was a 99.9% chance he was dead… but I still couldn’t see his face because of the parka hood, and I couldn’t leave without confirmation.

So I centered the crosshairs on the hood… breathed out… and pulled the trigger.

CRACK.

Direct hit.

I could see the entrance hole the bullet had ripped through the hood –

But his body didn’t move in the slightest.

He was dead, no question about it. He would have at least twitched if he was still alive.

I took one more look at the house: no movement.

I grabbed the three spent casings, gathered up my things, and quickly walked back along the icy shore.

When I reached the BMW, I stowed the guns so they couldn’t be seen, hid the brass casings under the floor mat, and drove out of the forest.

Once I reached Hesseng, I wiped down the guns to remove any fingerprints – just in case.

Then I called the number pre-programmed into the phone.

A male voice I didn’t recognize answered. “Is it done?”

“Yes.”

“You confirmed it?”

“Yes.”

“Any difficulties?”

“No.”

“Good.” There was the sound of a keyboard clacking. “You still have time to catch the noon flight to Oslo and a connecting flight back to London. Any reason NOT to fly back today?”

“No.”

More clacking on the keyboard.

“Alright… it’s booked. Just talk to the reservations desk when you get there and tell them your assistant changed the reservation. Call if you have any problems. You’ll have a four-hour layover in Oslo and you’ll be back in London by 9 PM.”

“What about the hotel? I was booked for three nights.”

“You have your things with you?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing left in the room?”

“No.”

“I’ll cancel the reservation after we get off the phone.”

“What about the vehicle, guns, and shell casings?”

“We’ll have our guy take care of it. He’ll be waiting for you at the airport.”

“Same guy as before?”

“Yes. Anything else?”

“What about my cell phone?”

“Give it back to your contact at your next meeting. Anything else?”

“No.”

“Then safe travels.”

The line disconnected.

I put the BMW into gear and drove to the airport.

76

When I reached the airport, I saw the same blue Toyota pickup truck from earlier. I parked the BMW a few spots away.

I considered taking the Glock with me in case they were planning on double-crossing me, then decided I was being paranoid. If they wanted to kill me, they would have sent me to a remote location, not the airport.

As soon as I got out, the dead-eyed man hopped out of the pickup. “Keys.”

I handed them over.

“Anything I need to know?” he asked.

“The spent shells are under the floor mats. Everything else is in the bags.”

“Okay.”

He got into the BMW without so much as a goodbye, and I carried my duffel bag across the icy parking lot to the airport.

My flight out of Kirkenes was completely uneventful.

I arrived in Oslo at 3:25. After a four-hour layover, I caught the 7:30 flight back to London and arrived at Heathrow just before 9.

I wanted to call Rachel but knew I couldn’t do it from the burner – so I waited until I got back to my hotel room. I arrived just after 10 o’clock and called her as soon as I walked in the door.

“Lars?”

I could hear the fear in her voice.

“Everything’s fine,” I reassured her. “I just got back early.”

“Okay…”

Something was still slightly off in her tone.

“Is everything alright?”

There was a slight pause. “It’s just… it’s a lot. I’m worried about you.”

“I know,” I said gently. “Why don’t you come over?”

After a slight hesitation, she answered, “Okay. I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

“I’ll have the champagne waiting.”

“So… it was a successful trip?”

She sounded almost wary.

“It was fine, but the champagne’s for you. We never quite got around to it that first night I moved here.”

She chuckled. “I’ll see you in 20.”

After she hung up, I called room service and had them deliver a chilled bottle with two champagne flutes.

When Rachel walked in the door, I swept her up into my arms and kissed her.

She seemed a little stiff at first, but she eventually melted into the kiss.

I pulled back to smile at her. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” she said – but her face looked more worried than happy.

“What’s wrong?” I asked as I pushed back a strand of hair from her face.

She took several seconds to answer.

“If you were in trouble… you’d tell me, right?”

I frowned. “Yes, of course.”

“And this new job of yours… you wouldn’t ever let it affect our future together, right?”

Now I felt uneasy.

It was like she knew something – or at least suspected.

Not that it took that big a leap of deduction. I’d been in Special Forces. Then I’d told her I’d taken a job with an organization that worked with the Swedish government. Now I was jetting off for days at a time, unable to be reached by phone.

The obvious conclusion was either ‘mercenary’ or ‘spy’…

Though hopefully not ‘assassin.’

I wanted to tell her where I’d been and what I’d done – but it would destroy her career if I did. Alistair had warned me of that numerous times.

And Rachel had made it clear that her career was incredibly important to her. In some ways, it was more important to her than I was. After all, she still didn’t trust me enough to tell me where she lived or what her real last name was.

I was trying to keep her job safe and make it so we could be together –

And yet she couldn’t give me the fucking benefit of the doubt.

And this new job of yours… you wouldn’t ever let it affect our future together, right?

“Of course not,” I said. I tried to conceal it, but my irritation seeped into my voice.

Rachel looked up at me with tearful eyes. “I don’t want to fight. I’m just really worried.”

I smiled down at her, all my irritation gone. “I love you. I promise you, this new job will never come between us.”

A sigh escaped her lips like she’d been holding in tension for days and could finally exhale.

“…okay,” she said with a smile.

We kissed again, and this time it felt back to normal.

I popped the bottle of champagne. She gulped down the first glass and only began to truly relax as she sipped at the second.

We began to kiss, which eventually led to sex.

As I was making love to her – as I was inside her and listening to her moans of pleasure – I thought, This is why I took the job.

SHE’S why I did it.

And she’s completely worth it, no matter what.

77

Rachel

During the drive to the hotel, my conversation with Sean replayed in my head on a loop.

Does this mean… that Lars could be one of ours?

MI6’s? If he is, then why the fuck don’t WE know about him? It’s far more likely he’s with somebody else.

Then why was the Division Chief so blasé about it?

I don’t know. Maybe your boyfriend’s already in their sights and they’re getting ready to pick him up, and they don’t want us mucking it up for them. All I know is, if they don’t come to you with questions, then don’t bring it up. EVER. Because I’m getting the feeling we stumbled onto something we weren’t supposed to know about.

I wanted to ask Lars point blank –

But then I recalled the other thing Sean had said:

Rachel, if there’s a fire here – and there’s a fuck-ton of smoke, so it’s looking like there’s a goddamn fire – you can’t tip him off. If he gets spooked and runs, you’re looking at a Section 36.

Treason.

No matter what Lars was mixed up in, the situation was bad – but I was supposed to pretend I didn’t know anything about it.

I wasn’t sure if I could.

Then he opened the door, and I saw his smiling face…

The face that I loved…

And all my fears began to thaw the slightest.

He kissed me, and my fears began to thaw even more as I drank him in.

He pulled back and smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” I said, trying to hold back my worries.

He pushed back a strand of hair from my face. “What’s wrong?”

Should I ask him what he’s doing?

Should I tell him what we found?

Sean’s voice answered.

You can’t tip him off. If he gets spooked and runs, you’re looking at a Section 36.

But I had to say something.

I had to let him know that I was here for him.

If that meant he got spooked and ran, so be it. I’d deal with the fallout later.

“If you were in trouble… you’d tell me, right?” I asked.

He frowned. “Yes, of course.”

He didn’t take the bait.

Time to be a little more ‘on the nose.’

“And this new job of yours… you wouldn’t ever let it affect our future together, right?”

When he answered, he sounded angry. “Of course not.”

I’d had the exact opposite effect I’d intended.

“I don’t want to fight,” I pleaded with him. “I’m just really worried.”

His anger dissipated almost immediately, and he smiled. “I love you. I promise you, this new job will never come between us.”

I exhaled deeply. I hadn’t realized how stressed I’d been until he said that.

“…okay,” I said, and gave him a shaky smile.

I had to bolt a glass of champagne to calm down. It was actually kind of funny: the badass field agent with nerves of steel, who’d killed men with her bare hands – acting like a nervous school girl because her boyfriend might be up to some shady shit.

Part of me hated that. It made me feel weak. I’d never been afraid before, except in moments where I could’ve literally died.

Why was I so afraid now?

Then I realized that before I’d met Lars, I’d never really had anything to lose.

Now it felt like I had everything to lose…

And that terrified me.

I can’t lose this.

I can’t lose HIM.

I can’t…

I CAN’T…

When we started having sex, those thoughts were interfering with my ability to lose myself in the lovemaking.

I finally just had to push them out of my mind and focus on the feeling of his gorgeous cock inside me, the sensations in my body –

It worked.

For a while, pleasure was able to blot out the thoughts.

But as we lay in the darkness afterwards, and I heard his soft breathing as he slept…

All the fear came back.

And this time, there was nowhere to hide.

78

Lars

Idecided to ask Rachel to marry me.

I’d been thinking about it for months, back when I was still in Special Forces.

I loved imagining our future together. I pictured us in a house in the suburbs outside London, a two-story cottage on a tree-lined street… a four-year-old girl with Rachel’s dark hair playing out back while Rachel and I watched from the big bay window in the kitchen, me standing behind her, nuzzling her neck, my arms around her waist…

It was a daydream I slipped into often.

But before Alistair approached me, it was all just hypothetical.

Now it was a possibility… and it became even more of a possibility when I checked my bank account the day after I got back from Norway.

I saw that I’d received another deposit from UNKNOWN – this time for two weeks’ salary: 4615 pounds.

With what I had left from the relocation funds, plus my final paycheck from Special Forces, that made 9000 pounds – or around $11,500 US.

When I saw I had the money, I made my decision:

It was time to get the ring.

I figured I could buy a decent one for less than 9000 pounds. Or I hoped I could, anyway.

A sneaky little voice whispered in my ear, If you include the money you didn’t spend in Norway, you could afford almost 14,000 pounds.

I ignored the voice and decided to stick with 9000.

After Rachel left for work, I looked on my phone and found a place near my hotel. I walked over and found a charming shop with long glass counters filled with trays of velvet cloth and glittering rings.

I had to be buzzed in through two doors. Once inside, it was just me and the salesman, who was dressed in an expensive suit.

“Good day, sir,” he said with a posh British accent. “How might I help you?”

I told him I wanted an engagement ring, but I knew nothing about diamonds.

“That’s perfectly alright, sir. That’s what I’m here for.”

He rattled off a bunch of information about cut, clarity, color, and carats while I inspected trays he set out on the counter.

I must have looked at six dozen rings before I finally saw it.

It was a beautiful silver band with tiny whorls of filigree, and a diamond held in place by delicate prongs. It was unlike any of the other rings I’d seen so far.

“Ah, that’s one of my favorites in the shop,” the salesman said when I picked it up. “It’s supposedly 120 years old.”

I looked up at him in surprise. “It’s used?”

“It has a past, sir,” the salesman said with a smile. “The man who sold it to us said it belonged to his great-grandparents.”

A family heirloom.

“Why did he sell it?”

The salesman shrugged. “He needed the money, I suppose. I didn’t ask.”

“How much is it?”

“I can let you have it for 7500 pounds, sir.”

The price was certainly right.

“Why does it look so different from everything else?” I asked.

“Well, there’s the age. In my opinion, they had a superior level of craftsmanship back then. Plus, most of the other rings are of British provenance. This ring supposedly came from Italy.”

I looked up at him. “Really?”

“That’s what the gentleman said who sold it to me.”

Rachel was half-Italian.

I took the ring being Italian as a good omen.

“What if she doesn’t like it, though?” I asked hesitantly.

I was mostly worried that the ring wouldn’t be her style…

But it was possible she might say ‘no.’

The man smiled. He probably got the question a lot. “You can return it at any point over the next 30 days for a full refund. After 30 days, we’ll provide store credit towards anything else in the store.”

That was all I needed to hear.

I paid for it with my bank debit card. Afterwards, the salesman placed the ring in a tiny black box with a velvet interior.

“Would you like it in a bag, or – ”

“I’ll just carry it in my pocket.”

“Good luck, sir,” he said as he handed it to me.

“Thank you.”

As I left the shop, I felt like I was walking on cloud nine. The sunshine seemed brighter and the air seemed sweeter than when I’d entered the store.

When I returned to my hotel room, I placed the box in my room safe and started wondering about when I should ask her.

I needed to do it within the next 30 days… just in case…

Suddenly, my cell phone buzzed.

When I checked it, I saw a text message from UNKNOWN.

Meet me at our normal spot tomorrow at 10AM. Bring the phone, leftover money, and documents from your trip.

‘Documents’ meant the passport and driver’s license. I made a mental note to get them out of my room safe before I went to meet him.

I pocketed my phone and went about the rest of my day, my head filled with visions of a cottage and a little girl with black hair… and the ring glittering on Rachel’s hand as she held onto my arms around her.

79

When Saturday morning came, I told Rachel I had to run an errand and let her sleep in. I was a little concerned she might try to follow me, so I walked aimlessly for an hour before arriving at my destination.

At 10 AM, I was sitting outside the café, bundled up in a pea coat and sipping a cup of coffee. The weather was cold and drizzly. No one else was around because no one else was stupid enough to be sitting outside.

Alistair walked over in a tan trench coat and took the seat opposite me.

“Good job in Norway,” he said by way of greeting.

“Thank you.”

“Phone, please,” he said as he extended his hand.

I gave him the burner. He checked it was powered off, then put it inside his jacket.

“Do you have the money and passports?” he asked.

I handed them over.

“We’ve got something else for you,” he said as he pulled out a manila envelope and pushed it across the table.

I frowned as I picked it up. “Is the turnaround normally this quick?”

“No. The first mission was a test run to make sure you could handle yourself. This one is the priority.”

I opened the envelope and found a new burner phone – along with a passport, driver’s license, and credit card with the name Lars Andersen.

“Why don’t you ever give me a fake first name?” I asked.

“If you’re in a situation where your last name is called and you don’t react, the other person chalks it up to you being distracted. But if they call you by your first name and you don’t respond, it makes them suspicious. We don’t need to make anyone unnecessarily suspicious, so you’ll continue to be ‘Lars’ for the foreseeable future.”

Among the papers was a photo of a 40-something man with slicked-back blond hair and a wart on his cheek. He wore an expensive suit and a scowl.

“Jan van der Linden, Dutch arms merchant,” Alistair said. “He’s selling weapons under the table to North Korea in exchange for enriched plutonium, enough to make a small nuclear bomb. From what we know, there will be an auction in five weeks. Iran is said to be the favorite with a rumored opening bid of half a billion dollars. That auction obviously must not happen, and we can’t depend on diplomacy to stop it. Which is why you’re being sent in.”

“Seems like a pretty important job for the ‘new guy.’”

“We think van der Linden has highly placed moles and knows the identities of most of our top agents… but he doesn’t know about you yet. This job is precisely why you were recruited in the first place.

“I have to warn you, though, this outing will be much more difficult than your last. His security detail is far more extensive than Solberg’s, and they’ll be extremely cautious. Van der Linden has dodged several attempts on his life over the years – rivals and angry ex-clients – so he’s very careful. You should be, too.

“We have word that he’s going to his house at Lake Como, north of Milan. We’ve arranged a chateau for you across the water from his residence. You’ll need to do your own reconnaissance – we don’t have anyone on the inside who can give us details about his routine.” Alistair leaned forward, his face grim. “This mission is incredibly important… but you should not make an attempt unless you’re sure it will succeed.”

I raised one eyebrow. “You can’t ever be 100% sure – not even at point-blank range.”

“I know that,” Alistair said testily. “The point is, we don’t want you rushing into it. You have three weeks to get it done. If you can’t complete the mission within that time frame, we’ll need to figure out something else.”

“Three weeks?” I asked in shock.

Rachel wasn’t going to like that.

I already didn’t like it.

“If you can get it done sooner, excellent – but if you can’t, we’d rather you not take the shot. If you miss, Van der Linden will go underground, and we won’t get another chance before the auction. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Good. You leave Monday morning for Milan. Your ticket is in the envelope, as well as the location where you’ll pick up your car. The chateau has been rented for a month; you’ll purchase your return plane ticket when the mission is either completed or aborted. Any questions?”

“No.”

“Good. Photograph, please.”

I handed over van der Linden’s picture, which Alistair slid inside his trench coat.

“Knock this one out,” he said, “and I’ll give you a month off.”

“Sounds good.”

“One last thing… we noticed that you made a rather large purchase yesterday from a jeweler.”

I looked at him in alarm. “You’re monitoring my bank account?!”

“You’re a new employee, and trust has to be earned. Until it is, we monitor everything. I was just curious… was it an engagement ring for Rachel?”

“Why – does that violate the firewall?” I asked sarcastically. “Is it forbidden under ‘company policy’?”

“As long as she never finds out who you work for, I can live with it. So – did you buy an engagement ring?”

“Yes.”

Alistair gave me the barest hint of a smile. “Good luck. I hope she says yes.”

“Thanks,” I muttered.

“Just be sure to make it back for the wedding,” he said as he stood up and walked away.

80

Ididn’t have much time. I wanted to propose before I left for Milan, but that left me only 36 hours.

I knew I could propose to her after I returned from Italy… but part of me didn’t want to put it off any longer. I had the ring, I’d made the decision to pop the question, and I was excited to do it.

So I planned a romantic outing to St. James Park – the spot where I’d told her I loved her the first time. The plan was to take her to that exact spot, get down on one knee, and tell her I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.

Then we’d go for dinner at a fancy restaurant in the middle of London –

And come back to the hotel and make love.

Things didn’t exactly go the way I’d planned.

The rain got worse Saturday afternoon. There was no way I was going to propose to her in a downpour, so I checked my weather app. Sunday was supposed to be cold but sunny, so I put it off until then. I made the dinner reservations for 6 PM and told them to have a bottle of champagne ready.

Sunday morning, Rachel told me she had to go home to do some work for the upcoming week.

“Could we go out a little bit later in the day?” I asked.

“I guess.” She sounded more like she was placating me than interested in doing anything.

“Can you be back here around 2 o’clock?”

“…sure.”

She kissed my cheek, then left for her flat, or house, or wherever the fuck it was she lived.

I was a little unsettled by how unenthusiastic she was, but I told myself it was because she had no idea what I had planned. For her, it was just a regular Sunday afternoon.

At 1:45 PM, I got the ring box out of my safe and nervously put it into my pocket. I paced back and forth, practicing what I would say to her once we got to St. James Park.

Rachel, it was right on this spot that I told you I loved you the first time… so I wanted it to be here that I told you I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you more than anything. Will you marry me?

I thought I only had ten minutes or so to practice my speech.

Turns out, I had almost 45. Rachel showed up late at 2:30 with no apology or explanation.

We had until six to get to the restaurant, so I refused to let it bother me. Instead, I ordered an Uber on my phone.

“I can drive,” she said.

“It’s okay.”

“My car’s right there – ”

“I want to use an Uber.” I didn’t want to tell her where we were going.

“…okay. Whatever.”

I still didn’t let it get to me.

We didn’t talk much on the drive over. I tried chatting her up, but she mostly replied with one-word sentences.

When we got out at St. James Park, she looked around. “Why’d we come here?”

I didn’t want to tell her it was because it was the first place I’d said I love you, so I replied, “I don’t know… we hadn’t been here in a while. I kind of wanted to come back.”

If she recognized the significance of the place, she didn’t let on. She just walked next to me, hands shoved in the pockets of her camel-hair coat…

Not holding mine.

St. James Park was mostly empty. People with good sense had stayed inside where it was warm.

Not me.

No, I was going to propose to a woman in a bad mood.

I looked at her searchingly. “What’s going on?”

“I was about to ask the same of you,” she said dourly.

“What are you talking about?”

She looked like someone who was psyching themselves up to jump into freezing cold water and didn’t want to do it –

But then she took the plunge.

“How did you get out of the military two years early?” she asked.

My frown deepened. “I told you, I took a new job. They work with the Swedish military, and – ”

“What exactly is this new job?”

I stopped in my tracks.

She stopped a few steps later and turned around to look at me.

Her expression was defiant and angry.

I could feel all my plans slowly slipping away, but I did my best to keep my voice neutral. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

“I know you told me you can’t tell me that,” she snapped.

“Rachel – ”

“Lars, I’m being serious when I say that I really need you to tell me what’s going on – because it feels shady as fuck.”

My temper got the best of me. “That’s pretty rich, considering you’ve been secretive and shady for as long as I’ve known you.”

“You knew what you were getting into when you got involved with me,” she retorted. “I, on the other hand, didn’t sign up for this.”

“Oh, you didn’t sign up for it?” I snarled.

She closed her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Look, all you need to know is that I’m doing it for us – so we can be together.”

She looked at me coldly without answering.

“What?” I demanded.

“I need you to give me a straight answer,” she said.

“About what?”

She glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear – and then she said, “Are you working for Russia or China?”

“WHAT?!”

“Or someone else – a foreign power – ”

“NO!”

“Then who are you working for?”

I wanted to throw it back in her face by yelling, The same fucking people YOU are! –

But I knew if I did that, she could lose the job she loved so much.

So I simply said, “I can’t tell you that.”

She scowled at me in return.

I couldn’t tell her directly, but I figured I might assuage her fears if I gave her a roundabout answer.

“If I was working for Russia or China, or whatever country you think I am, how would I have gotten out of my military service early?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “That’s what disturbs me.”

“Well, think about it for a minute.”

She glared at me, then finally answered, “NATO. NATO could have gotten you out.” She paused. “…maybe.”

I just looked at her.

“So you’re working with NATO?” she asked crossly.

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” I said, attempting a joke.

I wasn’t working with NATO, but I hoped she might accept that as a possibility and move on.

She didn’t.

“Then why haven’t I heard about it through work?” she demanded.

“Maybe because they don’t tell you everything,” I said, letting my irritation get the best of me.

That made her even colder. “They tell me a hell of a lot more than you are right now.”

“Go ahead and report me, then,” I snapped.

I knew that Alistair would squelch any inquiries she made, so I wasn’t worried.

The fact that I was so confident threw her. She looked uncomfortable, like I was calling her bluff.

“…I will.”

“Good,” I snapped. “Maybe then you’ll stop hounding me about this.”

She just glared at me.

I shook my head in irritation. “You don’t trust me at all, do you?”

“I don’t trust anybody,” she said coldly.

That was like a punch to the gut.

For a second, I felt desperate to connect with her – and I let down my guard.

“I love you, Rachel,” I said quietly.

“And I love you, too,” she said, just as chilly as before. “But a week ago, you were a soldier in the Swedish military. Now you’re… I have no idea what the fuck you are now.”

I’d let myself be vulnerable, and she’d thrown it back in my face.

I began to get angry again.

“I’ve never known what you do – some spy shit. That was it. But you told me I couldn’t ask, so I didn’t – ”

“Yeah, but as I keep reminding you, you KNEW what you were getting into from the very beginning. You had to agree to it upfront for our relationship to go anywhere. I never signed up for you lying to me.”

“I’m not lying to you!”

“Okay, then – withholding information.”

“This is so like you,” I snarled. “YOU can do whatever you want, and I have to trust you 100 percent – but it doesn’t go both ways, does it?”

“I told you, I don’t trust anyone – ”

“YOU HAVE TO!” I shouted. Then I got ahold of myself. “At some point, if we’re going to make a life together, you HAVE to trust me.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t,” she snapped.

I stared at her in horror. “Shouldn’t what?”

“Make a life together.”

I stood there, slightly swaying on my feet.

If her comment about not trusting anybody had been a punch to the gut, this was a knife to my heart.

I didn’t say anything for what seemed like an eternity. Neither did she.

Finally, I spoke. “Look… can we not do this right now? Can we just have a nice day together?”

“What’s one day matter?” she asked coldly. “You live here now.”

“I’ve got to go out of town tomorrow. I might be gone awhile.”

Her eyes opened wide in surprise. “How long?”

“I don’t know. Maybe three weeks.”

“Three WEEKS?!”

“I don’t know. It might be one, it might be two.”

“Where are you going?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“And I’ll bet you can’t tell me anything else, either,” she said angrily, then shook her head in disgust. “You want to ‘build a life together,’ but you won’t tell me anything about this other life you have.”

“I’m just doing what you’ve been doing all along,” I shot back. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, right?”

“Whatever,” she said contemptuously.

We stood there in awkward silence.

I looked past her towards the spot where I had told her I loved her…

And where I’d planned to propose.

It was only 400 feet away…

But it might as well have been 4000 miles.

Everything was ruined.

“…let’s just go back to the hotel,” I said wearily.

“We’re here,” she snapped. “We might as well – ”

“Let’s just go back to the fucking hotel, please,” I snarled.

She glared at me hatefully, then walked beside me in silence as I called an Uber.

I didn’t think it was possible, but things got worse when we reached the hotel.

“I’m going to go home,” she said coldly.

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” I said, astonished at her attitude. “I might be gone for three weeks – ”

“I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Rachel – ”

“What do you want to do, lie around watching movies? You think we’re going to have sex? NO.”

“I just want to be near you before I leave – ”

“Well, I don’t want to be miserable, so I’m going home.”

I stood there in shock.

She looked at me uncertainly, like she was expecting me to say something more. To fight for her to stay.

When I didn’t, she said, “I hope you have a good trip… wherever it is you’re going.”

I just stared at her.

“Goodbye,” she said simply, and walked away.

I stood there a long time in the cold.

Finally, I went up to my room…

Put the engagement ring back in the safe…

And called up the restaurant and cancelled the reservation.

Then I raided the minibar in my room, got drunk, and passed out so I didn’t have to think about what might have been.

81

Rachel

Iburst into tears as soon as I got behind the wheel of my car.

I hated the way I’d acted towards him.

I hated that I’d been such a bitch.

Basically, I hated that I’d acted like my mother.

I wanted desperately to go knock on his hotel room door, tell him I was sorry and that I was just scared, and make him fuck me into oblivion –

But I held back.

Maybe it was my pride.

Maybe it was because I wanted him so desperately to tell me the truth, and his refusal felt like a betrayal.

I knew it wasn’t. A betrayal, I mean. As he was so fond of reminding me, he’d had to deal with the secrecy around my own job ever since we met –

But it still felt like he was lying to me. And I absolutely hated it.

So instead, I went home, put on some music, opened a bottle of wine, and got drunk.

Then I opened another bottle… and another one… and got obliterated.

I passed out early. When I woke in the morning, I felt like I was about to die… and not just from the hangover.

I checked my phone.

6:45 AM.

I had no idea when he was flying out, but 6:45 would have been early enough to catch him before he left.

I could have called him.

I could have apologized.

I could have at least said goodbye…

But I didn’t.

Maybe it was my pride…

Maybe it was my resentment…

Maybe it was the hang-xiety from all the wine I’d drunk.

Whatever the reason, I didn’t call.

It turned out to be the worst mistake I’d ever made in my life.

Because when I finally did call him…

He was gone.

Forever.

82

Lars

When I was about to leave my hotel room the next morning, I put my regular phone in the room safe. I could only take the burner to Italy.

When I opened the door to the safe, I stared at the box for the ring.

I didn’t want to leave it…

But I didn’t want to take it, either. Mostly because I didn’t want to lose it… but also because I still had a bad taste in my mouth from the day before.

However, I was afraid to leave it. And not because a cleaning maid might steal it.

No… it was something verging on the superstitious.

Like something awful would happen.

No matter how angry I was with Rachel, I still believed in us.

I believed in our future together.

The ring symbolized that, and I didn’t want to leave it behind.

So I shoved it in my pocket right before I closed the safe and walked out.

I stopped at the front desk, informed them I would be away on business, and pre-paid for three weeks.

Then I called an Uber for the airport.

By the time I got through security at Heathrow, I realized that carrying the ring everywhere was going to be a pain in the ass. When I put it through the X-ray machine and waited for it to come out the other side, I had a mini panic attack that someone was going to steal it.

The box itself was a problem – bulky and tight in my pants pocket. Plus, I had no idea if leaving it in the house at Lake Como was safe.

I mean, I assumed it was…

But I’d also assumed I would be engaged before I left for Italy.

I was trying to figure out what to do when I passed a gift shop and saw the perfect solution.

A bunch of silver chains were on display near the register – nothing expensive. I realized one of them would be perfect for carrying the ring: I could wear it around my neck and never have to worry about it being lost or stolen.

I quickly paid for a necklace, unclasped it, and slipped the chain through the ring. Then I put it around my neck and fastened it back together.

Perfect.

The metal was cold at first, but after a few seconds, it warmed up and I barely noticed it. Even when I did – if the necklace shifted and the ring moved against my skin – it was a comforting presence.

A reminder of what I had waiting for me when I came home.

I shoved the ring box into my carry-on bag and boarded my flight, finally feeling better about what had happened yesterday…

And the unfinished business I had when I got home.

I would ask Rachel to marry me as soon as I returned. I didn’t know how we would get around her distrust of my job, but I knew we would figure it out.

Before the plane took off, I wished to God I could have texted her. I even considered breaking the rules and calling her from the burner.

But I stopped myself.

I told myself I wouldn’t be gone that long.

Three weeks was nothing.

Little did I know.

83

The second mission did not go as planned.

I flew into Milan at 12:20 PM. Milan Malpensa Airport was the biggest in Northern Italy and had a large short-term parking deck. I went to the top level and found the dark blue Fiat 500X mini-SUV with the license plate listed in the dossier.

As promised, the keys were sitting on top of the left front tire. The engine was still hot despite the cold day, so the car likely had just been parked a few minutes before.

Rather than inspect the guns where witnesses could see, I got behind the wheel. The parking lot ticket was sitting on the dash, and it was just as I had thought: the car had only entered the garage 10 minutes ago.

I drove to the exit and paid the three-euro fee. Then I drove for ten minutes until I hit a stretch of forested highway. I pulled onto the grassy side of the road, got out, and went to the hatchback to check on the guns.

They were hidden in the back, in the spare tire well. They were the same as last time: a .300 Win Mag with a suppressor and scope, and a suppressed Glock 22. The only difference from the ones in Norway was that these were standard black. The others had been white to camouflage them against the snow.

I only looked at the guns in their hiding place; I certainly didn’t remove them so passing motorists could see. I would drive to an isolated area and double-check the guns’ accuracy later.

Once I was satisfied everything was there, I replaced the panel, closed the rear door, got back behind the wheel, and set off for Lake Como using Google Maps to guide me.

Van der Linden had his estate on the eastern side of Lake Como, near a town called Lezzeno. I would be staying on the western side of the lake near the town of Sala Comacina, about an hour from the airport.

As I drove, I pondered the difficult job ahead of me. Though my rental house was almost directly across the lake from van der Linden’s estate, the distance across the water was a full mile.

I was a good sniper, but not that good. 1609 meters… 1760 yards… 5280 feet. No matter how you measured it, a mile was a long fucking way.

The longest confirmed sniper kill was a 3079-yard shot by an Australian sniper in Afghanistan in 2012. But even at 1700 yards, we were talking about the 11th longest confirmed kill in the last 100 years. An American sniper had done it in Iraq back in 2004.

There was no way I was that good. Not ‘Top 20 in Recorded Military History’ good.

Which meant I was going to have to get in closer… and that meant even more difficulties.

You might be thinking, Just take a boat out on the lake and shoot from there – but the lapping waves make it nigh impossible. A tiny shift of just a centimeter could make a shot go wide by several feet.

The only way it would work was if the surface of Lake Como was as smooth as glass – and I didn’t anticipate that happening.

The next option was infiltrating van der Linden’s estate and taking the shot from land. The problem there was that the property extended for a thousand feet on either side of the villa. I could get within 350 yards of the house – an excellent distance – but there were state-of-the-art surveillance systems all along the perimeter. His security team would see me coming, so I would have to stay 500 yards back to remain hidden. And at that distance, you had to factor in the foliage between me and the target – the uphill slant – the wind coming in off the lake –

It was a logistical nightmare.

I could potentially find a position in the hills on the other side of van der Linden’s property, farther from the water – but then my window of opportunity would be limited to him walking in or out of his front door. Unless he liked to hang out in his front yard, which I figured was unlikely.

I was still pondering the intricacies of the job as I left Rovenna, the town at the southernmost tip of Lake Como, and started driving up the two-lane road that led to my rented chateau.

Shortly after that, everything went to shit.

As I drove, I pulled the necklace and engagement ring out of my shirt and rubbed it absentmindedly between my forefinger and thumb like a rosary.

I decided I would find a way to contact Rachel when I got to the house – either by buying a burner phone at a store or finding a pay phone. Fuck Alistair. He could chew me out as much as he liked, but I wanted to talk to her. I couldn’t leave things like they were yesterday.

It was a beautiful day. The sky was clear, the sun was shining bright, and there is no better scenery for a drive than along Lake Como. The sparkling water… the charming Italian towns along the shores of the lake… the beautiful mountains with their old-growth forests… the entire place was enchanting.

Even if I’d been paying attention, I don’t think I could have avoided my fate.

I went through a long tunnel carved through the granite mountains that surrounded the lake. When I emerged on the other side into daylight, I immediately saw a line of four cars stopped ahead of me –

At a police barricade.

My heart stopped.

My immediate impulse was to turn around, but the two-lane road was so narrow that I couldn’t do it in one single motion. It would require me to turn, back up, turn again, back up – which would put me in the path of oncoming traffic and would surely draw the attention of the police.

I reminded myself that It’s fine… no one knows who you are… you’re just a tourist on vacation… stay calm.

I slowed to a stop behind the last car and waited.

Fear gnawed at my gut, but I did my best to keep my outward appearance calm.

I slipped the ring and necklace inside my shirt without consciously thinking about it.

The Glock was in the rear with the rifle. There was no way I could get it out before I reached the police – not without being noticed, anyway.

I grabbed my passport, license, and the car’s registration out of the glove box. I saw that the car was registered to a rental company, and there was a receipt for when I had ‘rented’ it two hours before.

Everything was in order.

You’re going to be fine.

One car drove past the blockade, and everyone else in line crept forward.

A car in the opposite lane drove past me into the tunnel.

The second car ahead of me went, and I inched forward a bit more.

I analyzed the situation. There were two police cruisers, one on either side of the road, and two officers – one checking the traffic coming to Lake Como, the other checking the cars heading back towards Milan.

The third car was let through, and I moved up some more.

One vehicle left before I reached the cops.

The policemen were about my age. They seemed to be bored as they talked to the drivers. They weren’t paying much attention.

The cop on my side of the road waved the last car through, and I rolled down the window as I pulled up next to him.

“Hello,” I said in English as I held out my passport.

He narrowed his eyes as he said, “Metti la macchina nel parcheggio.”

I had no idea what he was saying.

“Um… parla inglese?” I asked, trying to ask if he spoke English. I had probably butchered the phrase horribly.

“No,” he snapped and pointed at the steering wheel. “Parcheggia la macchina – PARCHEGGIA LA MACHINA – ”

I finally realized what he meant and put the car into park.

“Scusi,” I said.

“I tuoi documenti,” he said as he held out his hand.

‘Documenti’ was easy enough: documents.

I handed him my passport, license, and registration.

He only took the passport and flipped it open. His eyes suddenly widened, then flitted up to my face and back down to the picture.

Shit.

I knew a look of suspicion when I saw it.

His right hand flew to his holster, and he pulled his pistol and pointed it at my face.

“Spegni il motore e scendi dall’auto!”

SHIT –

He was too far away for me to grab the gun. And if I moved too quickly, I might startle him and get shot in the head.

My mind raced.

Did someone double-cross me?!

Did van der Linden get tipped off I was coming?!

“SPEGNI IL MOTORE E SCENDI DALL’AUTO!” the cop roared.

Auto – the car – he wants me to get out of the car?

The second cop on the far side of the road looked at us in alarm, then pulled his gun and ran over.

I put my hands up slowly in the air as I said, “I don’t know what you’re saying – ”

“OUT!” he screamed in heavily accented English. “OUT!”

I slowly reached for the car door handle and opened it even slower, careful not to spook him.

He backed up three feet as I did so.

I might have been able to lunge at him and grab his gun, but not before the other cop shot me.

And even if I somehow disarmed them both, I would have two witnesses – unless I killed them.

And I wasn’t going to kill a cop.

Not to mention the motorists behind me – more witnesses.

And I would be on the run in a foreign country where I didn’t speak the language –

“Mettiti a terra con le mani in testa!” the cop screamed.

Terra –

Earth?

“DOWN!” the second cop yelled.

Ah – get on the ground…

I slowly got to my knees and lay on the asphalt with my face turned to the side.

While the second cop covered me with his gun, the first cop came over, savagely yanked my hands behind my back, and cuffed me.

Shit.

I had no idea what the fuck was happening –

But I knew my only chance at getting out of this was if they didn’t search the Fiat.

They searched the Fiat.

And they found the guns.

Five minutes later, I was in the backseat of one of the cruisers as it raced through the tunnel back towards Milan.

My heart sank in my chest as I realized I wasn’t going to make it back to Rachel.

Not in the next three weeks…

And maybe not for a lot longer than that.

84

We only drove 15 minutes, which wasn’t nearly long enough to get us back to Milan.

From the street signs, I deduced that the town we wound up in was Como – hence the name of the lake.

The policeman parked near a four-story building with the word ‘Questura’ on it. The place was ugly as could be. It looked like it had been built in the 1970s, with a red brick façade framed by pale stone columns. Small glass windows dotted the upper stories, and the glass entrance looked like it had once been a post office.

The officer pulled me out of the cruiser with my hands still cuffed behind me and marched me into the building. He took me to the back of the building, amongst a bunch of wooden desks and ancient computers, and pushed me forcefully down into a chair. Another cop kept watch over me while the first went back outside, then returned with the Glock and rifle.

The second cop whistled when he saw the guns – like Daaamn! Then the two of them jabbered back and forth in Italian. I couldn’t understand any of it.

“I need to make a phone call,” I said.

They ignored me and kept talking amongst themselves.

“I said, I NEED to make a PHONE CALL!” I shouted.

Both men turned and looked at me like they wanted to kill me – but the guy who had arrested me finally uncuffed me. He reached across the desk, grabbed an ancient office telephone complete with faux wood paneling and clear plastic buttons, and set it in front of me.

“I’ll use my cell phone,” I said as I pulled it out of my pocket.

“NO!” he shouted as he pointed at the landline.

I cursed under my breath and dialed the extraction number. I had it memorized, so that wasn’t the problem. I was just afraid they might not answer once they saw where I was calling from.

I was in luck; someone did answer – a male voice, although this one had a vaguely Eastern European accent.

“Who is this?” the voice asked.

“Lars Andersen,” I said, giving him my name for the mission.

“You appear to be calling from a police station in Como, Italy.”

“Yes. I’ve had a bit of a problem – ”

“Are you under arrest?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why do you THINK you’re under arrest?”

I hesitated, then answered, “They found guns in my car – ”

“What was your name again?” the voice interrupted.

“Lars Andersen.”

“I don’t know any ‘Lars Andersen.’ Don’t call this number again.”

And he hung up.

I felt absolutely sick to my stomach.

Not because I was surprised –

But because the conversation had gone exactly as I feared it would.

Alistair’s warning echoed in my head:

If you’re caught… by the target or a foreign government, it doesn’t matter… you’re on your own. You must never try to leverage your connection with MI6 to obtain release. We will categorically deny that we know you. If you get caught, no one is coming to get you. You and you alone will suffer the consequences of failure.

The phone call just confirmed my greatest fear:

I was well and truly fucked.

85

The cops put me through the booking process. When they asked me my name and address, I gave them the name on the passport and the made-up address listed in the dossier.

Then came the fingerprinting and photographs. As they inked my fingers and pressed them onto cards, I wondered if Alistair had actually been able to remove my prints from Swedish military records… and if not, whether they would show up in a background search.

They took my phone and wallet. The other cop back at the roadblock already had my car keys; I assumed he had moved the Fiat off the narrow two-lane road until a tow truck could arrive to impound it.

Then they took my necklace and Rachel’s engagement ring.

The cop who’d arrested me pulled it roughly from around my head. I was handcuffed, so there was nothing I could do to stop him.

“Hey,” I snapped.

The cop looked at the ring, laughed, and showed it to the clerk behind the desk. They jabbered back and forth in Italian.

“HEY!” I yelled at him.

The cop sneered at me as he handed the jewelry to the clerk, who wrote something down on a piece of paper and then dropped the ring and necklace into a big yellow envelope.

“I want that back, motherfucker,” I snarled at the clerk. “If anyone steals it, I will fucking hunt them down. Do you understand me?”

Of course he didn’t understand the words – he didn’t speak English well enough – but he looked frightened enough by my tone of voice that I figured I’d made my point.

The arresting cop hoisted me roughly to my feet, marched me into a cramped interrogation room, and handcuffed me to a desk that was bolted to the concrete floor.

“Lawyer,” I snapped.

Actually, I also said ‘avocat.’ I had no idea if that was the Italian word for lawyer, but I vaguely remembered it from a high school French course I’d failed.

It must have meant something, because the cop looked at me in disgust before he left.

I waited for three hours. No water, no bathroom breaks, no food.

Finally the door opened, and a guy in glasses and a cheap suit walked through the door with a briefcase. He probably wasn’t much younger than I was, but his baby face and wisps of facial hair made him look like a goddamn teenager.

“Um, tu sei… Lars Andersen?” he asked as he peered down at a file in his hand.

“Yes, I’m Lars Andersen – but I don’t speak Italian.”

The lawyer sank down in the chair opposite me and smiled apologetically. “My English-a… not so good,” he said in a thick Italian accent.

“Are you a public defender?” I asked.

He stared at me like he didn’t understand.

Jesus Christ, this was a fucking nightmare.

“The court sent you?”

“Uh… me… I am avvocato.”

So I’d been close when I’d said ‘avocat.’

“Why was I arrested?” I asked.

He gave me a confused look.

I pointed down. “Why am I here?”

“Ah. Guns.” He pointed his forefinger and cocked his thumb like a pistol.

“Why was I stopped, though? They didn’t know I had the guns.”

“Uh…” He fumbled through his papers, then showed me a picture: a scowling mugshot of a blond man who looked nothing like me. “Look… for you.”

“That’s not ME,” I snapped.

The lawyer gave me a shit-eating grin like, Yeah, ain’t THAT a bitch.

“Yes, but… they stop. You have guns. Bad, very bad.”

Between the guns not being registered to me AND the suppressors, I figured it would be ‘very bad’ indeed. But it also seemed like a search based on mistaken identity shouldn’t hold up in court.

“They made a mistake,” I said, pointing at the photograph. “They searched the wrong man.”

The lawyer smiled apologetically and shrugged. “Eh… sfortuna. Bad luck.”

Yeah, the very worst luck imaginable…

If it was a case of luck at all.

I kept turning it over and over in my head:

Had someone at MI6 double-crossed me?

Did Alistair have a mole he didn’t know about? Maybe someone on the Dutch arms merchant’s payroll? He’d mentioned that van der Linden probably knew about other MI6 field agents, which was why I’d been selected.

Had van der Linden found out about me, too?

“How bad is it?” I asked the lawyer.

“Um… the guns, no record… the, um…”

He clenched his left hand into a fist, made his right hand into a gun, and stuck the tip of his forefinger into the hole of his fist.

Someone else might have mistaken it for an obscene gesture, but I knew exactly what he meant.

“The suppressors,” I suggested.

“Si, suppressors. Illegale, molto illegale.”

Illegal… very illegal.

“How long in jail?” I asked.

He shrugged. “…five?”

Five months?

That wasn’t so bad.

But he wasn’t finished.

“With suppressors… six… seven years?”

I stared at him in horror. “YEARS?!”

He winced sympathetically. “Molto illegale.”

FUCK me.

86

My court-appointed lawyer wasn’t good for much, but at least he got me a couple more phone calls.

The first one was to Rachel.

I dreaded it, but it couldn’t be helped. She worked at MI6. If anyone could get me out of this, she could. Even if that wasn’t an option, she could still wire me the money to get a better lawyer – one who spoke English.

I’d made it a habit to memorize her phone numbers as they changed from month to month. It was standard practice in Special Forces when given info you could not afford to lose.

Memorizing her number had been a pain in the ass since it changed every four to six weeks – but at least I knew it.

So I was beyond horrified when I dialed the number and heard the recorded message, “The number you have called has been disconnected. If you believe this is in error, please hang up and try again.”

“No… no,” I whispered.

I hung up and called again. Maybe I had misdialed – maybe my fingers had slipped –

“The number you have called has been disconnected. If you believe this is in – ”

“NO!” I yelled as I slammed down the receiver.

Every cop in the room turned towards me with their hands on their pistols.

“Scusi,” I said hoarsely, then set about dialing every number she’d had over the last 12 months.

Almost every single one of them was disconnected.

The two that weren’t disconnected were answered by people who told me, “Wrong number.”

SHIT.

Rachel’s cell number had only changed three weeks ago. She wasn’t due for another one for at least a week.

If she’d known her phone number was about to be changed, she would have told me before I left.

Had Alistair changed it so I couldn’t reach her? Because of his goddamn ‘firewall’?

He’d decided to burn me.

To make sure there was no one I could turn to.

Little did he know there was still one person I could count on.

I dialed and prayed that I wasn’t about to get fucked on this one, too.

A cheerful pothead’s voice answered. “Hello?”

THANK GOD.

“Gunnar, this is Lars,” I said in Swedish. I figured the cops were probably taping the phone call, so they would figure out what I said eventually – but I didn’t have to make it easy for them.

“Heyyyy, my brother! Are you in Italy right now? Cuz on caller ID it says – ”

“Yes, I am. And I got arrested for having some guns, so now I’m looking at 6 or 7 years in the slammer.”

“Oh SHIT…”

“Yeah. Listen, man – I need your help in a big way.”

“Anything I can do for you, brother, I’ll do!”

“I need you to find an attorney in Como, Italy – near Lake Como – who speaks English. Or a lawyer in Milan, that’ll do fine. I need you to hire them to represent me – Lars Andersen. Got that? Lars ANDERSEN.”

Gunnar knew something was up, but he didn’t say anything. “…okay…”

“And can you please front me the money? I’ll pay you back – I hate to ask, but – ”

“No problem, brother. I got you.”

“One other thing. I need you to find Rachel. I need you to track her down.”

“Um… yeah… remember I tried to do that one time, and it was impossible?”

“Gunnar, I NEED you to find her and let her know what’s happening. Please. Can you do that for me?”

“…I can try…”

“That’s all I can ask.”

The cop sitting near me made a circling motion with his finger like Wrap it up.

“They’re telling me I’ve got to go, Gunnar, so please – find that lawyer. AND Rachel. I really need your help, man.”

“I got you, bro. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Thank you.”

The cop tapped the phone like he was going to press the receiver down and end the call.

“I’ve got to go – thanks again, Gunnar. I owe you my life.”

“Sure thing, Lars – stay strong – ”

The cop pressed the button and hung up the call.

87

Gunnar came through for me – at least on the lawyer.

Silvia Altamura was around 50 and had a successful career as a defense attorney in Milan. She explained that the gun laws in Italy were extremely strict because of the anti-mafia code that had been enacted 40 years ago.

In my case, the suppressors on the guns made everything much worse. Suppressors were restricted accessories that could only lawfully be sold to the armed forces, police, and government agencies. Possession of an unregistered suppressor would double or triple my jail time if I was found guilty.

In Italy, people believed that only assassins used suppressors.

In my case, they weren’t wrong.

The good news: Silvia had an excellent working relationship with the district prosecutor for Milan, which is where I would be tried if the case went to trial. At Silvia’s urging, the prosecutor had agreed to drop the suppressors charge.

The bad news: in order for the charge to be dropped, I had to plead guilty to possession of unregistered guns.

Which meant I was looking at 5 years in jail.

When she came to visit me in my temporary holding cell, I asked, “What are the chances of you being able to get me a ‘not guilty’ verdict if we go to trial?”

“Do you have a better reason than you didn’t know the guns were there?” she asked with mild amusement.

“No.”

When I was first caught, I had called MI6 to see if they would extract me, yes – but once they refused, I accepted my fate as gracefully as I could. I wasn’t going to rat them out to keep myself out of jail.

First and foremost, I was a soldier. I had taken the mission knowing the risks. Alistair had repeatedly warned me what would happen if I got caught. Just because things hadn’t gone my way didn’t mean I was going to go back on my word to keep MI6 out of it.

Because of that, I had steadfastly maintained that the guns weren’t mine – that they were there when I rented the car.

However, it didn’t help that the cops couldn’t locate the company that had rented me the car.

Which made sense since it didn’t exist.

Which I’m sure the prosecutor would use as the final nail to pound into my coffin.

“Unless you come up with a better explanation, then your chances are very bad,” Silvia explained. “In Italy, there is no jury – there is a panel of judges. This is a problem. There was recently a scandal where a member of the Cosa Nostra pled guilty to bribing judges, so public sentiment is very strong against the judiciary at the moment. As a result, judges are giving harsh sentences and trying to avoid any appearance of corruption. You really should take the plea deal. If the judges convict you with the suppressors charge attached, you could potentially serve 15 years.”

Jesus.

But I grabbed onto something she’d said like a drowning man grasping at straws.

“Judges can be bribed?” I asked.

Silvia got a steely look in her eyes. “They could… before. But this is the realm of the mafia, and I am not that kind of lawyer. If that is something you wish to consider, you need to find someone else to represent you.”

“How much would you charge if we went to trial?”

“You were caught with the guns. You have not given a compelling reason why you had them. It’s a, how do you say – open and shut case. You would be wasting your money to pay me to go to trial.”

“Just tell me how much.”

“An additional 15,000 euros to prepare the case, plus one day of trial. It will be more if the case goes longer than one day… although I don’t think it will.”

Gunnar had already paid Silvia 5000 euros. I couldn’t ask him to front me another 15 grand.

“Hypothetically… how much would it cost to bribe a judge?” I asked.

Silvia looked irritated at the question, but she at least gave me an answer. “Before the scandal… 50,000 euros. Now? Triple that. And if you are caught trying to bribe a judge… if the attorney is caught trying to bribe the judge… it is an automatic 20-year sentence. That is why I will not risk it. And it is 20 years for the judge, too, which is why none of them will risk it, unless they are paid extreme amounts of money.”

Fuck.

I wouldn’t feel bad about bribing a judge. After all, I was here at the behest of the United Kingdom and her Majesty’s Secret Service.

I just didn’t have anywhere near that kind of money.

I stared down at the floor and ran the calculations in my head.

In the end, there was only one answer.

“Alright… take the plea deal,” I muttered.

“Very wise.” She sounded relieved, but it was quickly replaced by worry. “There is one more thing I should tell you.”

I looked up at her and waited for the other shoe to drop. “What?”

“Because this will be viewed as a mafia-style crime, and because judges are trying to appear tough… you will likely be sentenced to a prison full of mafiosos.”

“Which means what, exactly?”

“There will be very dangerous men in prison with you.”

Great.

“But the odds of me getting a ‘not guilty’ verdict are incredibly low, right?” I asked.

“Correct. Practically nonexistent.”

I leaned back in my chair. “I can handle dangerous men. You just get me the smallest amount of time in prison that you can.”

She nodded. “I will do my best.”

88

Silvia pled guilty on my behalf. Two days later, I appeared in court in shackles to hear my sentence: five years in San Vittore, a prison in Milan.

Silvia looked unhappy after the sentence was handed down.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered before the bailiff came to take me away.

“San Vittore is a very bad place,” she said. “Many mafiosos.”

“It’s alright. You did your best, and I’m grateful. But I need one more thing.”

“What?” she asked, probably wondering if I would ask her to bribe a prison official.

“I need one last phone call before I go to prison.”

“That I can do,” she replied.

As far as I was concerned, Gunnar had really come through for me. Hiring Silvia had allowed me to sidestep the worst of the charges and turn a 15-year sentence into five. Not the best situation possible, but it was one I could live with.

Unfortunately, there was one place where Gunnar hadn’t come through for me: finding Rachel.

“I’m sorry, man,” he said miserably. “I’ve hacked everything I could think of – property records, traffic court, marriage and divorce records, the postal service… there’s no mention of her anywhere. I’ve done scans on the deep web – ”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Just keep looking. Please. I need her to know that I didn’t just disappear. I need her to know what happened to me.”

“I’ll try, but…”

“Don’t worry about that right now. I want you to know you’re the best friend I ever had. You really came through for me with that lawyer. I’ll pay you back the money someday, I swear.”

“Bro, don’t even worry about the money. I’d pay a whole lot more if I could get you out – ”

“It’s okay, Gunnar. I’ll be fine.”

“But you’re going in there with some real sharks, bro…”

“Yeah, but I’m the Great White. You and me, we fought the Taliban. These mafia motherfuckers? They better be frightened of me.”

Gunnar laughed, then turned somber. “Give ‘em hell, my brother.”

“I will.”

“While you’re in there, call me collect if you need ANYTHING. Money for the commissary – if I need to pay somebody off to keep you safe – ”

“I’ll be fine,” I promised him. “I can do the time standing on my head. Just… find Rachel. That’s all I care about: find Rachel.”

“I will.” He was silent for a second, then said, “You take care of yourself, brother.”

“You, too, man. And thanks again.”

When I hung up the phone, it felt like a huge stone slab had slammed down…

Severing my only connection to the outside world…

Cutting off all light…

And hope.

89

Rachel

The evening after Lars left, I finally texted him.

I’m sorry for yesterday. Can you please call me when you get this?

I didn’t hear from him.

Three days went by without a single word.

I was furious, even though I knew it was illogical. I reminded myself that he’d told me he would be out of contact every time he went out of town… and that this time, it might be as long as three weeks.

But I was still angry at him.

More than that, though, I missed him horribly.

I went through the motions of daily life – getting up, going to work, coming back home – but all I could think about was him. I could barely sleep, I was so miserable.

Seven days later, I got a work assignment. I had to go to Argentina to take care of a suspected terrorist in Buenos Aires.

So I called Lars.

It went straight to voicemail, indicating that his phone was shut off.

“Hey, it’s been almost a week since you left. I know you might not get this message for another week or two, but I wanted to let you know I’ve been called out of town unexpectedly. I’ll probably be gone for three or four days… and out of contact. Yes, I’m aware of the irony,” I said wryly, “but I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring your calls if you tried to reach me and couldn’t. I’ll call you as soon as I get back into town.”

I paused.

“I love you. I miss you.”

Another pause.

“Call me,” I said, then hung up the phone.

He didn’t call before I left.

Argentina was a clusterfuck and took twice as long as expected.

I flew back into London eight days after I’d left – a full 19 days after our fight in St. James Park.

The first thing I did when I got back to my house was check my personal phone, which I’d left at home.

Nothing.

Oh, there were plenty of voicemails from work, and even a vicious one from my mother – You ungrateful brat, you never call! –

But nothing from Lars.

I phoned him and immediately got sent to voicemail.

“Hey, babe, I just got back into town,” I said with a false breeziness. “I still haven’t heard from you. Call me.”

Another two days went by without hearing from him.

Then four…

Then six…

When I reached the three-week mark – the longest he said he’d be gone – I called him again.

“Hey… I know you might still be out of town, but I’m starting to get really worried. Please call me, okay?”

I paced nervously for hours and chewed my fingernails – something I hadn’t done since I was seven years old.

Then I started calling all the hospitals in Greater London, asking if a Lars Henriksson had been admitted in the last three weeks. No one had any information whatsoever.

When I still hadn’t heard from Lars the next morning, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

When I went into work, I made a beeline for Sean.

“You look like shit,” he said as soon as he saw me.

“Thanks,” I snapped.

But I knew it was true. I’d lost several pounds from not eating, and I had dark circles under my eyes from insomnia.

“Was Buenos Aires really that rough?” he asked. “I know it was bad, but – ”

“Buenos Aires isn’t the problem.”

He realized exactly what I meant and physically recoiled from me. “No – ”

“Sean, please,” I begged. “Just do a trace on his phone – ”

“No!” he hissed, then looked around again like he was afraid of being overheard. “Did he bolt?”

“I don’t know! Which is why I need you to – ”

“If you don’t know whether he bolted, that means he’s not around – which means he probably bolted,” Sean said sardonically. “Which means you really don’t want people asking if you tipped him off, even accidentally.”

“Sean – ”

“Did you?” he asked, peering at me intently. “Tip him off?”

I hadn’t intended to warn Lars…

Although some of the things I’d said could have possibly been construed that way.

Are you working for Russia or China? Or someone else – a foreign power?

…okay…

I totally could have tipped him off.

Not that I was going to admit that to Sean.

“No,” I said forcefully.

He looked at me like Don’t bullshit me.

“I DIDN’T! I’m just worried that – ”

“You should be worried about yourself, not your boyfriend,” Sean hissed.

“Sean – ”

“No, Rachel. Stop turning over rocks – you might not like what you find underneath them.”

“Sean, please – ”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

He put on his noise-canceling headphones and turned back to his screen so he didn’t have to look at me anymore.

When Sean wouldn’t help me, I left work and went straight to Lars’s hotel.

The desk clerk recognized me immediately. I’d spent enough nights at the hotel that I recognized all the staff, so most of them knew me, too.

“Hi,” the clerk said brightly.

“Hi,” I replied with a tense smile. “I was wondering if you could help me. My boyfriend – Lars Henriksson, he’s in Room 708 – he’s been away on a business trip, and I wanted to know if he’s back in town.”

The woman winced apologetically. “I’m sorry, ma’am… I’m not allowed to give out that information.”

“I understand, but I’m afraid something might have happened to him. He went away on a business trip and I haven’t heard from him in three weeks.”

She kept wincing. “I’m just not authorized to – ”

“Well, then, can I speak to someone who is.”

I sounded angrier than I meant to be – misery and insomnia will do that to you – but as a result, she immediately called the hotel manager and talked to him in hushed tones.

The manager came down the hall 60 seconds later and smiled politely. “We can go talk in my office if you like.”

“Thank you.” I turned back to the girl. “I’m sorry I was short with you. I’m just horribly worried.”

“I understand,” she said, though I thought I detected more pity in her voice than anything.

She knows he cheated on you! my mother’s voice screamed in my head.

That’s ridiculous, I argued back silently. Lars would NEVER cheat on me.

I followed the manager to his office. Once inside, I took a chair, and he sat on the other side of his desk. “Now… I understand you’re inquiring about a guest of the hotel.”

I explained again how I was worried that something might have happened to him.

“I understand,” he said, “but if you believe that he might be in danger, the best course of action is probably to file a missing persons report with the police.”

“All I need to know is if he’s checked back into his room yet,” I said icily. “That’s what the police would ask you.”

“Yes, but that would be the authorities asking for the information. As you can understand, the hotel values the privacy of its guests. We can’t give out information to anyone who asks for it.”

I’d anticipated this might happen, so I’d devised an alternate strategy.

I didn’t like doing it… and I knew it could potentially come back to bite me in the ass…

But I was desperate.

I grabbed a pen and notepad on his desk, wrote on it, and slid it over to him.

“I want you to call that number.”

He sighed. “Ma’am – ”

“Just call the number.”

He gave me a wary look, then picked up the handset on his landline and dialed.

A few seconds later, his eyes went wide.

I knew it was because he’d gotten reception at my work –

And they had identified themselves as the Secret Intelligence Service.

“Ask for Sean Cooper in Operations,” I said.

“Um… Sean Cooper in Operations,” he repeated into the phone. Then he frowned at me. “They’re asking for authorization.”

“Tell them 297 Griffin.”

He repeated the low-level clearance code and was impressed when the operator patched him through.

I heard Sean’s muffled voice a few seconds later.

“Tell him there’s a woman in your office named Rachel Bauer,” I said. “Ask him to describe her to you.”

“Um – there’s a woman in my office who says she’s Rachel Bauer. Could you, uh, describe her to me?”

There was an angry exclamation on the other end, and the manager held out the phone to me. “He says he wants to speak with you.”

I grabbed the phone from him. “Hello, Sean.”

“Rachel, what the fuck are you doing?!”

“You couldn’t help me, so I’m doing what I can. Will you please just – ”

“This is insane – what do you think you’re going to – ”

“SEAN!” I shouted into the phone. “Will you please just do this ONE FUCKING THING for me?!”

Silence on the other end.

Then –

“Hand it back to him,” he snarled.

“Thank you,” I snapped.

I gave the phone back to the manager, who seemed terrified after my outburst.

He listened to Sean for about 15 seconds, then said, “O-okay… that’s her.”

“You can hang up now,” I told him.

“Th-thank you… goodbye,” he said to Sean, then hung up the phone.

“Do you know why we just went through that dog and pony show?” I asked.

The manager shook his head no.

“Because now you know I have a connection with SIS – or MI6, as you probably know it. You called the main switchboard and spoke to someone who accurately identified me. You see, I don’t have identification or a badge – because I’m the kind of person who doesn’t GET identification or a badge. Feel free to interpret that however you choose. I am gathering intelligence on Lars Henriksson’s whereabouts, and I would greatly appreciate your cooperation. Am I understood?”

“P-perfectly, ma’am,” he said as he started typing on his computer keyboard. “Um… it would appear that Lars Henriksson is no longer a guest at this hotel.”

“As of when?” I asked suspiciously.

“It says in his file that he prepaid for three weeks, which ended yesterday.”

“Did he check out at the front desk?”

“No, I don’t think so… no, he didn’t. The billing department called and left a message on his phone, but he never got back to them.”

“Then how do you know he just never came back?”

The manager peered closely at the screen. “It says here that when housekeeping went to clean the room, they didn’t find any belongings.”

“Nothing? No clothes, no shoes?”

“Nothing.”

That was odd.

Even if he’d been packing for three weeks, Lars wouldn’t have taken everything he owned.

“What about the room safe?” I asked.

“It says our maintenance worker had to reset the safe so housekeeping could get the room ready, but there was nothing inside.”

“You’re sure?”

“Quite sure. I have the report right here – ‘safe was empty.’”

“Is it possible that the maintenance worker isn’t telling the truth?”

The manager drew himself up in indignation. “I assure you, ma’am, our staff does not steal from our guests.”

“Can I talk to the maintenance worker?”

“No, you may not!” the manager said in irritation.

I leaned forward threateningly. “Do we need to call that phone number again?”

The manager swallowed. “I’ll… I’ll see if he’s available.”

I ended up talking to both the maintenance worker who had reset the safe and the maid who had cleaned the room. I believed both of them when they told me there hadn’t been any clothes or belongings in the room. Everything was gone.

I thanked them, then walked out of the hotel in a daze.

The awful truth crashed down on me: Lars had left the hotel and taken everything with him.

His clothes… his laptop… and his phone.

Which meant he was intentionally avoiding my calls.

He had ghosted me.

I sank down on a bus stop bench and burst into tears.

He left me!

He told me he loved me, and he left me…

And he never even said goodbye…

PART V

90

Lars

Four weeks after I was stopped by the police…

Several hours after I received my sentence…

And 30 minutes after I talked to Gunnar…

I left the purgatory of the jailhouse and started my official descent into hell.

The cops led me in shackles to a prison bus. Inside was a door made of metal bars to separate the prisoners from the guards. I didn’t know why the guards were so concerned; they were the ones with shotguns.

There was only one other guy on the transport with me – a hulking brute with a shaved head and a bloody skull tattooed on the back of his neck.

Charming.

The bus drove us to San Vittore, the prison in the center of Milan where I would spend the next five years.

I found out later by walking its halls, but San Vittore was like a monstrous octopus with only six arms. Multi-story wings radiated out from the central hub.

From a distance, though, it was just an ugly collection of yellow buildings behind a 20-foot-tall wall topped with barbed wire.

The bus passed through a heavily guarded gate and parked near the hub of the prison. Then the brute and I were escorted at gunpoint to a processing station.

One of the conditions I asked for in exchange for my guilty plea – which the court agreed to – was I got to witness Rachel’s engagement ring being put into San Vittore’s storage vault. I watched like a hawk as the property guy cataloged all my belongings on an official list: wallet, burner phone, passport, 5000 in euros, all the clothes from my duffel bag… and the necklace and ring.

I doubted the money would still be there when I got out – but the ring had better be, or I was going to immediately go back to prison for murdering the son of a bitch who stole it.

I made a promise to myself: once I got out, I was going to find Rachel.

I didn’t hold out a lot of hope that Gunnar would find her in a database somewhere, but I figured I might have better luck in person. Once I returned to London, I would stake out every restaurant and café we ever went to until she showed up.

And then… if she hadn’t already moved on with her life… I would get down on one knee and propose.

I’d had a shot the Sunday before I’d left, and I’d blown it with a pointless fight.

As a result, I’d waited –

And now I might never get another chance.

ALWAYS take the shot, I repeated in my head like a mantra. If you’ve got the shot, ALWAYS take the shot.

If I ever got another chance, I swore it would be different.

Even if she said no, at least I would ask.

I would take the shot, no matter what.

I saw the prison clerk write down anello di diamanti after he inspected the ring. When he finished cataloging everything, he gave me the paper and a pencil. I circled anello di diamanti three times, staring at him menacingly as I did it, then signed my name at the bottom of the list and slid it back across the counter.

The clerk swallowed, put all the smaller items into a manila envelope with the cash, and stowed them and the clothes in a cardboard box he carried into the back.

The box, like me, was going into a tomb.

But five years from now, we would both emerge…

And I would go back and propose to the woman I loved…

No matter what the fuck I had to do to make it happen.

91

After the property room, guards marched me into a room where I was ordered to strip. Once I was naked, they hit me with scoops of some kind of powder all over my body. I found out later that it was a de-lousing agent.

At the time, I just closed my eyes against the clouds of acrid powder – and then braced myself as they washed me off with a blast of ice-cold water from a firehose.

I dried myself with a towel that smelled like bleach and felt like sandpaper. I was given white boxers, a white undershirt Americans call a ‘wifebeater,’ black slip-on shoes, beige pants, and a beige short-sleeved shirt.

Once I was dressed, I was buzzed through a metal door as armed guards escorted me into the bowels of the prison.

The interior of San Vittore was the ugliest I’d ever seen – and I’d served in Afghanistan, so ‘the ugliest I’d ever seen’ was saying something. Everything was stained concrete, peeling paint, and dull fluorescent lighting.

And the smell – a fetid mix of body odor, sweat, bleach, and stale cigarette smoke, with a hint of urine and shit. The stench of violence and despair.

The guards marched me down a corridor of cells. The barred doors were all open, and the inhabitants lounged on beds or walked around freely. As soon as they saw me, they started jabbering at me in Italian.

It was like a chorus out of hell: swearing, catcalls, threats. The words were unintelligible to me, but I had a pretty good idea of the intent just from their tone of voice.

Some of them wanted to rape me…

Some of them wanted to kill me…

And some of them wanted to do both, not necessarily in that order.

All of them wanted to intimidate me.

I stared ahead stonily as I walked past them.

I wasn’t afraid. Tense, yes – but not afraid. I’d been in combat over 60 times; I’d been shot and stabbed; and I’d been in more fistfights than I could count. I’d met enough violent, stupid men to know that if I showed any weakness, they’d be on me like wolves – so I resolved to show no weakness.

The first man who attacked me, I was going to put him down. I might kill him, I might not… but whoever was first, he was going to serve as an example to the rest: do not fuck with me.

The biggest source of tension – other than being trapped in a shithole with a bunch of murderers – was that I didn’t speak the language. Which meant it was going to be even harder to anticipate the first attack. Not understanding Italian was a severe disadvantage, and one that could prove deadly if I didn’t address it as soon as possible.

The guards stopped in front of a cell. Inside was a metal bunk bed, a toilet, and a grimy sink at the far end of the room. Sitting on the bottom bed was a burly guy with shitty prison tats on his neck and face. When he saw me, he scowled – probably because he’d had a private room until I showed up.

He yelled something at the guards. They yelled back and threatened to beat him with a nightstick. He shut up and sulked, but as soon as the guards were gone, he snarled something at me in Italian.

“Non parlo italiano,” I said.

That much I knew: I don’t speak Italian.

The burly guy smirked and said something I didn’t understand.

I just watched him emotionlessly, refusing to turn my back on him.

He yelled something, and two guys in the hallway strolled over to the door of the cell.

One had muscular arms and pecs from lifting weights, but he’d apparently forgotten leg day. His quads and calves were comically underdeveloped compared to the rest of him.

The other guy had a massive gut. He kept watch outside as his muscular friend stepped inside the cell.

My new roommate stepped slightly to my side, trying to flank me.

I could see where this was heading.

Time to nip it in the bud.

I jabbed my fist at my cellmate’s face with no warning and broke his nose with a wet crunch.

He stumbled backwards, stunned –

At which point I took him by the back of the neck and slammed his face repeatedly into the metal frame of the bunk bed.

WHAM – WHAM – WHAM – WHAM!

He dropped to his knees on the concrete floor, his face a bloody mess.

Time to drive home the message.

I grabbed the back of my cellmate’s head with both hands –

Pulled down –

And simultaneously swung my knee upward as hard as I could.

CRACK!

My cellmate collapsed backwards on the ground.

The muscular guy froze…

Looked down at the bloody pulp that had once been his friend’s face…

And slowly backed out of the cell.

Then he and the guy with the gut beat a hasty retreat.

I waited to see if they would return with reinforcements, but they never did. And everyone else who’d been watching gave my cell a wide berth.

After a couple of minutes, I dragged my cellmate’s limp body out into the hallway and dumped him onto the concrete floor.

Then I went back inside my cell to wait.

A few minutes later, five guards came racing up.

One of them yelled at me and banged his nightstick on the bars.

“Non parlo italiano,” I said calmly.

The guard shouted a few more angry phrases. Then his buddies grabbed the body by the arms and legs and carried him away.

Guess he wasn’t my cellmate anymore.

I had the guy’s blood all over my knee, but I figured it was a small price to pay.

Especially when I didn’t hear any more catcalls or threats.

92

Iquickly settled into a routine. Lights on and wake up at 6 AM… calisthenics and bodyweight training for an hour in my cell… breakfast at 7… morning roll call, free time, lunch, work duty, dinner, more free time, lights out at 10 PM.

I got assigned to laundry duty, which was bad but not horrible. The overpowering stench of industrial bleach… the filth and blood on the sheets… the heat and humidity… it was bad, but not nearly as bad as cleaning the toilets, so I had that much to be grateful for.

The food was absolute shit. Military food isn’t the greatest in the world by any stretch, but the meals at San Vittore made the cafeteria at Bagram Air Base look like a Michelin-starred restaurant.

Then there was the constant stress of being on high alert 24 hours a day. Even though I was the only person in my cell now, I didn’t have a reprieve at night – because I found out that an inmate’s cell could be opened at any point by crooked guards.

My third night in prison, I heard a cell door clanking open in the middle of the night, followed by the muffled cries of a man being stabbed to death. The next morning, the occupant of the cell was ‘found’ dead and taken to the morgue.

His cellmate claimed he hadn’t heard a thing. I didn’t know whether he was complicit in the murder or just didn’t want to anger the killers, but it didn’t matter. The message was clear: you were never safe, even behind locked doors.

My situation was infinitely worse because I didn’t speak Italian. I had no idea if people were plotting against me when they whispered to others in my presence. I constantly ran afoul of the guards and got clubbed several times when I didn’t comply with their orders fast enough. And everywhere I looked, people stared me down and gave me murderous stares. A simple bump against someone in the hallway was an invitation to be shivved or beaten to a pulp.

I think the only reason I wasn’t challenged that first week was because I’d put my former cellmate in the infirmary. Word spread fast, and people left me alone – but that wouldn’t protect me forever. Sooner or later, I would run afoul of someone. It was only a matter of time.

I quickly realized there were divisions within the prison and that being on one side or another gave you some degree of protection. But I had no idea what those divisions were. 95% of the prisoners were white, so it had nothing to do with race – and I was quickly coming to realize that not understanding those fault lines could be deadly.

I wasn’t worried about beating anyone in hand-to-hand combat. Most of my fellow prisoners were street brawlers – no technique, sloppy, all brawn and no brain.

The problem was, if eight inmates came at me at once, virtually nothing I could do would save me. I had no weapons, no alliances, and no way of obtaining either as long as I couldn’t communicate.

I had told my lawyer not to worry – that I would do whatever it took to survive my five-year sentence. But as the days wore on, it became clear that it was going to be much more difficult than I’d thought.

And then… everything changed virtually overnight.

93

Aweek after my arrival, I accidentally bumped into a prisoner.

It was in a narrow corridor between the cellblock and the laundry. I was walking to my job when I heard a man muttering angrily in Italian behind me.

I was concerned he might jump me, so I turned to glare at him –

When my shoulder bumped into someone walking in the opposite direction.

Normally, this was an opportunity for two assholes to get into a shoving match to establish who was the alpha.

You could not afford to show weakness in prison – and tolerating even a hint of disrespect was interpreted as weakness. Which is why an innocent bump in the hallway could quickly spiral into a fistfight.

I spun around, ready to throw a punch –

And I saw the most extraordinary man.

Unlike the other prisoners I’d encountered, he was incredibly handsome. His mustache and short beard were perfectly trimmed, his hair immaculately in place. Though he wore the same beige uniform I did, he looked more like a model in a photo shoot than an inmate in one of the most dangerous prisons in Italy.

But though he was handsome, there was something cruel and dangerous about his face. His dark eyes were piercing and intelligent, and his gaze carried the implied threat of violence. Not hot violence, born of rage – but the kind of cold cunning where a man would slit your throat when you least expected it.

There were tattoos visible at the open neck of his shirt, but unlike the shitty prison tats I’d seen on 90% of the inmates – crude pictures and words made with sewing needles and homemade ink – his tattoos were amazing, like they’d been done by a skilled artist.

There was also a quiet confidence to him. Something like nobility, as crazy as that sounds. Most inmates projected outsized swagger to intimidate everyone, but it was based on the fear of appearing weak. A few of the older silver-haired inmates had the quiet confidence of the man in front of me, but it was obvious they were bosses in control of gangs. This guy was my age, and yet he carried himself with the gravitas of someone 30 years older.

He was like a prince amongst savages.

He looked at me with cold, appraising eyes but didn’t say anything. Almost as though he was waiting for me to make my intentions clear.

I didn’t know exactly why, but something told me it would be foolish to pick a fight with him – so I simply said, “Scusi.”

He looked deep into my eyes –

And after half a second, he nodded slightly and answered in a deep, resonant voice. “Di niente.”

I had no idea what the words meant, but his tone sounded like No worries.

Then he simply kept walking.

I turned and watched him pass – and that’s when I noticed something:

The angry guy who’d been muttering behind me looked like he’d just seen a ghost.

His face was pale, and his eyes were wide as he watched the handsome stranger walk past.

I figured I had brushed up against someone dark and dangerous and lived to tell the tale. Like encountering the Grim Reaper on a midnight stroll past the graveyard.

Little did I know how accurate that assessment was…

Or how quickly we would meet again.

94

Aday later, I was in the east yard soaking up some sunshine.

A ‘yard’ in prison is an outside area where prisoners can congregate. With six massive wings radiating from a central hub, San Vittore had multiple yards between its buildings.

The east yard was a patch of concrete and asphalt the size of a small football field. Most of the prisoners in my cell block congregated there during free time.

Some lifted weights; others played football (soccer to you Americans). Old-timers played bocce, an Italian version of horseshoes where wooden balls were tossed into a patch of sand.

There were old wooden bleachers against one wall, where the most powerful men sat – silver-haired mafiosos in their 50s or 60s. They were surrounded by younger bodyguards, and they watched everything that went on in the yard like kings lording over a court.

A lot of inmates were smoking cigarettes. A few were probably conducting surreptitious drug deals, using handshakes to transfer baggies of cocaine and meth that had been smuggled into the prison. The weakest and most pitiful inmates skulked in the shadows, trying not to draw anyone’s attention.

I was thinking of Rachel – and wondering if I should call Gunnar to see if he had made any progress finding her – when the handsome stranger from the other day walked into the yard.

He was alone, but he walked with the calm assurance of a man who knew he was absolutely safe.

The actions of the other inmates seemed to confirm it. Most of them scuttled out of his way or threw furtive glances in his direction. No one dared stare him in the eye for longer than a second.

The handsome man walked past the wooden bleachers. One of the old-timers – from what I could tell, one of the most powerful men in the yard – said something, and the younger man paused to talk.

The younger man said something that made the older man laugh – not in a fake or threatening way, but like he was sincerely amused. They exchanged a few pleasantries, and then the stranger moved on.

I was watching him and trying to figure out who the hell he was when I saw someone sneaking up behind him.

The guy was stocky and tattooed. He was walking too fast for a casual stroll, and I saw that his right hand was cupped inwards like he was concealing something – probably a shiv.

Shivs were improvised weapons for stabbing. They were long and sharp – stilettos rather than blades. They were made for puncturing, not cutting. They could be fashioned from anything, although some of the more common materials were plastic toothbrushes whose handles had been whittled down to a savage point, or metal bolts that had been filed to a wicked tip.

The purpose of a shiv was to poke so many holes in a man’s body that he would bleed to death before the guards could get him to the infirmary. The kidneys were a favorite target, although occasionally attackers went for the belly or throat.

The stocky man was about to shiv the handsome stranger in the back – I was sure of it.

I don’t know why I reacted the way I did. Maybe it was because the stranger had treated me with dignity. Or maybe it was his aura of nobility – that charisma he had that stood out from all the other bastards in San Vittore.

Whatever the reason, I sprinted towards him as I screamed in English, “WATCH OUT!”

The handsome stranger glanced at me, then whipped around to look behind him.

The thug realized he had lost the element of surprise and only had a second to act.

He lunged forward –

And stabbed the stranger in the stomach.

I expected to see surprise or pain on the stranger’s face –

But there was neither.

Instead, I only saw cold, vicious anger.

The thug was shocked. He looked like he didn’t understand what had happened –

That’s when I reached him.

I slammed my fist into his face and felt his nose give way in a hot spray of blood.

As the would-be killer collapsed on the ground, I glanced over at the handsome stranger, expecting to see him staggering backwards with his shirt stained crimson –

But miraculously, he was still upright with not even a spot of red on his clothes.

“BEHIND YOU!” he roared in English.

I turned and saw two more men rushing towards me, chains wrapped around their fists in improvised brass knuckles. One was bald, the other had long hair.

Without warning, the handsome stranger bolted past me and slammed his fist into the bald thug’s solar plexus. The guy doubled over and fell to his knees.

The stranger’s technique was sloppy, but he was strong and fearless – I’d give him that. And he was more than willing to throw himself into the fray.

I launched myself at the long-haired attacker and hit him with a vicious undercut that lifted him two inches off the ground. If he wasn’t unconscious after I punched him, he definitely was when his head slammed into the concrete.

The entire yard erupted in chaos.

People were shouting –

Men were rushing old-timers to safety like bodyguards protecting heads of state –

And dozens of fistfights broke out everywhere.

I turned around just as the handsome stranger kneed the bald guy in the face. CRACK!

“COME ON, LET’S GO!” I yelled.

“Hold on,” the handsome stranger replied calmly, then turned to the man who had tried to shiv him.

The thug was on his back and holding his hands to his bloody face.

The handsome stranger lifted up his foot –

And slammed his heel into the man’s throat.

CRUNCH.

The man on the ground went from moaning loudly to writhing in silence as he clutched his crushed windpipe.

“Alright,” the handsome stranger said, and we took off running, pushing and punching our way through the chaos.

We fought our way to a door to the prison –

Just as a dozen guards appeared on the other side of the yard and started clubbing inmates and cracking skulls.

The stranger and I dashed inside and took refuge behind a corner as we caught our breath.

I looked behind us to make sure we weren’t being pursued, then turned back to the stranger.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully.

His English was perfect – just the slightest hint of a European accent, not even identifiable as Italian.

“You speak English,” I said in shock.

He chuckled. “So do you.”

I looked down at his beige uniform. There was a small hole torn in the front.

“How are you not dead?!” I exclaimed as I pointed at the rip.

He smiled and lifted the hem of his shirt.

Underneath were several thick phone books duct-taped in a cylinder around his abdomen.

A jagged rip in the duct tape showed exactly how bad the shiv would have injured him –

If he hadn’t been wearing the improvised body armor.

“Holy shit,” I said with a laugh. It was the cleverest thing I’d seen in years.

“I had some help from connections on the outside,” he explained as he dropped his shirt back into place. “And from you. Again, thank you.”

“I didn’t do much,” I said, then pointed at his stomach. “That’s what saved you.”

“It only saved me because he didn’t have time to stab me in the throat, which he would have done next. I owe you my life.”

“Happy to help. I’m Lars.” As I extended my hand, I remembered I should use the name I was convicted under – not my real name. “Lars Andersen.”

The handsome stranger shook my hand. “Dario Rosolini.”

95

After we retreated to the relative safety of the inner depths of the prison, Dario explained what the hell had just happened.

“The three men who attacked us were hired to kill me. But the rest of the fights that broke out? That was just people taking advantage of an opportunity. There are many bitter enemies in San Vittore. Some hated each other before they went to prison, while others came to hate each other after they arrived. Either way, what you just saw was widespread revenge. Either that, or board room decisions being carried out.”

“Board room decisions?”

“Business competitors removing their rivals, probably on orders from the top.”

Huh.

“Who hired those guys to kill you?”

“Most likely the Camorra.” He pronounced it kuh-MOR-uh. “The man who tried to stab me was definitely Camorra. The other two were probably hired soldiers from other factions.”

“…the Camorra?”

“There are many organized crime groups in Italy,” Dario explained. “Some are big; many are small. The Camorra is one of the largest. They control Naples and the surrounding area. Or rather, they used to control Naples. They’ve had some competition in recent years.”

“But why would they come after you?”

Dario hesitated for a split second.

“…I have friends in the most powerful group of all, the Cosa Nostra.”

“The mafia,” I said.

“Yes, and no. ‘Mafia’ is a term for all organized crime in Italy. The Cosa Nostra was originally founded in Sicily, but they’ve slowly expanded their reach over the last 40 years.”

“And you’re… friends with them,” I said carefully, not wanting to alienate the new ally I’d made.

Dario gave me a slight smile. “A business associate.”

I didn’t believe for a second that he was just a ‘business associate.’ Everyone in the yard had been too frightened or too deferential for him to be a bit player.

But if he had reasons to hide his true affiliations, well… I had reasons to not tell him about my past, too.

But I did want to know one thing.

“Why did the Camorra want you dead?” I asked.

“Probably to send a message to my friends in the Cosa Nostra.”

“Why didn’t the guards step in earlier?”

It was bewildering. Guard towers lined the prison walls, and the men inside them had rifles. At any point they could have fired their guns. A single shot probably would have stopped the fighting since people would have been afraid the next bullet would be aimed at them.

Dario smiled grimly. “Because the Camorra paid the guards to stay out of it.”

I stared at him. “Seriously?”

“It’s the only explanation. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the corruption here in San Vittore.”

I thought of the jail door I’d heard open in the middle of the night… and the dead man I’d seen dragged out the next morning.

“I thought so, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Now you know. When the attempt on my life didn’t go as planned, and the rest of the men realized that the guards were not going to intervene, they took the opportunity to settle some scores. The guards only showed up to prevent it from becoming absolute chaos.”

I shook my head in amazement. “It’s like a fucking sewer full of alligators in here.”

“You’re not wrong. San Vittore is a dangerous place.”

“I’m starting to realize that.”

“You know… I could use a man like you,” Dario said. After a second’s pause he added, “As an ally.”

I tried to be as diplomatic as possible. “I’d like that, but… I don’t want to get involved in a mafia war.”

“I’m sorry to tell you, my friend, but you’re in the thick of it now, whether you like it or not. By intervening in the attempt on my life, you made an enemy of the Camorra.”

“Great,” I muttered.

He smiled in amusement. “How long are you in for?”

“Five years.”

“And you don’t speak Italian?”

“No.”

“How long did you think you would last in here before you stepped on the wrong toes? Not five years, I can assure you of that.”

He had me there.

“Look at this way,” Dario continued. “I have powerful friends on the outside, plus I know all the players in here. I know who’s dangerous, who’s all talk, and who can be trusted. You – well, you’re excellent in a fight. I need someone to watch my back like you did just a few minutes ago – and you could use a guide in here. Like Virgil showing Dante around hell.”

I recognized the reference to Dante – the Italian poet who wrote the Inferno – but I wasn’t sure about Virgil. I didn’t want to look stupid, though, so I didn’t ask.

Instead, I said, “I need to know something, and I’d like a straight answer: if you and I are friends, will I be making things worse for myself?”

Dario looked at me for several seconds before he answered. “I won’t lie to you: you’ll be making new enemies by becoming my ally. But you’ll also be making new and powerful friends. Friends who can keep you safe and help you pass your sentence in far greater comfort.

“Unfortunately, you made some extremely powerful enemies today when you saved my life. There is no going back from that. They will come after you… that I can promise you.

“However, I owe you my life. After what you did for me today, it would be the height of ingratitude for me to insist you do what I want. I promise I will not take it personally if you go your own way. Even if you decide not to align yourself with me, I will do my best to make sure you’re left in peace… but there is only so much I can do. The simple truth is that alone, we are weaker and more susceptible to attack. Together, we are stronger – strong enough to fight back against the Camorra and quite possibly win. But whatever you decide, I will honor your decision.”

It wasn’t much of a choice.

The die had already been cast when I stopped the Camorra from killing him.

I hadn’t known it when it happened – but even if I could have gone back in time, I wouldn’t have changed what I’d done.

If I refused his offer, I could go it alone and probably die…

Or I could have an ally – and a powerful one at that.

I made my decision.

“I could definitely use a friend in here,” I said.

Dario broke into a huge smile. “You have one – for life.”

And he reached out and hugged me like a brother.

96

Afew minutes later, a voice in Italian blared over the loudspeakers. I didn’t understand a word of it.

“They’re telling us to return to our cells,” Dario translated. “They’ll probably put the entire prison on lockdown in retaliation for what happened.”

“Great,” I muttered.

“Don’t worry,” Dario reassured me. “I’ll tell them to leave you alone.”

I cocked one eyebrow. “Why would they listen to you?”

“The Camorra aren’t the only ones who can pay off the guards.”

I wanted to say, Just a humble ‘business associate’ of the Cosa Nostra, huh?

But common sense made me hold my tongue.

When we reached the cellblock, Dario said, “Don’t worry, everything will be fine. Try to get some rest.”

Then he slapped me on the shoulder and walked off.

I returned to my cell and waited tensely for a member of the Camorra to show up with a shiv. It was a relief when the guards came and locked my door.

Just as Dario had said, we were put on lockdown for 24 hours. We weren’t given any food, although at least we had water from the sinks in our cells – even if it was yellow and tasted like metal.

The next morning, I was lying on the top bunk thinking about Rachel when someone started shouting in Italian outside my cell.

I looked up to see a guard unlocking my door. Another guard stood behind him.

I jumped off the top bunk, half-expecting them to rush in and beat me –

But the guards stood back from the door as though they expected me to walk through it.

When I didn’t move, one of the guards shouted, “Andiamo, non abbiamo tutto il giorno!”

I hesitantly exited.

Once I was in the hall, both guards pointed down the hallway. I started walking.

We exited my old cellblock and entered a wing I had never been in before. There were cells here, too, but they were larger than my old one – and every cell only had one occupant. Most of them were the silver-haired men who held court out on the bleachers.

Suddenly, a voice spoke up in flawless English. “Ah, good – you’re here.”

I looked over and saw Dario standing inside a cell.

One of the guards unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Dario said something to the guard in Italian, his voice calm and pleasant.

The guard said something back in a respectful tone.

Then they all stood around looking at me.

“Come on,” Dario said, motioning me inside.

I hesitantly stepped inside – and was amazed.

His cell was four times the size of mine.

Not only that, but there was furniture: a chair with cushions, a table with a lamp, and a laundry line strung across the room with a curtain on it that could be drawn back over the toilet area for privacy.

There was a bunk bed – but the mattresses were plush, unlike the ragged inch-thick pallets back in my room.

There were art prints on the wall – old paintings by Renaissance masters.

A thick rug covered most of the concrete floor.

There was also a small table with an electric hot plate for cooking. There were several pots, pans, dishes, some jars of pasta, boxes of noodles – and a bottle of wine.

“I took the liberty of having you moved to my quarters,” Dario said. “I know you have your own room, but you wouldn’t have it to yourself for long. They would give you a new cellmate sooner or later.”

“No, that’s… fine…” I said as I looked around me in shock.

Dario said something to the two guards. They shut the door, locked it, and left.

“Care for a drink?” Dario asked.

“…sure,” I said, stunned.

He poured two glasses of red wine into clear plastic goblets. “They only allow me plastic cups, unfortunately. I also have to turn in the bottle when it’s empty so it can’t be used as a weapon – but it’s a reasonable compromise. And they give me a new bottle as soon as I turn in the old one.”

He handed me a cup and held up his for a toast. “To new allies.”

He tapped his plastic goblet against mine with a dull clunk, then sipped.

I just stood there in shock.

“You don’t drink?” he asked.

“No, I do, I just…”

I stared all around me, then looked back at Dario.

“…what the fuck?” I asked.

He chuckled. “If you want someone killed in San Vittore, you can pay off the prison guards to look the other way. You can also pay a tidy sum to the warden if you want a few creature comforts.”

“…okay…”

“Try the wine – it’s excellent. It’s from my family’s vineyard.”

I sipped the wine.

He was right – it was amazing.

“Sit down,” he said. He gestured towards the chair as he sat on the lower bunk of the bed.

I didn’t move. “Um…”

“Yes?”

“I just need to clarify something.”

Dario raised his eyebrows as he waited.

I cleared my throat. “I’m flattered, but… I’m only interested in women.”

Dario stared at me –

And then roared with laughter.

In fact, he laughed so hard he had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes.

“I can assure you, Lars, my interest in you does not extend to that particular area,” he said, still laughing.

“Oh… good,” I said in relief.

Then I sat down.

“I merely thought my quarters would be more suitable than yours. Not only that, but I figured it would be better if you were in here so we could watch each other’s backs.”

“No, it’s a great idea,” I said as I sipped my wine.

After a week of garbage food from the prison cafeteria, it was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted.

“Also, I would like to ask you a favor,” Dario said.

“What?” I asked warily.

“I would very much appreciate it if you would teach me to fight like you did. I also figured it would be easier to train in here than out in the yard – in private, away from prying eyes.”

“…ah,” I said, understanding a bit more why my situation had so vastly improved in the last five minutes. “I can do that – sure.”

“Were you a soldier, by any chance?”

“Yes.”

“But not just any soldier. You fought with a speed and brutality I’ve never seen before – not outside of movies. Were you in the Special Forces, or whatever your country’s version is called?”

“I was,” I admitted. I wasn’t about to tell him about MI6, but I figured revealing my military background couldn’t hurt.

“I thought so,” Dario said. “I’ve been in a few fights myself… but you, my friend, are in an entirely different league.”

I wanted to say, Considering I saw you kill a man yesterday by stomping on his windpipe, I’d say that’s high praise.

But instead, I just nodded and sipped my wine.

“Are you Swedish?” Dario asked.

“Is my accent that obvious?”

“No,” he said with a smile. “I could only detect the smallest hint of it… mostly because I’ve dated a couple of Swedish girls in the past.”

Interesting.

“I was surprised you spoke English,” I said.

He laughed. “I could tell.”

“I thought nobody in here spoke English – not even the guards.”

“They offer it in every school in Italy, but our fellow inmates aren’t exactly scholars. The same goes for most of the guards.”

“But your accent is flawless – I never would have guessed you were Italian.”

“I have my father to thank for that. He insisted that my brothers and I have the best English tutors money could buy.”

“So you were… well-off,” I said diplomatically.

Dario smiled. “You could say that.”

I looked around the room and wondered how much money it took to bribe a warden for this kind of set-up.

“In return for teaching me to defend myself,” Dario said, “I can offer you wine, good food, and better accommodations… but is there anything else you want?”

“Well… there is one thing…”

“Name it.”

“I’d like to learn Italian.”

Dario nodded. “It would be beneficial to know it in here.”

“Yes, but there’s another reason.”

Dario gave me a quizzical look.

I thought of Rachel and how she whispered to me in bed.

Sei cosi seducente… Hai gli occhi più belli che abbia mai visto…

“Well… there’s this woman…”

Dario grinned. “If there’s a better reason to learn Italian, I’ve never found it. They say that French is the language of love – but I say that Italian is the language of passion.”

The language of passion.

I liked that.

“You can teach me to speak it?”

“How long are you in for? Five years?”

“Yes.”

“You turn me into a fighter… and I’ll turn you into a master of the spoken word.”

“It’s a deal,” I said –

And we lifted our glasses in a toast.

97

Ibegan to train Dario immediately.

First, I had him demonstrate what he knew. He explained that he’d boxed a little as a teenager.

Some of his technique was good, but most of it was sloppy. I told him he would have to unlearn most of what he already knew.

He was a good student – neither arrogant nor defensive. He didn’t protest when I told him to change something. He accepted that I was better than him at hand-to-hand combat, and he listened to what I said and immediately implemented it.

We started with balance first, then footwork. That alone took weeks.

He had an impressive physique, but it was mostly from weightlifting for aesthetics. He lacked strength in his core and leg muscles, so I put him through a punishing regime of calisthenics and bodyweight exercises. The first day, he could barely do a handstand; five months later, he could kick up in a handstand against the wall and do 100 vertical pushups in a row.

I taught him how to channel all of his energy into a punch by using his hips as the driving force. We got an extra mattress and hung it on the cinderblock wall, and he hit it like he would a punching bag. We started with a plush mattress like the kind we had in our bunks; after six months, we exchanged it for one of the inch-thick pads most prisoners slept on. After a couple of years, he graduated to punching the bare wall with his hands wrapped to keep him from bloodying his knuckles. Eventually, I took away even the hand wraps.

I taught him how to block – but I also taught him that the best way to deal with a punch was to move out of the way so he couldn’t be hit in the first place.

We eventually moved on to kicks, then ground fighting, then fighting with and against weapons like knives and shivs.

Speaking of shivs, he gave me some of his improvised body armor on day one: phone books secured with duct tape around my stomach and lower back.

I have to say, I felt a lot more confident walking around with the knowledge that no one could stab me in the gut or kidneys. Slit my throat, yes. Stab me in the eye, maybe. But 50% protection was better than none, and ‘none’ was what I had before.

As for teaching me Italian, Dario was relentless. He was a good teacher, constantly drilling me and making me perfect my pronunciation. He would force me to say a line a hundred times until it rolled off my tongue like I was a native.

And he didn’t just teach me polite conversation, either.

“Va’ a farti fottere, pezzo di merda,” I repeated for the 50th time.

“Che significa?” he asked.

Which means…?

“Go fuck yourself, you piece of shit.”

“Questa è la migliore traduzione in inglese, sì, ma letteralmente significa?”

That’s the best translation in English, yes, but it literally means…?

“Go get fucked, you piece of shit.”

He laughed. “Excellent.”

He schooled me in the use of Italian profanity, which was an art form all its own, full of nuance and musicality.

I learned that Madonn’ was a shortening of Madonna, the Italian term ‘my lady’ – which was used to refer to the mother of Jesus, as in ‘Madonna and child.’ Madonn’ was used as an expression of shock or surprise. After I found out what it meant, I realized I heard it quite often amongst the prisoners of San Vittore.

The more Dario taught me, the less hostile and incomprehensible the prison became. It was still an environment full of danger – but also humor and small kindnesses.

When you can’t understand what someone’s saying, and they get frustrated – a common occurrence with Italian males, who wore their emotions on their sleeves, unlike Swedes – everything sounds hostile, even when it’s not.

He also taught me to pay attention to tonality, speed, and hand gestures. Those three things were often more important than the words themselves.

It was like Dario showed me how to tune the dial on a radio. At first the reception was staticky, and I only caught every other word – but eventually meanings came through crystal clear.

He also taught me the key to surviving San Vittore: understanding the different factions.

“You already know about my business acquaintances, the Cosa Nostra,” Dario said as we strolled through the yard. “Originally from Sicily, they spread to America in the late 1800s and took over New York City in the 1920s. From there, their influence spread across the United States.

“The Cosa Nostra also gained a bigger foothold throughout Italy over the last 50 years… Rome, Venice, Florence. That’s not widely known, by the way. Most outsiders think that the Cosa Nostra is still largely confined to Sicily. In reality, they expanded quite a bit over the last half-century. They just managed to keep it secret from the authorities.

“For the most part, the Cosa Nostra families ruling the different regions co-exist in peace… but you can never be entirely certain that another family isn’t plotting to take your territory. However, out of all of the factions inside San Vittore, the Cosa Nostra are the closest thing we have to reliable allies.”

“The day you got attacked, I saw you speaking to an older man on the bleachers. Was he Cosa Nostra?”

“Yes – Don Godino. He’s the head of a smaller family based in San Rimini, on the eastern coast of Italy. I’ve known him ever since… well, I’ve known him a long time.”

I noticed that occasionally Dario would catch himself, as though he’d almost slipped up and told me something I shouldn’t know.

I was pretty sure his connection to the Cosa Nostra went far deeper than he let on, but his lack of transparency didn’t bother me. After all, I had never been completely honest with him about why I was in San Vittore. I had certainly never told him about MI6 or why I had been visiting Italy when I got arrested.

Dario continued. “You also know about the Camorra from our first encounter in the yard. They’ve traditionally controlled Naples and the surrounding areas, although the Cosa Nostra has fought an invisible war with them over the last 40 years to try to break their hold over the region. Because of the situation in Naples, the Camorra hates the entire Cosa Nostra – and that’s why they’re the ones we truly have to watch out for in here.”

Dario gestured towards a group of tattooed thugs surrounding a 40-something man with close-cropped grey hair and a vicious scowl. “That man is Aristide Caproni. He is the highest-ranking member of the Camorra in San Vittore. If I had to bet, I would say he’s the one who ordered the hit on me. Beware him and his lieutenants.

“Then you have the ‘Ndrangheta.” Dario pronounced it DRAHN-geh-tuh, with just a hint of an ‘n’ at the beginning. “They’re based in Calabria, the ‘toe’ of the boot of Italy – and right next door to Sicily. ‘Ndrangheta is Greek, which is still spoken in pockets in the south of Italy. It means ‘men of honor’ or ‘manly virtue.’ I don’t know if I’d agree with those translations,” Dario said drily, “but that’s how they think of themselves.

“They’re originally descended from bandits forced out of Sicily in the 1800s. Actually, there’s an old ‘Ndrangheta myth that says the Cosa Nostra, the Camorra, and the ‘Ndrangheta were started by three Spanish knights who arrived in Italy in the 1500s. I think they just like attaching themselves to the Cosa Nostra the way some people brag about being related to Pope So-and-So from the 19th century. It’s bullshit, but it makes them feel better about themselves.

“What’s not in dispute is that the ‘Ndrangheta are probably the most powerful of the three groups today. Not so much in Italy, but internationally. They’ve spread throughout much of Europe and into parts of Asia. Drugs are their most lucrative trade, and they are to Europe what the Mexican cartels are to North America. They are no friends to the Cosa Nostra but they generally don’t bite unless provoked.”

Dario talked about the smaller criminal organizations that were also represented in San Vittore: the Basilischi… La Stidda… the Sacra Corona Unita… the Società foggiana, the Nuova Mala del Brenta, the Banda della Magliana, the Banda della Comasina…

The sheer number of organizations rivaled the many tribal warlords that made Afghanistan so difficult to control. And that wasn’t even counting the various crime operations based in Albania, Romania, and Serbia that conducted business in rural pockets of Italy.

It was a lot to wrap my head around, but at least now I knew where the land mines were buried.

I just had to make sure not to step on them.

98

Besides avoiding getting murdered, the hardest thing about prison was how much I missed Rachel. At night I would lie awake for hours, my heart aching as I thought about her.

I was worried that she might think I was dead – or worse, that I’d ghosted her after our fight. The thought made me sick to my stomach.

I called Gunnar every week, desperate for an update on his search. But no matter how hard he looked, he never found a trace of her.

I considered asking him to go to London and visit MI6 headquarters, but I was worried he would raise too many alarms by poking around. If Alistair made the connection between me and Gunnar, then Rachel’s professional life would be ruined… Gunnar might get ‘disappeared’… and Alistair might send someone to San Vittore to make sure my mouth stayed shut permanently.

So I kept quiet and prayed Gunnar would find something eventually.

I waited a long, long time.

As the months wore on, what began as an alliance of convenience with Dario became a real friendship.

Partly it was because we spent nearly every waking hour together. He somehow got me released from my job in the laundry, and we spent the time training instead: him in combat, me in Italian.

Dario never told me exactly what his connection was to the Cosa Nostra – only that he was in prison for financial crimes. And I kept quiet about my deal with Alistair and MI6.

But the more we got to know each other, the more we talked about everything else.

He told me all sorts of stories about his brothers. The older ones came to visit him occasionally in San Vittore. I never met them, but I came to feel as though I knew them.

Adriano was the hothead: quick-tempered but fearless.

Massimo had the kindest heart – until someone crossed the people he loved. Then he could become a raging bull.

Valentino was the baby of the family. According to Dario, Valentino was the best-looking of the brothers and a real Casanova.

Dario looked like a movie star, so if he had a brother who was more attractive than him, the kid must have been a real heartbreaker.

Niccolo was the plotter and schemer, a trickster, and possibly the most charismatic of them all. He was also the funniest of the brothers.

Niccolo’s twin Roberto, though, was an enigma. Quiet and studious, he was a financial genius – but he was the most secretive of Dario’s brothers. Like he was hiding something.

“Do you think he might be gay?” I asked.

“No, but it wouldn’t matter to me if he was. Old-school Italians look down on homosexuality as a weakness – a lack of manliness – but not me and my brothers. None of us would give a shit as long as he’s happy. I think it’s something else… something he’s afraid to tell us for whatever reason. Maybe someday he’ll reveal what it is, but for now, he keeps his cards close to his vest.” Dario smiled. “That’s fine by me. Being good at keeping secrets is a huge asset in our line of work.”

Dario was vague about what that ‘line of work’ was. He would only say that his family was involved in ‘importing and exporting.’

From the deference everyone in San Vittore paid him, though, it was easy to read between the lines: he was involved in organized crime.

I didn’t really care. I was a government assassin who’d gotten caught on my second outing, so it wasn’t like I could cast stones.

And in San Vittore, having a friend who was connected to the mafia had real benefits.

But family wasn’t all we talked about.

Women were a frequent topic – but always in Italian, which forced me to practice.

I knew from gossip in the prison yard that prostitutes visited the richest gangsters, posing as girlfriends or wives for conjugal visits. The warden and prison guards knew it was all bullshit, but they were willing to look the other way… for a price.

I asked Dario once if he had ever considered hiring an escort to come to the prison.

“No,” he said decisively, then gave me an amused look. “Why? You want me to arrange something for you?”

All I could think about was Rachel. The thought of sex with another woman – especially a stranger who was only fucking me for money – turned my stomach.

“No, I’m good,” I said.

Dario went back to punching the mattress on the wall. “I’m done with all that – I’ve had my fun. Once I get out of here, it’s time to get serious and settle down.”

“Why?”

“Because a man’s got to think about the long-term, that’s why. I’ve waited long enough as it is. I don’t want to have my first child when I’m too old to pick him up.”

I laughed.

He frowned at me. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re 26 years old. It’s a little early to talk about being too old to pick up your kids.”

“I’ll be 30 when I get out of here.”

“Yeah, but – ”

“My father didn’t marry until he was almost 30, and he always says it was the biggest regret of his life. If he’d married earlier, he would have had more time to raise a family – and maybe have a daughter. He always wanted a little girl but never got the chance.”

“Why not?”

“My mother got cancer when I was 12,” Dario said solemnly. “She underwent chemotherapy, and the cancer went into remission for years… but she couldn’t have any more children. Then it came back, more aggressive than before. She died a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry. I know how that feels.”

“Do you,” Dario said darkly, like I had no fucking clue.

“My mother was diagnosed with cancer when I was in the military, right when I deployed overseas,” I said quietly. “A couple months later, my Aunt Ingrid was driving her back home from chemotherapy when they got into a car accident. They both died… and I didn’t even get to go to their funerals.”

Dario stared at me in horror. “I’m truly sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.” I didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so I said, “If your father had married your mother earlier, he might not have had you and your brothers. Or at least, you wouldn’t have turned out the same.”

Dario knew I was trying to lighten the mood, and he obliged.

“Sperma diverso,” he said drily.

Different sperm.

“Exactly.”

Dario laughed. “What Papa doesn’t say is that no matter what age he would have liked to have gotten married, he didn’t meet my mother until he was in his late 20s – and he wouldn’t have changed a single thing. My mother was his life – his entire world. He never so much as looked at another woman after she passed. I think what he really means when he tells us to get married early is that he wishes he could have had more time with her. He’d have given anything for that.” Dario chuckled. “Plus, he wants grandchildren as soon as possible.”

“Would you marry any of the women you dated?” I asked.

“Fuck no. They were fine for having fun, but they would have made terrible wives – and even worse mothers.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“And that’s on me,” he conceded. “I’m the one responsible for wasting my time with them. The folly of a misspent youth.”

“So what kind of a woman do you want?”

“That’s the problem. I come from a… certain amount of money.”

“I gathered as much,” I said in a deadpan voice.

Dario laughed, then shook his head. “It’s not just money, but power. The problem with the women I chased was they all wanted the money and the power. They didn’t really want me.”

“That seems a little…” I said, then paused because I didn’t know the Italian word I was searching for.

“What?” he asked. He sounded offended.

“You’re a very good-looking guy. I can’t imagine a woman not wanting you.”

“Okay, yes, it’s true, they wanted to fuck me… but what they really wanted was what they could get from me.”

“Didn’t you want them because of what you could get from them, too?”

“Calling me out on all my shit, aren’t you?” he said good-naturedly. “Yes, I did. I went after models with big tits and great asses. When I should have been looking for a woman I could build a life with.”

“So what does that kind of woman look like?”

Dario peered at the wall like he had slipped into a daydream. “Someone innocent… kind… loyal. A girl who loves her family and would do anything for them… because in the end, it’s all about family.”

“But one who’s still beautiful,” I said sardonically.

Dario laughed. “True. I do still want a pretty wife… someone who makes my blood run hot.” He shook his head ruefully. “But I’ve probably ruined myself with all the women I chased after in the past.”

“Sounds like you have a Madonna/whore complex.”

Dario looked at me with a flash of irritation.

I wondered if I’d overstepped – but I figured our friendship wasn’t worth much if I couldn’t speak my mind.

“Innocent, but makes your blood ‘run hot,’” I continued. “Tits and ass and a lovely face, but loyal and kind – and loves her family above everything else. A good girl and a bad girl. A virgin and a whore.”

He glared at me… then broke into a rueful smile and shook his finger at me jokingly. “You need to stop calling me out on my shit. I don’t like it.”

I pointed at the wall: Get back to your training.

He sighed and started punching the wall again. “And I should have never agreed to teach you Italian. It makes it that much worse to hear all my faults in my native tongue.”

“Well, there’s a simple solution.”

“What’s that,” he said drily.

“Avoid the type of woman you dated in the past, and start looking for the ones you say you want.”

“That’s the problem: I don’t run into many good women in the circles I travel in.”

“Maybe you’ve just been looking in the wrong places.”

“I know I’ve been looking in the wrong places. Nightclubs… strip clubs… Ibiza…”

“Sounds like you need to go to church more often.”

He burst out laughing. “We’re in Italy, my friend. Even the women I’ve been dating go to church. I don’t, so I think that’s the wrong place to look. And even if it was the right place to look, there’s still one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“There was an old American actor named Groucho Marx. Ever heard of him?”

“Sure – the Marx brothers. Guy with the glasses and cigar.”

“That’s the one. He had a saying: ‘I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.’ That more or less sums up my situation.”

“These women you say you want – why wouldn’t they want you?”

Dario gave me a sad smile, one that implied there was something he couldn’t tell me. “Let’s just say I have a past that any good woman would want no part of.”

I was about to ask him more when he turned the interrogation back on me.

“What about you? Is there a good woman on the outside waiting for you?”

I immediately felt depressed as I thought about Rachel. “She’s a good woman, yes… but I don’t know if she’ll wait.”

“Does she love you?”

“Yes.”

“And do you love her?”

“Absolutely.”

Dario stopped punching the wall and looked at me searchingly. “Is she – ”

And he used a phrase I didn’t understand.

“Say that again?”

“Il solo e unico,” he said in Italian, then switched to English. “The one and only. I believe in English they simply say, ‘the One.’”

“…yes. She is.”

Dario grinned and waggled his finger at me. “I can tell – I can see it in your eyes.” He shook his head like he envied me. “I would give my right arm to feel for a woman how you feel about her.”

“I was going to propose to her before all this happened,” I said, gesturing around us.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I bought a ring, but we had a fight, so I waited… and then I left town and wound up here.”

Dario winced. “Ah. You still have the ring?”

“I had it on me when I got arrested,” I said bitterly. “Now it’s sitting in prison storage… if somebody didn’t steal it yet.”

“They put it with the rest of your belongings when you came to San Vittore?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll have a word with the prison staff. No one will take it – and if they have, they’ll put it back.”

I frowned. “Why would they listen to you?”

“Don’t worry. Just know that once you leave, it will still be there.” Dario chuckled. “We have to make sure you can propose to her as soon as you get out!”

“I doubt she’ll wait for me.”

“If she’s the One, she’ll wait.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“Why not?” he asked. He almost sounded incensed that I was doubting Rachel.

“Because she doesn’t know I’m in here.”

Dario stared at me in shock. “What?! How is that even possible?!”

“There are some things I can’t go into, but… she had to change her phone number, and I didn’t have it when I got arrested. So I wasn’t able to call her to tell her.”

He looked at me like I was absolutely insane. “What about her email?!”

“That got changed, too.”

“Didn’t you write her, then?!”

“I don’t know where she lives.”

The look of utter disbelief he gave me was almost comical. “What the fuck, man?! This girl is the One, and you don’t know her phone number, email, or where she lives?!”

“I know, I know,” I said gruffly.

He heard the implicit warning in my voice not to go any further, so he backed off – but he still shook his head. “You’re a very complicated man, Lars. And I say that coming from a long line of complicated men myself.”

He didn’t know the half of it.

“What’s her name?” he asked.

“Rachel Bauer. Although that’s not her real last name.”

Dario cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t even know her name?”

“I didn’t get to choose who I fell in love with,” I said in irritation.

“True.” He stroked his beard for a few seconds, then said, “Maybe I can help you find this girl. I have… certain resources on the outside.”

I suppressed a smile. If Gunnar couldn’t find her with all his hacking skills and ‘homies’ in MI6, I doubted some small-time gangster in an Italian prison would have much luck.

Not to mention, I didn’t want a bunch of shady mafia types poking around and asking questions. If they did get lucky and somehow find her, they would probably blow her cover – and there was no way she could continue in MI6 if a bunch of gangsters knew all her secrets. Secrets she’d taken such care to hide from me.

Plus, Dario’s ‘resources’ might tip off my old boss. And I didn’t like to think about what Alistair might do if he thought I was talking about him to Italian gangsters.

“Thank you,” I said, “but I have a friend looking into it.”

“But he hasn’t found her yet?”

“Not yet. But he’s very well-connected – and he’s still looking.”

“Trust me, whoever this friend is, he might not have all the resources I can tap into.”

“Thank you, but I’m good,” I said firmly.

Dario looked at me for a long moment, then nodded once. “As you wish. Just know that the offer stands if you change your mind.”

“Thanks… I appreciate that.”

“A word of advice?”

“What,” I said impatiently. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“If this girl is the One… once you get out of here, go after her. Find her. Let nothing stand in your way. You go to her and lay your heart on the line, and you do everything in your power to get her back… and if she is the One, she’ll say yes. If she is the One, she won’t have been able to move on without you. The day you come back to her is the day she can finally breathe again. You two will start your life over together, and it will be like nothing ever changed.”

The passion and conviction in Dario’s voice were so real, so raw, that I couldn’t make a joke or say what I really thought, which was: It’s a lot more complicated than that.

He spoke with the fervor of a true believer – a man totally convinced of True Love. He wouldn’t be swayed by logic or common sense… so I just nodded.

Dario shook his head. “What I wouldn’t give to have a woman I love like you love her. If you change your mind, just tell me – and I’ll do everything I can to help you find her.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, touched by the real concern in his voice.

“What’s her name again?”

“Rachel.”

“Rachel,” Dario repeated, then smiled. “A good name for a good woman.”

Then he turned and started punching the wall again.

What I didn’t know at the time was that one day, I would take Dario up on his offer…

And he would deliver where Gunnar had failed.

But by then, it would be too late.

99

Ayear passed.

I called Gunnar collect every week on the prison pay phones. I’d assumed Dario would have access to contraband cell phones, but he explained that San Vittore used jammers to make sure there was no reception. It was so the mafia bosses couldn’t run their businesses from prison. You could bribe the staff to shut the jammers off late at night, but unless you were discussing illegal activities, it was too expensive and not worth the trouble.

No matter how many times I called Gunnar, there was still no sign of Rachel. He assured me he was doing everything he could to find her and promised to keep trying.

It was cold consolation.

Every day increased the risk of her writing me off completely – if she hadn’t done so already.

And every day brought me one step closer to losing her forever… if she wasn’t already gone.

I thought of her every night when I went to bed, and it took me hours to fall asleep.

When I finally did, I usually had the same recurring dream.

We were arguing, and I turned away in anger. When I looked back, she was gone. And no matter how hard I looked, there was no trace of her. I searched everywhere in a panic, but I could never find her.

Day and night, waking or sleeping, it hurt when I thought of her – because all I could feel was her absence.

And the only thing I could do was pray that Gunnar came through for me.

At least other parts of my time in prison had a silver lining.

My Italian was becoming quite good – and Dario was turning into a master of hand-to-hand combat.

Our friendship was quite strong but not as deep as it could have been. There was still an element of distrust between us… or at least a lack of total and complete trust, anyway.

I continued to hold back on my past with MI6, and he remained vague about his connections to organized crime.

We had told each other as much as we were willing, and neither of us wanted to take the next step.

All of that changed after the riot.

San Vittore had a sinister past. I found out from Dario that the prison was originally built for political prisoners under Mussolini’s regime, then was used by the Nazis during WWII. Sometimes it felt like the evil from 80 years ago still infected the walls.

It didn’t help that the inmates were all dangerous criminals – and that there were far too many of them shoved into one place. The prison’s original capacity was meant to be 750 men, but it was well over a thousand when I got there.

There were cycles to prison life. Sometimes things would be relatively peaceful – or as peaceful as you could get in a place where attempted murder was a regular occurrence.

And then the mood would turn ugly. Usually it was because the guards were overly sadistic towards an inmate, putting him in the infirmary for a minor transgression.

The guards didn’t fuck with inmates who belonged to the Cosa Nostra, the Camorra, and the ‘Ndrangheta, but it was open season on the smaller gangs without any real power.

I was just thankful that whatever connections Dario had to the Cosa Nostra, those protections seemed to extend to both of us – like an invisible shield against the guards’ brutality.

The more powerful criminals would chalk up the guards’ actions to At least it wasn’t me or my men.

But when shepherds kill a wild dog, the wolves take notice and resent them for it. After all, the wolves have far more in common with the dogs than they do with the shepherds.

And eventually, those resentments festered and boiled over.

A strange pall had settled over the prison in the last few days. Things were seemingly calm, but there was a tension beneath the surface.

Summer had just started, and a heat wave had made San Vittore more unbearable than usual. Dario had ice delivered and kept it in a cooler in our cell so we could dip rags in the water and wrap them around our necks – but the vast majority of other prisoners were living in sweaty discomfort.

Then the prison’s air conditioning system broke completely. The temperatures inside the prison went from 85 degrees Fahrenheit to the high 90s, and the inmates’ tempers soared accordingly. Everything reeked of sewage and body odor, and the air was so stifling you could hardly breathe.

“We’re sitting on a powder keg,” Dario said grimly. “All it will take is one spark to ignite it.”

The spark came in the form of another beating by the guards.

It was something stupid. The guards – who were as on edge as the inmates – apparently yelled at a prisoner. He told them to fuck off, and the guards decided to make an example out of him.

Only problem was the guy was part of the Camorra.

We found out later that when the guards started beating him, his gangster buddies jumped in and started kicking the shit out of the guards.

Minutes later, the entire prison exploded into a free-for-all as inmates attacked guards – and then turned on each other.

Dario and I were outside when the violence erupted. We heard shouting inside, then inmates started running across the yard –

CRACK!

A gunshot rang out, and an inmate’s head erupted in a spray of blood.

The guards weren’t even giving warning shots – they were going straight for the kill.

I grabbed Dario and rushed him back towards the prison.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Before we got inside, three other men were shot down like dogs.

“Why’d they kill them?!” I asked when we got inside to safety. The area we were in had an open atrium surrounded by three levels of prison cells.

“The men they just killed were all Camorra,” Dario said. “Which means the Camorra did something to the guards, or the guards did something first and the Camorra are fighting back. Whoever started it, this is bad.”

As though to underscore his words, a guard was thrown over the railing of the third story.

There was a sickening THUD as his body hit the concrete floor.

Whether he was still alive or not, it didn’t matter – inmates immediately swarmed him and began stomping and kicking.

“Jesus…” I said in shock.

“Shit,” Dario said in alarm. “If the guards pull out, we’re fucked.”

“Why would the guards pull out?”

“They would rather lock us down and wait us out than have to come in and clear out the prison floor by floor.”

“Why would we be fucked if they do that?”

“Because if the guards aren’t around, the Camorra will kill every single one of their enemies. Including you and me.”

That was extremely bad news.

“Should we go back to our room?” I asked.

“No – that’s the first place they’ll look for us. We need to hide.”

We ran down several corridors and went deeper and deeper into the bowels of the prison, amongst the heating and water pipes. We were looking for shelter from the chaos –

When the worst of the chaos found us.

“Dario Rosolini,” a voice sneered.

We turned to see five heavily tattooed men and a sixth with close-cropped silver hair.

It was Aristide Caproni – the highest-ranking Camorra boss inside San Vittore.

“Aristide,” Dario said calmly.

“Don Caproni to you, you Tuscan piece of shit,” Aristide snarled.

“Ah – so you were promoted,” Dario said as though this was just an ordinary conversation. “Congratulations.”

“Fuck your congratulations.”

“No need for violence, Don Caproni,” Dario said. “Whatever the issue, I’m sure we can reach an accommodation.”

“How about this: your head served to me on a platter.”

Dario smiled. “Maybe we can’t come to an accommodation, after all.”

“Kill him,” Aristide barked. “And his Swedish buttboy, too.”

The five men advanced. Several of them carried shivs in their hands.

Dario and I squared up side by side.

“You take the two on the right,” I whispered. “I’ll handle the rest.”

“Alright.”

Dario and I had spent the last three months practicing fighting as a team against imaginary opponents.

Today we were going to face real ones.

Before Aristide’s men could attack, I lunged at the nearest man holding a shiv.

I surprised all of them – Dario included –

But none more so than my target.

I feinted as though I was aiming for his face –

And then kneed him in the balls as hard as I could.

When he doubled over, I broke his arm and stole his shiv.

As he screamed, the others came after me –

But Dario punched one in the side of the neck.

There is a tiny bone at the top of the spine called the atlas. Like the Greek figure from mythology who carried the world on his shoulders, this single vertebra supports the weight of the entire skull. However, a well-placed strike to the side of the neck can separate the vertebra from the skull – instantly paralyzing the victim and effectively decapitating him. Not by removing the head from the body, but by severing its connection to the rest of the spine.

I’d made Dario practice this maneuver for months –

And he executed flawlessly.

The second man went down like a sack of potatoes.

Now it was four against two. In reality, it was more like three against two, since Aristide had just come along to watch. Our odds had increased dramatically in only a matter of seconds.

The third guy swiped at my neck with a razor blade embedded in a toothbrush handle.

I leaned back just in time. As he overcompensated and stumbled forward, I kicked against the outside of his knee, which bent in a direction Nature never intended.

As he fell to the ground, I drove my shiv into his right eye.

His scream reverberated in the tunnel like a damned soul in hell.

The fourth guy saw what I’d done and hesitated.

That was it for him. I drove my elbow into his throat and crushed his windpipe. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. He might not die immediately, but he was out of commission.

Dario was in a full-on fistfight with brute number five. My friend was a big guy at 6’4” and 220 pounds, but the Camorra asshole was a monster with an 80-pound advantage.

Still, Dario gave better than he got, with several bruising jabs and a shot to the fucker’s chin.

I turned to help him –

“GET ARISTIDE!” Dario yelled at me.

The Camorra boss’s face went pale. He had watched four of his best soldiers get destroyed in a mere 15 seconds –

So when he heard Dario’s order, he ran for it.

Unfortunately for him, I was faster.

I tackled him to the concrete floor, then scrambled on top of him and put my knee in his back, pinning him to the ground.

“STOP!” he shrieked. “I’LL PAY YOU ANYTHING YOU WANT!”

I looked back at Dario just as he delivered the knockout punch. The last Camorra thug went over like a log and slammed into the concrete.

“THREE MILLION!” Aristide screamed. “THREE MILLION EUROS IF YOU KILL HIM AND LET ME GO!”

I looked at Aristide in surprise, then over at Dario.

He’d obviously heard Aristide’s offer.

“It’s a lot of money,” he said.

I made a face and shook my head like Naaaah. “Not enough.”

Dario smiled at me and started walking over.

“FOUR MILLION!” Aristide screamed. “FOUR MILLION EUROS!”

Dario stooped and picked up the toothbrush handle with the razor blade embedded in it.

“ALRIGHT, GOD DAMN IT – FIVE MILLION EUROS!” Aristide pleaded.

As Dario walked over, I asked, “What do you want to do with hi– ”

Without saying a word, Dario reached down with his left hand, lifted Aristide’s head, and slit his throat with the razor blade.

“Jesus CHRIST!” I yelled as I jumped up from Aristide’s back.

The grey-haired gangster lay on the ground, gurgling and clutching his throat, as a pool of blood spread across the concrete.

Dario looked at me, the murder weapon in his hand dripping blood. “If I let him go, he’d just come after us again.”

I stared at Dario in horror, then down at the dying man.

Dario gestured towards Aristide’s men. “The others can’t be allowed to live, either. You know that.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I shouted.

“They were going to kill us – ”

“But we beat them! Hell, a couple of them are already dead – ”

“But the ones that aren’t will go back to the Camorra and tell them what I did to Aristide, and they’ll come after us twice as hard.”

“US?!” I raged.

“I’m sorry, Lars – I truly am – but you’re in this all the way now. The Camorra will never let you live once they know you were involved. Which is why we can’t let the others go.”

I shook my head in panic. “No – no – ”

“Look, I know I haven’t told you everything about me and my family – ”

“No fucking shit!”

“ – but I will. Just not here. Not now. Later.” Dario pointed down the hallway. “Walk away. I’ll finish it.”

“Why can’t we just turn them over to the prison guards?!”

“Number one, because I just killed a man in cold blood. Number two, because the Camorra will pay anything to get revenge. No guard will pass up that amount of money.”

“But – ”

“Do you really think anyone in charge cares about this?” Dario asked, gesturing towards the bodies on the floor. “We just took out the trash for them. Made their lives that much easier.”

I looked at the three men who were either unconscious or barely hanging onto life. “You think you can execute them, and the authorities will just let you get away with it?!”

“Yes,” Dario said simply.

“No! They’ll investigate and find out who did it – ”

“No, they won’t. And I’ll tell you why: listen.”

When Dario stopped talking, I focused on the shouting far away in the cellblock. There was even a muffled gunshot.

“An ocean of blood is about to swallow them up,” Dario said as he gestured at Aristide and his men. “No one will ask questions because no one will care. They’re just six more bodies amongst dozens.”

I looked at him in horror.

“It’s the only way, my friend,” Dario said. “Just go back to the cell. I’ll handle it… and I’ll explain everything later.”

“You know if I fought you, I could stop you,” I said.

“I know. But you’d be fighting to save a couple of assholes. They’ll thank you by ratting you out to men who will kill you. Trust me, Lars: just walk away.”

I stood there, my conscience tormenting me –

But I knew he was right.

I hated it… but I knew he was right.

If we spared them, the men would just go tell their Camorra bosses, and soon we’d have an entire fucking army coming after us.

San Vittore wasn’t like the outside world. It wasn’t even like Afghanistan. At least there, the enemy didn’t live five feet away from you in peace and quiet… that is, until he saw a chance to murder you.

In Afghanistan, the Taliban were upfront about their intentions from the very start.

San Vittore was a madhouse… and the only way to save yourself was to do the unthinkable.

What was I going to do – murder my friend to stop him? All to save a couple of worthless pieces of shit who had just tried to murder me and would tell their friends to try again tomorrow?

“Walk away,” Dario said softly, “and I’ll tell you everything. If you want to turn me in after that, I’ll abide by your choice. But right now, I have to take care of business.”

I stared at him…

Nodded once…

And walked away.

Behind me, I heard wet gurgling and choking sounds…

That were quickly drowned out by the thunderous roar of the riot.

In hell, all the screams of the damned bleed into one.

And I was most definitely in hell.

100

The riot was eventually put down.

Guards stormed the cellblocks with shields and nightsticks. Anyone foolish enough to stand up to them got their brains bashed in.

By that point, I was already back in my cell. I listened to the shrieks of pain out in the prison –

And then Dario walked in.

He calmly sat down on the chair opposite me as though he hadn’t just cut three men’s throats in cold blood.

As screams echoed all around us, I asked, “Is it done?”

“There will be no reprisals,” he answered.

We looked at each other in silence until he finally sighed. “I said I would give you an explanation for what just happened. I owe you that much.

“As I’m sure you’ve guessed all along, I’m not just a business associate of the Cosa Nostra; I belong to it. My father rules Tuscany, and we share control of Florence with another family. I’m in San Vittore because our main source of income is political influence. We control hundreds of politicians and even more judges and cops.

“Recently, a bunch of police detectives not on our payroll came after us for bribing judges. The cops weren’t going to be satisfied with a bunch of lower-level go-betweens. They were out for blood, so someone in the family had to take the fall. As the oldest son and the heir apparent, it was my duty to protect my father and my brothers – so I volunteered.”

I stared at Dario as I remembered something my lawyer had said.

There was recently a scandal where a member of the Cosa Nostra pled guilty to bribing judges…

“It was you,” I said, stunned.

“What was me?”

“My lawyer said somebody in the Cosa Nostra was bribing judges. Was that you?”

“Yes,” Dario said with an amused smile.

“So you bribed a judge?”

“No.”

I frowned. “But – ”

“One of our employees did. He was following orders that went through a chain of command originating with my father and uncle. When the police caught one of the judges in a sting operation, he gave up the man who had given him the money – our employee. The cops basically tortured him into confessing.

“We have protections in place to prevent our people from ratting us out, but it became clear the police were going to rip through all of that and take down our entire operation if the damage was not contained. So I stepped forward and agreed to plead guilty in exchange for a reduced sentence.

“There were highly-placed people who didn’t want the prosecutor to cut me a deal, and they fought hard against it – but most of the politicians and judges just wanted to go back to how things used to be. After all, they made a lot of money from the prior arrangement. If they pursued the court case, it would be a long, protracted legal battle costing both my family and the taxpayers tens of millions in legal fees… not to mention millions more that otherwise would have gone directly into their pockets. It was in everyone’s best interest that the matter be handled as quickly as possible. So… I pled guilty, and here I am.”

“Even though you had nothing to do with it,” I said in amazement.

“Not directly, no. But it would be inaccurate to say I had nothing to do with it since my family controls the judges.”

“Why didn’t you just let your father and uncle take the fall? They were the ones responsible.”

Dario looked at me like I was insane. “My father and uncle are in their 50s. The chances they would survive a prison sentence in here are much, much lower than mine.”

“So?”

He looked at me with even more disbelief. “Would you let your father die in a place like this, knowing you could have saved him?”

“I haven’t seen my father since I was four years old, and he was beating up my mother,” I said.

Dario nodded like he understood. “Then what about her? Wouldn’t you take the fall for your mother so she wouldn’t have to endure this place?”

“…yes,” I admitted. “If she were still alive.”

“Now you understand why I did it.”

“…yes,” I said grudgingly. “But why are you telling me all of this? You didn’t need to. You could’ve just said you were a member of the Cosa Nostra and that the Camorra want you dead. So why did you tell me all that?”

Dario looked at me for a long time before answering.

I felt like he was not only weighing whether he should tell me…

But that he was weighing me, as well.

“You saved my life,” Dario said. “You were a complete stranger when you yelled at me that day out in the yard, yet you inserted yourself into a fight you knew nothing about. From that moment forward, I owed you – as a matter of honor.

“Since then, I’ve come to regard you as a good friend. A close friend – someone I trust. I don’t have many people like that in my life. Besides my brothers and my father, there’s no one I trust with my life… except you. I don’t even trust my uncle and cousin the way I trust you, and they’re family.

“You stood by me today, shoulder to shoulder, when Aristide’s men attacked us. Not only that, you turned down a large amount of money to betray me.”

I scoffed. “What, that bullshit about millions of euros?”

Dario looked at me as though he was waiting for me to figure something out.

I stared at him in shock. “…he was serious?! He would have really paid that much if I killed you?!”

“Beginning to rethink your answer?” Dario asked coolly.

I looked him straight in the eye. “No. I don’t sell out my friends.”

“Is that what we are?” Dario asked softly. “Friends?”

“You just spent the last 60 seconds telling me that’s what we are,” I snapped.

“That’s what I believe. What I want to know is what you believe.”

I sighed. “You’re my friend. You are. I just… I’m a little afraid of who I’ve befriended, that’s all.”

“A monster,” Dario suggested.

“A murderer, at the very least.”

“You were in the Special Forces. Haven’t you killed men in times of war?”

I didn’t say anything –

But I was thinking about how I’d killed Hans Solner and his bodyguard in Norway.

I’ve killed at least two men I WASN’T at war with, and who never did anything to me.

Dario continued talking. “Make no mistake, the Camorra is at war with the Cosa Nostra, which means that Aristide Caproni was at war with me. If he or his men had lived, they would have told their superiors what happened, and I would have to fight even MORE Camorra thugs. Next time, I might not have been so lucky. What I did was brutal, yes – but it was necessary.”

“You’re still going to have to fight the Camorra in the future, though – right?”

“Yes, but not against Aristide. Any future clashes between me and the Camorra will hopefully be at reduced levels of conflict – more like the Cold War than World War II. But if I had let any of those men walk away, it would have become a full-blown war for revenge.”

I considered what he’d said for a moment… and finally decided he was right.

I didn’t like that he was right – but it didn’t change the fact that he was.

When your own survival is on the line, the rules change.

Especially when you didn’t start the fight, but you know it will go on forever unless you finish it.

“You still didn’t say why you told me all that.”

“What,” he said in amusement, “owing you my life isn’t good enough?”

“You went to prison for your family,” I said. “It sounds like you’d do anything for them. But you just admitted to me that they’re criminals and – ”

“We’re not criminals,” Dario interrupted with an edge of irritation in his voice. “We’re businessmen.”

“And your business is breaking the law,” I snarled. “You can lie to yourself, but don’t try to get me to swallow your bullshit.”

Dario’s eyes narrowed in anger –

And then he relaxed, like he was giving me a pass on insulting his family.

“By your standards, yes… we’re criminals.”

“And yet you just admitted everything to me. Why?”

Dario seemed to stare into the depths of my soul before he answered.

“I pride myself on being an excellent judge of character. Many times, I knew that men would betray my family, even though I couldn’t logically explain why.” He looked off to the side as though he couldn’t bear to look me in the eyes as he said the next part. “It pains me to say this, but I don’t entirely trust my uncle. He’s my father’s consigliere. His counselor and right-hand man. My uncle is supposed to be the last link in the chain – the firewall protecting my father against the authorities. A good consigliere will fall on his sword to protect his don… but I have my doubts. I volunteered to take the deal because I was afraid if the cops put pressure on my uncle, he might sell my father out. I can’t prove it… and my father would be horrified if I told him… but it was something I felt very strongly, deep in my gut.”

Dario looked back at me. “When I look at you… I don’t know why, exactly, but I feel I can trust you no matter what. With my life, and with my family’s lives. I see the same loyalty in you that I see in my brothers, but there’s a sense of honor in you that I’m not sure even they possess. Not all of them, anyway. But you… you’re a soldier. And you’re the best friend – the most trusted friend – I’ve ever had.”

I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a swell of emotion inside my chest.

“When I get out of here,” Dario continued, “I won’t take over my family’s operations for many years, God willing. Not until my father dies or is incapable of leading us anymore. I hope that day is decades away. But when I do take over, I desperately need someone like you. Someone I can trust with my life. I need a soldier beside me. And so I’m telling you all these things now… hoping that one day you might agree to be that man. To be that soldier… to be that friend. To stand by my side and help me protect my family.”

I stared at him for a long time.

He waited for some kind of a reaction.

When I finally spoke, it wasn’t to give him an answer –

At least not the kind of answer he was probably expecting.

“Over a year ago, a highly placed operative in MI6 – British Intelligence – offered me a deal. He wanted me to work for him as an assassin and kill enemies of the United Kingdom and NATO. In return, he would get me out of the two years I still had left with the Swedish military.

“I wanted out because I wanted to be with Rachel in London. I was going to be deployed back to Afghanistan, and I was afraid I wouldn’t see her for a year. Even worse, I might be killed or wounded. So I took the deal.

“I killed two men on my first mission. One was a traitor who sold secrets to the Chinese. The second guy was his bodyguard, who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was on my second mission here in Italy when I got stopped by the police and they found guns in my car. And here I am.”

Dario frowned. “MI6 knows you’re here?”

“The guy who hired me does.”

“And he didn’t do anything to get you out?”

“That was part of the deal: plausible deniability. If I got caught, I was on my own.”

“And you held up your end of the bargain,” Dario said in amazement.

“I knew the rules when I took the mission. And I keep my word.” I leaned forward. “What I just told you about MI6 has to stay between you and me. You can tell anybody you want about Special Forces, but my involvement with MI6 has to remain a secret.”

Dario nodded. “I swear on my father’s life that I will never tell anyone without your permission.”

“Your father’s life?” I asked, confused.

“In the Cosa Nostra, when we make a promise, we swear on things that are holy to us. There is nothing more precious to me than my father’s life. I will never tell anyone, I promise you.”

I nodded, deeply touched. “Thank you.”

Dario looked at me searchingly. “Why are you telling me all of this? You didn’t need to, and yet you did.”

He was repeating what I’d asked him just a few minutes earlier.

“You were honest with me,” I replied. “About everything. I figured it was only right for me to be honest with you.”

He nodded like he approved. “So you have some familiarity with the role I’m offering you.”

“Yes… but it’s not the same thing.”

“How is it not the same thing?”

“I only agreed to the deal with MI6 because I was going to kill traitors and rogue arms dealers.”

Dario looked unconvinced. “No… you agreed to it because you wanted to be with the woman you loved. The rest was merely justification so you could sleep better at night.”

That made me angry. “No – ”

Dario barely suppressed a smile as he said, “A perceptive man once said to me, ‘You can lie to yourself, but don’t try to get me to swallow your bullshit.’ I ask you the same courtesy.”

I glared at him –

And then burst out laughing.

He’d nailed me.

“Yes, okay,” I admitted. “I agreed to work for them because I wanted to be with the woman I loved… and the rest was just to make it easier for me to stomach.”

“That I can understand. By the way, doing something for the woman you love is a very good reason – one of the best. Maybe the best. But I think you left something out about why you told me all of this.”

“And what’s that?”

“I think you wanted to let me down gently.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I think you were trying to tell me that when you get out of here, you’ll have no need of my offer because you’ll be going back to Rachel.”

“I don’t even know if she’ll – ” I said, then stopped in despair. “She could have moved on by then.”

Dario shook his head. “No. If it was meant to be, it will happen. As much as I want you to work with me and my family, I tell you this, honestly and truthfully: Rachel is far more important. You must go to her. You must get her back. That should be your only goal when you leave San Vittore. BUT… if it doesn’t work out, God forbid… remember my offer. It will always be open to you.”

“Dario…”

I really appreciated what he was trying to do for me, but I’d only agreed to Alistair’s offer because I would be taking out bad guys.

There was no way in hell I was going to join the mafia so I could go around telling shop owners, Nice little business you have here. Be a shame if something happened to it.

Dario put a hand up to stop me. “No – we don’t need to talk about it anymore today. Just keep it in the back of your mind.”

I sighed and nodded.

He stood up and walked towards me, his arms wide open. “Thank you for what you did. For fighting alongside me… for trusting me enough to walk away, even though I know it hurt you to do so… and for telling me everything you did. Again, I am in your debt for the rest of my life.”

When I stood up, he hugged me fiercely and slapped me on my back.

When he pulled back, he was smiling. “Come – let’s have a little wine while we wait out the end of the world.”

And that was how we spent the final hours of the riot: drinking wine as he told me everything he hoped to accomplish when he eventually took over the family business.

In Dario’s version of things, his family was a force for order and stability in Tuscany. There would always be illegal activities; it would be better for them to be conducted by level-headed businessmen instead of brutes who would prey on the community like vampires.

But Dario wanted to change the way things were done – to do away with some of the darker sides of the family business. He wanted to end the family’s involvement in drugs, sex trafficking, and prostitution. He’d fought with his father and uncle repeatedly over those issues, to no avail. The older men saw them as business, nothing more. But once Dario took over, he planned to outlaw them completely within his organization.

Women who wanted to be sex workers could do so on their own, but they wouldn’t owe a cut of their earnings to the Rosolinis. Dario would also discourage – and, if need be, forcibly ‘remove’ – any pimps who tried to exploit those women through violence.

It all sounded admirable… if you could call men who made themselves rich through crime ‘admirable.’

But I didn’t care about Dario’s plans other than admitting he had some good ideas.

I only had one priority: to survive San Vittore so I could get back to Rachel. That was all I cared about.

Little did I know, I would be sorely tempted to betray Dario in the days ahead – and they would do it by offering me the only things I cared about.

My freedom…

And Rachel.

101

After the riot was over, the inmates were forced at gunpoint to clean up the mess. Besides the trashed commons areas, there was a lot of blood – and over two dozen dead bodies. Some of them had been killed by the guards; others had been murdered because of bad blood or gang rivalries.

Then there were the ones Dario and I were responsible for.

We weren’t part of the group that handled Aristide and his underlings’ corpses, but I watched from a distance as other inmates carried their bodies to the morgue.

Surprisingly, there were no accusations.

No questions.

No investigations.

Nobody asked us about the blood on our clothes.

Although, to be fair, there were a lot of inmates with blood on their clothes.

The warden and prison guards just acted like it was over and done – no need to discuss it.

Nothing to see here; move along.

Then, a week after the riot, someone came to see me.

A guard came to the cell to fetch me. “Hey, Anderson – you got a visitor.”

Dario glanced over at me. “You expecting anyone?”

“No,” I said, mystified.

No one knew I was here besides my lawyer and Gunnar, and I seriously doubted either one of them would have visited without informing me beforehand.

The guard escorted me to the administrative part of the building and led me into a room where inmates conferred with their lawyers.

Except the man waiting inside the room wasn’t a lawyer.

He was dressed in a cheap navy blue suit. The rest was inexpensive, too: shirt, tie, shoes, haircut.

Add to that the cynical look on his face, and everything about him screamed ‘cop.’

He was sitting on one side of a battered table. I sat down opposite him.

The guard was about to handcuff me to the chair when the stranger shook his head. “Non c’è bisogno.”

No need.

The guard shrugged and left the two of us alone.

The man looked at me and said in heavily accented English, “I am-ah here to talk-a to – ”

“Parlo abbastanza bene l’italiano,” I interrupted.

I speak Italian fairly well.

He raised one eyebrow and continued in Italian. “Court records indicate you didn’t know Italian at your trial.”

“I’ve had some time on my hands,” I said drily. “I picked up a few things since then.”

He smirked at my answer, then got a serious look on his face. “I’m Detective Vincent Benardi with the Milan Questura – the police department. I’m here about some of the deaths that happened during the riot.”

I didn’t say anything.

He opened up a battered briefcase and took out a mugshot. “In particular, Aristide Caproni, a made man in the Camorra mafia.”

I looked at the black and white photograph in silence.

“You know him?” Bernardi asked.

“I know of him,” I said. “I saw him around.”

“You know what happened to him?”

“I heard he met an unfortunate end.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Bernardi said. “Another way of putting it is he was murdered.”

“A lot of men were killed in the riot.”

“We’re interested in Caproni in particular.”

“Can’t help you.”

“I think you can.” Bernardi laid down another mug shot. “I understand you’re pretty close to this guy.”

Shit.

It was a mug shot of Dario.

“He’s my cellmate,” I said casually.

“Just your cellmate?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe he’s your buddy.”

“Not particularly.”

“That’s interesting… because I have testimony from several inmates who say they saw you walk out of a hallway where Caproni and five other men were found dead… and that Dario Rosolini came out a few minutes later with blood on his clothes. What do you have to say about that?”

“I’d say your sources are trying to pin shit that they did on innocent people.”

“‘Innocent’ – that’s cute.” Bernardi narrowed his eyes. “I heard your buddy gets a lot of nice things because of his connections. Wine… better food than the shit in the cafeteria…”

When I didn’t say anything, Bernardi snapped, “Well? Yes or no?”

“I didn’t realize you were asking a question,” I replied coolly. “Yes, he gets some wine and food from the outside. But you probably want to talk to the guards about that since they’re the ones who let it into the prison.”

Bernardi smirked. “Does he share it with you? The food and wine?”

“Sometimes.”

“And you’re not his friend, huh.”

“Like I said – I’m his cellmate.”

“What do you know about Caproni and the five other dead guys?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing at all,” Bernardi said sarcastically.

“Nope.”

“What if I told you I don’t give a shit about you – that I only want Rosolini?”

“I’d ask you why.”

Bernardi grew more animated the longer he talked. “He got off easy on a plea deal when he and his fucking family should be in here for the rest of their lives. You give me something I can hang him with – anything – and I’ll get you out of San Vittore as a cooperating witness.”

My heart sped up.

“…anything,” I repeated in disbelief.

“I don’t give a damn about Caproni. He was a murdering piece of shit. But I do give a damn about Rosolini – because he’s a murdering piece of shit, too. If you agree to testify that Rosolini offed Caproni – or any of the others – I can pull you out of here right now and get the magistrate to vacate your sentence. You’d stay in protective custody until we taped your testimony and got it to the judge, but then you’d be free. You can leave Italy, go back to Sweden, whatever you want.”

When I didn’t say anything, Bernardi interpreted my silence as hesitance. He leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Look, I don’t care if you offed Caproni or any of the other guys – we’ll give you immunity. I just need something on Rosolini. A murder – a confession to any other criminal activity – anything we can use to invalidate his plea deal and keep him in here for life.”

My heart was beating wildly, but I stayed still.

I could get out of here – I could see Rachel again! –

…but…

…at what cost?

Bernardi stared at me like a wolf sizing up its prey. “You give me anything on Rosolini, and you walk out of here right now. Two weeks – three weeks max – and you’re a free man. What do you say?”

I stared at him for a long time –

And I made my decision.

“Sorry,” I said. “Can’t help you.”

He stared at me in disbelief. “You’re saying you don’t know anything about Rosolini.”

“That’s right.”

Bernardi got a crafty look on his face. “You know… you could just tell me some shit. It doesn’t have to be 100% accurate. I could even suggest some things we already know. I just need you to testify that Rosolini told you.”

I stared him straight in the eyes. “But that would be a lie, Detective. And you’re not suggesting I lie, are you?”

Bernardi clenched his jaw in anger before he spoke again. “You realize that you’re in here for another four years. This is your only ticket out.”

I held up my hands like What can I do? “I’d help you if I could, but as far as I know, Dario wasn’t anywhere near Caproni during the riot… and he hasn’t told me jack shit about his life outside prison.”

Bernardi smirked in disbelief. “You’re cellmates with this guy, and he hasn’t told you anything.”

“He keeps his cards close to his vest.”

Bernardi leaned back. “That’s an interesting phrase – ‘keeps his cards close to his vest.’ A whaddayacallit – ”

“An idiomatic phrase?” I suggested.

“Yeah, an idiomatic phrase.” Bernardi fixed me with a look like he was trying to pin me to the wall. “I wouldn’t expect a Swedish guy just learning Italian to know what it means.”

“Well… like I said, I picked up a few things while I was in here.”

“Uh-huh. Not like your cellmate helped you or anything.”

I smiled. “Nope.”

Bernardi bared his teeth. “You know, I can get you out of here – or I can make your life a living hell. I can tell the guards to make sure you get beatings on the regular. They’d be more than happy to comply. Hell, I could tell my sources – the ones I talked to – to spread the word that you’re a snitch. You know what they do to snitches in here? The guards’ll find you with your dick cut off and your balls in your mouth. So… you can have it easy… or you can have it hard. What’s it gonna be, Andersen?”

I stared at him for a long moment.

Then I said, “Like I told you, I can’t give you anything on Dario because I don’t know anything. And I’m not going to lie for you. So if that’s it, I’d like to go back to my cell now.”

Bernardi got a vicious look on his face. “This is your last chance, Andersen.”

“Well…” I said hesitantly. “There is ONE thing I can tell you.”

The detective almost licked his chops as he leaned across the table. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I leaned in, too, and whispered, “Va’ a farti fottere, pezzo di merda.”

Go fuck yourself, you piece of shit.

Bernardi looked at me with murderous rage, then yelled at the top of his voice, “GUARD!”

The guard opened the door. “Everything okay?”

“We’re through in here,” Bernardi snarled. “Take this piece of shit back to the sewer where he belongs.”

The guard gestured to me, and I stood up and walked over to the door.

“You just signed your death warrant, Andersen,” Bernardi said with an ugly laugh.

“You know what… I changed my mind,” I said.

Bernardi looked startled. “…yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t go fuck yourself – go fuck your mother.”

If the guard hadn’t been there, I think Bernardi would have tried to beat me to death.

As I walked down the hall, the detective screamed out behind me, “I hope you enjoy having your rectum resized, you fucking piece of shit!”

As I walked away, I just raised one hand in the air and flipped him the bird.

The guard chuckled behind me. “You’re dumb as shit, Andersen… but I gotta give it to you, you got balls.”

“No,” I replied. “I’m just not a fuckin’ rat, is all.”

102

When I walked back into the cell, Dario was sitting in a chair reading a recent bestseller on economics – something he got smuggled in from outside, not from the prison library.

He looked up. “Who was it?”

I sighed and sat down. “I need a drink first.”

He poured two glasses of wine and handed one to me. “Well?”

“It was a cop from Milan. He was looking for dirt on you… and he offered to spring me from prison if I’d testify against you.”

Dario’s eyes widened. “Really.”

“Yeah. He wanted me to hang Caproni on you… or anything, really. He just wanted you to never get out of San Vittore.”

Dario was very still. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him to go fuck himself. Then I told him, ‘No, wait – go fuck your mother instead.’”

Dario burst out laughing. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“No,” I said.

He stopped laughing. “You really told him that?!”

“Yeah.”

“If you’d cooperated,” Dario said quietly, “you could get out and see Rachel.”

“Yeah, well… it’s not worth selling my soul.”

Dario grinned like the cat who ate the canary.

I frowned. “What?”

He set aside the book. “I told them. I told them you wouldn’t sell me out… and I was right.”

I frowned even more. “Told who?”

“My father and uncle.”

I stared at him, not comprehending – until it clicked.

“Wait – that was a TEST?!” I shouted.

He held up his hands as though to ward me off. “I apologize – it wasn’t my idea, and I argued against it – but it was the only way to make sure.”

“To make sure of what?!”

“That you wouldn’t turn on us.”

“If I wanted to turn on you, I could have gone to the warden any time I wanted!”

“I know,” Dario said calmly. “But my father and uncle demanded assurances. This was the only way to get them on your side.”

“Why?! Why the fuck did you tell them anything in the first place?!”

“Because the offer I made you – it wouldn’t be binding without their approval.”

Now I understood. “The offer to – ”

“To come work for my family if things don’t work out with Rachel.”

I groaned. “Dario – ”

“I’m not trying to dissuade you from going after her. You absolutely should go after her. I just want you to consider this as a backup option.”

I sighed. “Look, I appreciate it – I do – but – ”

“You don’t want to go around collecting extortion money or breaking legs.”

He’d nailed it on the head.

“…no, I don’t,” I admitted.

“You wouldn’t be doing that,” he said. “We don’t deal with that sort of shit.”

“I also don’t want to kill anybody who doesn’t deserve it.”

“I would never ask you to do that.”

I gave him a sour look. “Great – but who exactly decides who ‘deserves’ it?”

“Here’s what I propose: I want you to train our men to fight. Not just hand-to-hand combat like you taught me, but to be soldiers. The men who work for us have no training. They were handed a gun, and they fired it once or twice. Most of them have been in a few fistfights, and that’s it. I want you to transform them into a force to be reckoned with. And not to hurt civilians or hassle shop owners – but because there’s a war coming, and I want our family to be ready for it.”

“A war with who?” I asked. “The Camorra?”

“The Camorra, maybe the ‘Ndrangheta… I don’t know exactly, but I know it’s coming, and I want my family to be ready. If you take me up on the offer, I would also ask you to handle important tasks – I might even ask you to kill someone – but I swear it will only be people who are a threat to my family and who deserve it. And you would always have the option to say ‘no.’”

I looked at him doubtfully. “You’re saying I could refuse to follow orders.”

“At any time, about anything.”

“Is that normal in your line of work?”

“No,” Dario said. “It’s unprecedented. In the Cosa Nostra, when your superior tells you to do something, you do it – no questions asked.”

“Like a good soldier,” I said quietly.

He nodded. “Like a good soldier.”

“But you’d let me disobey orders.”

“I’d let you refrain from taking certain actions. Obviously, you couldn’t countermand orders I give my other men – but if there’s something you didn’t want to do, I would not insist you do it.”

I thought for a long moment.

What he was promising me was a luxury I’d sure as hell never been given in the military – or by Alistair.

“I would have certain conditions,” I said.

“Name them.”

“I would never harm any women or children.”

“I would never ask you to.”

“What about your father or uncle?” I asked dubiously. “Would they tell me to?”

“That was the reason for the test,” Dario explained. “You would be reporting directly to me, not them.”

This was sounding more and more unbelievable by the minute. “You’re saying if your father – the mafia don of your family – ordered me to do something, that I could say ‘no.’”

“That’s correct – because you would answer to me, not him. Hence the test to make absolutely sure of your loyalty.”

I looked at Dario sideways. “I can’t see your father and uncle being willing to go along with that situation.”

He smiled. “I reminded them that I took the fall so they didn’t have to be here. This was my one request in exchange.”

I stared at him in shock. “You said that to them?”

“Yes.”

“Why?!”

“Because I have a good feeling about you.”

I looked at him in disbelief, then sighed. “Look, I can’t make any promises – ”

“Nor do I expect you to. This was just me planting a seed. If I brought the matter to my father and uncle a week before your release, they would have said ‘no.’ This way, they have some time to get used to it.”

“Several years,” I said drily.

He gave a rueful smile. “It might take them that long to be comfortable with the arrangement.”

“So that guy wasn’t a cop?”

“Bernardi? Oh, he’s a cop, alright. But he’s on our payroll. In Florence, not in Milan. He’s one of our most loyal men in law enforcement.”

I stared at Dario in disbelief. “Wait – so he knows stuff about you?!”

“You mean things that could keep me in prison for another 20 years? Absolutely. If he wanted to fuck us, he knows far worse things than you do. But he also knows that if he rats, he’ll be killing the goose that lays the golden eggs. Plus, he’ll spend the rest of his very short life looking over his shoulder, day and night.”

I got a sour look on my face. “So if I went to work for you, and Bernardi turned on you… is he somebody you’d order me to kill?”

“I would ask you to kill him,” Dario said gently. “But per our agreement, you would have the right to refuse.”

I settled back in my chair uneasily…

But it wasn’t the idea of killing a corrupt cop that bothered me.

It was the fact that I wasn’t bothered by it.

That was the part that unsettled me.

“I can promise you far more money than your arrangement with MI6,” Dario said, “although I don’t sense money is a big motivator for you.”

“It’s not. It’s nice, but it’s not the most important thing.”

Dario nodded. “So I promise to give you what no one else in the Cosa Nostra has ever been given before: the right to say ‘no.’ The right to refuse orders. And I can promise you something that your British bastard of a boss was never willing to give you, either.”

“What’s that?”

“If things go badly with a mission… and you’re trapped or imprisoned… we will never, ever leave you behind,” Dario said. “We will always come to get you, even at the cost of our own lives. That I swear to you on my father’s life.”

I believed him.

Dario sat back in his chair. “Look… if I’m being completely honest… I selfishly want to keep you here with me in San Vittore. Because you’re a good friend, and because I’m far safer if you stay with me. But as a gesture of goodwill, I want to make you another offer.”

“One I can’t refuse?” I joked.

He smiled at The Godfather reference. “Remember – you can always refuse. That’s part of the deal. No… I want my brother Roberto to hire new legal counsel to look at your case. There may be a way to vacate your sentence – an irregularity or a flaw that your lawyer overlooked. Maybe something in the arrest or the paperwork.”

“I… I’m touched. I really am,” I said. “But my lawyer was good. I started off with a public defender, but when I found out his English was horrible, I got my friend to find a better lawyer out of Milan. She spoke English fluently and handled everything as well as could be expected.”

“But she didn’t take your case to trial, correct?”

“No – but that was because they caught me with the guns red-handed. She said there was no way out of a prison sentence.”

“There’s always a way out.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Then what are you doing here?”

He smiled. “I was the way out. Otherwise, it would have meant prison for my father and uncle.”

I felt bad for acting like a smartass, especially considering the gigantic sacrifice he had made for his family.

It had just been irritating to hear that You THOUGHT you did the smart thing, but you didn’t.

Because if I hadn’t done the smart thing…

Then I’d well and truly fucked myself, and that was a hard pill to swallow.

Dario seemed to know what I was thinking because he said, “I’m sure your lawyer was very good – but I’m talking about someone outstanding. One of the best in Italy. Like you said, your lawyer handled the plea deal. I’m talking about someone who can go back over your case with a microscope to find a loophole that could set you free.”

“I can’t afford that kind of a lawyer.”

He waved my objection away. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Dario – ”

“You’ve saved my life on more than one occasion. I can never repay that. But my family has enough money that hiring the best lawyer in Italy would be a pittance. Allow me to do the very least that is in my power to make things right.”

I stared at him.

Was it true?

Was it even possible?

I wanted to believe, but – there was one more problem.

“Thank you. I mean it – thank you. But… my situation could actually get worse if a new lawyer starts stirring things up.”

“Why is that?”

“My name isn’t Lars Andersen – it’s Lars Henriksson. I had a fake passport when I was arrested. That’s who I pretended to be, and that’s the name they convicted me under. I think they didn’t look at me too closely because they had me dead to rights with the guns. But if they think I might get out of jail, well… they might start poking around again.”

“Lars Henriksson, eh?”

I nodded.

“Your fingerprints aren’t in a military database somewhere?” Dario asked.

“From what I understand, MI6 deleted them.”

Dario whistled. “What my family wouldn’t pay to be able to do that.”

I smiled, then grew serious. “Look, I came to terms with serving my sentence a long time ago. I figured I made my bed, so I had to lie in it. I don’t like it, but I’ve learned to live with it.”

“Even if it means not seeing Rachel for another three years?”

I clenched my jaw. “That’s the part that hurts.”

“At least let me have Roberto look into it,” Dario said. “We’ll specify that it has to be handled with the utmost delicacy. He won’t allow the lawyer to advance the case without you signing off on it. Seriously, though, it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“…really?” I asked, daring to hope.

“Really.”

“…okay. Thank you.”

Dario got up from his chair and hugged me. “Believe me when I tell you it is the least I can do for you, my friend.”

Dario was as good as his word. His brother Roberto hired one of the most expensive defense lawyers in all of Italy to look at my case.

I didn’t know it at the time, but the lawyer had worked for the Rosolinis many times in the past. That’s why he agreed to do it.

If I’d called him up out of the blue, he never would have taken me on as a client. And even if he had, his fee would’ve equaled half a year’s pay at MI6.

Three weeks later, an answer finally came back: there weren’t any flaws the lawyer could exploit. Not easily, anyway – and not without drawing undue attention to my identity.

I had to turn down Dario’s offer. If the Italian authorities found out I was using a fake passport… and if it could even potentially lead back to MI6…

I couldn’t take that chance.

“Thanks, but… I can’t,” I said weeks later when Dario told me the news.

He nodded. “I’m sorry, Lars.”

It was hard. Like I had been given a tiny scrap of hope, and then it was taken away from me.

But the one thing I never forgot:

That Dario had offered… then come through for me… even though it would have meant losing his only real ally in San Vittore.

I never forgot what he had been willing to give up so I could potentially go free.

103

Time passes differently in prison. It feels like the same endless loop, over and over – because it is. You get up, do your routine, go to bed, then get up and do it all over again.

There are fights… there are riots… there are attempts on your life… but they become part of the endless loop, too. The unending sameness of your day-to-day existence.

Then one day you wake up –

And three and half years have passed.

I only realized it because I got a visit from my attorney. Not the expensive one that Dario’s brother had hired, but Silvia Altamura, the woman who had handled my plea deal.

I saw her in the same room where I’d met Bernardi, the crooked cop who had tested my loyalty to Dario.

As soon as the guard left, she said in English, “Congratulations. Your sentence has been commuted.”

I stared at her. “…what?”

“They’ve decided to let you go a year and a half early.”

“…why?!”

“San Vittore has serious overcrowding. They reviewed potential cases for parole, and your offense was the least serious. There wasn’t any bad behavior in your record, so they decided you were one of the lucky candidates.”

The only reason there was no bad behavior in my record was because I’d never been caught – and because no one in power in San Vittore ever asked any questions. They just disposed of the bodies and went along like nothing had ever happened.

Silvia frowned. “You don’t seem too happy.”

She was right; I was mostly shocked. Numb.

Half of me wondered if this wasn’t another test from Dario’s family.

“It’s just… I never expected this,” I said. “When do I get out?”

“It’ll take about a week to process the paperwork, but then you’re a free man.”

One week.

After three and a half years… all I had left was one week.

“Are you alright?” Silvia asked, her brow crinkling. “I’ve never delivered better news to a client before, and yet I’ve never gotten a more subdued reaction.”

“No, I’m… I’m fine. Thank you for coming to let me know.”

“You’re very welcome. Well… that’s all I came for, so if there’s nothing else…”

“No. No, thank you.”

She rapped on the door for the guard to take me back. When he came to collect me, Silvia gave me a little smile. “Good luck, Lars. Stay out of trouble. I don’t want to see you as a client again.”

I nodded and walked out into the hall with the guard.

He escorted me back to my cellblock and then walked away. Once I was on my own, the enormity of everything finally hit.

Rachel.

I could finally go search for Rachel.

Gunnar still hadn’t found her, but now I could go look.

I would stake out MI6 in London if I had to –

Find Alistair and beg him to tell her I was back –

Whatever it took to see her again.

I walked back into my cell in a daze.

Dario glanced up from the book he was reading. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I… I just found out I’m getting out in a week.”

“What?! Are you certain?!”

“Yeah, that was my lawyer… she said they shortened my sentence to three and a half years.”

Dario leapt up from his chair in overwhelming joy. It was like I’d just told him my wife had had a baby.

“Meraviglioso!” he shouted with a huge grin. “Bravissimo!”

Marvelous! Well done!

Then he gave me a bear hug.

When he finally pulled away, I looked at him strangely. “That lawyer you hired didn’t have anything to do with this, did he?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I can ask, but that was years ago. Why – did they give you a reason?”

“My lawyer said San Vittore is too overcrowded.”

“Well, THAT’S certainly true. I’m just glad you’re the beneficiary!” Then he stopped, stepped back to look at me, and frowned. “What’s wrong, Lars? You should be celebrating!”

“But… you still have another six months left on your sentence.”

“So?”

“So… I won’t be in here to watch your back.”

Dario grinned. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, do you know that? You should be leaping with joy, yet you’re thinking of me. Don’t worry about that. You’ve taught me well. I’ll be fine.”

“Dario – ”

“Shhh. This is a time to celebrate, not worry. You’re going to go find Rachel!”

I nodded, still in shock.

Dario frowned again. “What’s wrong?”

I thought for a moment, then finally said, “When I still had a year and a half to go, it didn’t feel real… but now that I have to go find her, I guess part of me is terrified she moved on.”

Dario shook his head. “No. If she’s the One, she didn’t move on. She’ll be waiting for you. Or she’ll drop everything else to be with you. Trust me, my friend – if it’s meant to be, it will be.”

Se è destinato a succedere, lo sarà.

In Italian, it sounded quite beautiful.

Hearing him say it, I finally broke out of the fear and allowed myself to feel joy.

“…I’m going to see her again,” I said, a smile appearing on my face for the first time.

“Goddamn right you are,” Dario said with an even bigger grin than mine. “This is stupendous news – we need to have a drink!”

As he poured two glasses of wine, he asked, “Did your friend ever find her?”

He meant Gunnar.

“No.”

“Let me help,” Dario said as he gave me a glass. “I’m telling you, my family might be able to find her.”

“Look… I really appreciate it – ”

“But you don’t want the Cosa Nostra sniffing around MI6 and accidentally tipping them off,” Dario said with a sly smile.

“…yeah,” I admitted.

He waved his hand. “I wasn’t thinking of that. I was thinking more about her family. You said she was half Italian – which half?”

“Her mother.”

“Do you know her mother’s maiden name?”

“No. Rachel never told me.”

“What about her father?”

“He’s British, but she never told me his name, either.”

“What do you know about her mother?”

“Just that she worked in a beach town as a waitress. She met Rachel’s father while he was on holiday and she was serving him drinks. He was good-looking… one thing led to another… and they had a fling while he was in town. He left to go back home, and then Rachel’s mom found out she was pregnant. She let Rachel’s father know, and he brought her to London. They got married, and then he walked out on them when Rachel was seven years old.”

Dario looked angry. “Bastardo.” He meant Rachel’s father for leaving her. Then he asked, “The mother – do you know what beach town she was from?”

“Uh… I remember it sounded like a fish… Pisces? Pes-something – ”

“Pescara?” Dario asked.

“Yes – that’s it. Pescara.”

“I know Pescara,” Dario said thoughtfully. “It’s not too big a place… and this happened how many years ago?”

“Rachel is a year younger than me, so… about 27 years ago? Plus nine months when her mother was pregnant.”

“I might be able to work with that,” Dario murmured.

“What are you thinking?”

“Never mind – I don’t want to get your hopes up. For now, we drink.” Dario gave me a huge smile and lifted his wine glass. “To freedom – and the One.”

“To freedom,” I said, a smile on my face as I clinked my glass against his. “And to the One.”

104

Dario found her.

Well, his men did – or at least they found a clue.

But it was more information than I’d had in three and a half years.

And he did it in only four days.

“Lars!” Dario grinned as he walked back into the cell. He’d just come back from a phone call with his brothers. “I have good news!”

“What?” I asked as I looked up from the book I was reading – an Italian translation of one of the Jack Reacher books.

“Niccolo found Rachel’s mother. And if you can get to her, you should be able to find her daughter.”

I stared in shock. “What?! How?!”

Dario laughed and collapsed in the chair opposite me. “Niccolo had a couple of our best men drive out to Pescara. When you told me what happened, I knew exactly who they should talk to: older women still working in the hotels.

“Pescara’s big, but not that big… 100,000 people, maybe. But you gave me enough information to go on. Roughly 30 years ago, a young waitress ‘got in trouble’ with a handsome British man on vacation. There had to be people who were around when it happened. Knowing Italian women, I figured they’ve probably been gossiping about it ever since.

“And I was right. It took Niccolo’s men three days of snooping, but they finally found a group of women in their 50s who had worked in the hotel where it happened. They remembered, alright. The mother’s name was Camilla Abbandando. She was very young at the time, about 20. No reflection on Rachel, but the women said Camilla was unpleasant. She was a very pretty girl, but vain and arrogant. After she got pregnant, she bragged incessantly about how she was going to marry her rich Englishman and how he was flying her to London. Then they never heard from her again.”

The part about her mother being unpleasant certainly fit what Rachel had told me.

“Camilla Abbandando,” I repeated.

“Yes. The women had no idea what Camilla’s married name was, but there should be some sort of marriage license from 28 years ago. Maybe even a birth certificate for Rachel. Either way, you should be able to find the mother.”

I stood up in a trance. “Dario – I – ”

He laughed as he grabbed me by the shoulders. “Go talk to your friend. Maybe he can use the information Niccolo found.”

“Thank you… for everything…”

“You’re welcome!” he said and slapped me on the back as I left the cell. “Just be sure to name your first-born son after me!” he joked. “That’s all I ask!”

105

I’d already called Gunnar three days ago and told him I was getting out of prison.

The news had surprised and overjoyed him –

But this new piece of information absolutely floored him.

“Dude – are you SURE?”

“That’s what Dario said.”

“Look, I know your Italian buddy is ‘connected…’” I could hear the air quotes in his voice. “But can you really – ”

“Just look for Camilla Abbandando. Please.”

“Okay… hold on…”

I kept the pay phone receiver next to my ear and my back to the wall. Getting shivved while talking on the phone was a disturbingly common occurrence, so I kept an eye out while I waited.

I could hear Gunnar typing in the background. Then I heard him swear in surprise.

“…holy shit…”

My heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“…Camilla Abbandando… marriage license to a Laurence Grantham 30 years ago… changed her name to Camilla Grantham… and had a little girl at St. Bartholomew’s hospital… named Rachel Francesca Grantham.”

My blood froze in my veins.

“Can you do a search on Rachel Gra– ”

“Already on it.”

There was more clacking on the keyboard.

Then Gunnar said in a hushed tone, “There aren’t any records for a Rachel Grantham or Rachel Abbandando, but there’s a company called RFG Holding 7 Ltd. I figure RFG is for Rachel Francesca Grantham. It’s basically a shell corporation, but it lists Camilla Grantham as a contact. The company is also the holder of a house at 19 Coates Avenue in London.”

“Could it be the mother’s house?”

“I don’t think so – she’s listed at another address.” More clacking. “Dude… according to Google Maps, Coates Avenue is only four miles from MI – uh, from Rachel’s, uh, work headquarters.”

That was it.

It had to be.

After three and a half years of looking, I finally knew where she was.

“There’s a phone number for Camilla Grantham – do you want it?”

“…yeah… I don’t know if I’ll use it, but just in case.”

He gave me the number and I wrote it down on a piece of paper.

“And Coates is spelled C-O-A-T-E-S. 19 Coates Avenue.”

“Thanks, Gunnar,” I murmured.

“Dude, I’m SO sorry I couldn’t find this before…”

“It’s okay. You had no idea – Rachel’s name isn’t on it, and we had no idea what her mother’s name was.”

“Still, I feel like I should have been able to – ”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s all in the past. It’s going to be okay now.”

“Lars… do you want me to contact her first, bro?” he asked hesitantly. “You know… just in case? Get her, uh, prepared for it?”

“No… no, I want to see her. I want to explain it myself.”

“…okay…”

“Thanks, Gunnar. I mean it. For everything. For paying for the lawyer… for searching for Rachel all this time… for always being there for me.”

“I’m just sorry I couldn’t have done more.”

“You did a huge amount. More than I can ever repay.”

“Will you come see me once you get out?!” he asked excitedly. “Or I could come see you in London!”

“Absolutely – just – let me talk to her first.”

“Sure, sure – I can’t wait to see you, bro!”

“Same here, man. Same here.”

106

The day finally came.

The day I left San Vittore.

The guard was scheduled to come get me at noon sharp. While we waited, Dario and I said our final goodbyes.

Dario smiled. “Good luck with Rachel.”

“Thank you,” I said nervously.

“It’ll be fine,” he reassured me.

I just exhaled noisily and nodded.

“You remember Niccolo’s number?” he asked.

“Dario – ”

“Not just for the job offer. If you need any money, call him. I warned the prison staff years ago, so whatever you had when you came in here should still be there when you get out – but if you need anything else, call Niccolo.” Then he prodded me gently, “What’s his number?”

I rattled it off from memory.

“Good. After I get out of here, you and Rachel should come see me in Tuscany. I promise you the vacation of a lifetime. It would also make a beautiful wedding location, if you’re so inclined.”

“Thanks.” I smiled, and my eyes misted up a bit. “For everything.”

Dario grinned. “You’re my best friend, Lars. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

The guard arrived right on time. “You ready, Andersen?”

“Yeah – hold on.” I looked at Dario. “You gonna be okay?”

We both knew what I was asking.

Are you going to be able to stay alive?

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I had the best teacher in the world.”

Dario and I hugged one last time, then he slapped me on the back. “Go find your woman and live a beautiful life.”

I nodded, then went out to join the guard in the hall.

Before I completely passed the bars of the cell, I looked back at Dario one last time.

He was standing there, a sad smile on his face.

Our eyes met, and he gave me one last nod before he passed out of sight.

When I got to the discharge office, the clerk gave me a cardboard box and the same manilla envelope from three and a half years before.

Shockingly, it was all still there: my wallet, burner phone, passport, 5000 euros, all the clothes from my duffel bag…

And the necklace and diamond ring.

I stared at the sparkling stone in amazement as I held it between my fingers.

No one had taken it…

Just like Dario had said.

I glanced at the envelope. The handwritten phrase Anello di diamanti was circled three times – the angry gesture I’d made when I’d thought someone would steal the ring.

But something else was written on the envelope, too – in red ink, all caps, and different handwriting.

NON TOCCARE IL DOLORE DELLA MORTE – D. ROSOLINI

Do not touch on pain of death – D. Rosolini

I smiled.

Dario’s ‘warning to the staff’ so many years ago had been received loud and clear.

Now I had the ring back…

And finally, after so many years, I was going to take my shot.

107

The first thing I did after I walked out of San Vittore was get a cab to the Milan airport.

I bought a ticket to London in cash. My fake credit card had expired a year before, so cash was my only method of payment.

Then I went into a gift shop to buy a charging cord for my burner phone. After three and a half years in storage, it was beyond dead.

While I waited for the flight, I charged my phone and ate a meal in a restaurant. Much better than the shit from the prison cafeteria – but not quite as good as the food Dario had fixed in our prison cell. I realized at that moment just how charmed my life had been since I’d met him.

Within another hour, I was airborne.

I nervously tried to figure out the first thing I would say when I saw her.

Sorry I’m late…

You won’t believe what happened…

Traffic was awful…

No matter what I imagined, though, it ended with her flinging herself into my arms and kissing me passionately.

Once I landed at Heathrow, I took a taxi to 19 Coates Avenue, a two-story house with a lawn out front, nestled amongst a lot of trees. Similar houses lined the street.

It wasn’t that dissimilar from the fantasy I’d always had of me and Rachel with our daughter playing out back in the garden.

My heart thudded against my ribs as I walked up the driveway to the front door.

My right hand was in my pocket with the ring between my fingers. I held onto it like a drowning man holds onto a life preserver.

I told myself that there was a good chance she wasn’t even home.

It was 6 o’clock in the evening – she could still be at work or out to dinner with friends.

She could be on a mission in a foreign country.

Hell, this might not even be her house. She could have sold it, or rented it, or –

I forced all that out of my head and slowly walked up the front steps.

My heart was beating so fast I thought I might have a heart attack.

I actually felt more afraid than during firefights in Afghanistan.

This is it –

Here we go –

I pressed the doorbell and heard a chime inside the house.

I waited, forcing myself to breathe.

No answer.

After 30 seconds, I pushed the doorbell again. Heard the chime again.

Waited.

Nothing.

Fuck – she’s not home –

She probably doesn’t even LIVE here!

I turned to go –

Which is when I heard the door open behind me.

I turned back, hope and joy and expectation in my heart –

And all of it died the second I saw her face.

She looked at me like she was stricken – like she was staring at the dead body of a loved one in the morgue. The blood and color had all drained from her face like she’d just had the worst shock of her life.

Other than that, though, she was as beautiful as before. She wore a blouse and skirt suitable for an office. The only thing that had really changed was her hair was shorter, but otherwise it was like no time had passed.

We stood like that in shocked silence for a long, long moment.

“Rachel,” I finally said, my voice a raspy croak.

“What are you doing here?!” she hissed in a low voice, like she was afraid someone might overhear us.

I frowned. “I came to – ”

And then a glint of light caught my eye.

It was from her hand, which was still gripping the doorknob.

A ring.

A diamond ring.

I froze as I stared at it –

And I felt like I might vomit.

She realized what I was looking at, and hurriedly put her hand behind her.

“What do you want?!” she hissed again.

I looked up into her eyes.

No trace of love or warmth –

Just pain.

And grief.

“…you’re engaged?” I asked, completely stunned.

“Not that it’s any business of yours,” she said angrily, “…but yes.”

“Do I know hi– ”

“Where have you BEEN?!” she hissed again, and her whole body began to tremble.

“I was in prison. In Milan. I tried to find you – I had Gunnar looking for you for the last three and a half years, but your phone number had changed. So had your email address, and I didn’t where you lived.”

By now her eyes were full of tears. A single teardrop spilled down her cheek.

The sight of it was too much to bear.

“Rachel – ” I said as I moved towards her –

“STOP!” she cried out and backed away from me.

I froze in my tracks.

“If Gunnar couldn’t find me, then how did you find this house?” she snapped.

“I made a friend in prison. He has… connections on the outside. I told him about your mother and how she met your father, so my friend sent people to Pescara to ask around. They found some women who remembered your mother. Once we had her name, Gunnar was finally able to find you.”

“And it took you three and a half years to do that?” she asked accusingly.

I felt sick. I could have found her years ago if I’d agreed when Dario first offered his help.

“That was my fault. I didn’t trust my friend at first. But I found you – that’s the important thing.”

“You said you were in prison. Did they arrest you when you went on that mission?” she asked, her voice quavering.

“Yes.”

“And what did you do? Why did they put you in jail?”

“They found me with guns. Unregistered guns that didn’t belong to me. Italy’s really strict about that, so…”

I trailed off lamely.

“What were you doing on that mission?” she demanded.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” she snapped. “Who were you working for?”

I remembered Alistair’s warning:

No one can know what you do.

No one.

Not even Rachel.

If I revealed the truth, it could cost her her job.

And she’d already lost so much…

Like our future together.

“…I can’t tell you that,” I said quietly.

She just nodded angrily, like, FIGURES.

Then she looked away as more tears spilled down her cheeks. “You need to go.”

“Rachel… please…”

Her eyes snapped over to mine and she hissed with rage, “I said you need to GO. NOW.”

“Rachel, it’s been three and a half years – ”

“That’s right – three and a half years I thought you were DEAD or you LEFT me!”

“There was nothing I could do!” I shouted.

“Well, there’s nothing I can do now.”

“Rachel, we have to talk – ”

“No, we don’t.”

“Who are you marrying?”

She glared at me. “No one you know. I met him after you left.”

“Rachel, please – ”

“While you were gone, I moved on. You should, too,” she said, then backed away and slammed the door in my face.

I stood there in complete shock.

I thought about pounding on her door – about screaming for her –

But I remembered the diamond ring on her finger.

While you were gone, I moved on. You should, too.

I eventually turned away from her house…

Walked down the drive…

And left, never to return.

108

Idon’t remember much of what happened after I left Rachel’s house.

I know I stumbled along in a daze until I found a pub.

I know I paid for a bottle of Grey Goose and took shot after shot at the bar –

And then everything went a little fuzzy.

At one point, I was on a bridge overlooking the Thames.

I don’t remember how I got there, and I don’t remember much of what happened in the hours afterwards…

But what happened on the bridge is seared into my memory.

I was enraged – with Rachel, with San Vittore, with Alistair, with the entire world – and I was about to throw the ring into the water.

FUCK her – FUCK this –

When a quiet voice in the back of my head said, She would’ve said yes if you’d asked her three and a half years ago.

You had the shot. You just didn’t take it.

My hand was pulled back in the air, ready to throw the ring away – but when I heard the voice, I froze.

Back in the military, we sat down after every mission and figured out what had gone right, what had gone wrong, and what we could have done better. It was the best way to understand your mistakes so you hopefully didn’t repeat them.

For snipers, it was an especially helpful process. Unlike soldiers – who had to deal with random occurrences like lucky shots from the enemy, or twisting your ankle as you ran for cover – snipers didn’t have nearly as many variables to deal with.

Sure, there were variables. Wind speed… whether your target was walking behind other people… the window of time you had to take the shot…

But the variables were minuscule compared to what other soldiers had to deal with.

With snipers, it almost always came down to one thing: the choices you made.

The calibrations on your scope. Whether you took a break to eat. Whether you gave in to scratch that itch – because as soon as your hand was off the trigger, your target might appear and just as quickly be gone.

And the most important choice of all:

Did you hesitate?

You had the opening, but you waited – and then the shot was gone.

Did you have the shot, and you just didn’t take it?

I realized that the voice was telling me I’d made a bad choice three and a half years ago…

And I had no one to blame for it but myself.

It was no use blaming Rachel, or the Italian judicial system, or Alistair.

Actually, the jury was still out about Alistair. I would figure that one out soon enough.

But if I blamed anybody other than the person who was ultimately responsible, I would fail to learn the lesson.

You had the shot… and you didn’t take it.

I held the ring in my open palm and stared at it.

If I didn’t remember this lesson, I was doomed to repeat it…

So I swore I would carry the ring with me everywhere to remind me:

When you have the shot, TAKE THE FUCKING SHOT.

I’m sure it was a lot more dramatic in my memory because I was drunk off my fucking ass.

But there was a moment of crystal clarity where I knew who was to blame…

And I saw the only way forward that made any sense to me at that moment.

I shoved the ring in my pocket and walked away from the river.

I don’t remember the rest of that evening. All I know is I woke up in a shitty hotel with an empty bottle of vodka and the worst hangover I’d ever had.

And then I remembered why I’d gotten drunk, and I was overwhelmed with the worst grief I’d ever had. Even worse than losing my mother.

But I remembered the ring.

I panicked as I shoved my hand in my pocket –

It was still there.

I pulled it out, looked at it for a long moment… then searched for the necklace, which was in the other pocket.

With unsteady fingers from my hangover, I threaded the necklace through the ring and put it back around my neck. I felt the cold metal against my skin like a reminder of what I had to remember.

Never forget:

When you have the shot… TAKE THE SHOT.

109

After I got some greasy diner food and was feeling about 25% human again, I called Gunnar.

“How did it go?” he asked excitedly.

“…it didn’t.”

There was a long silence, followed by, “Oh shit… oh man, Lars… I’m so sorry…”

I thought about not telling him the next thing because it hurt like hell to say it – but I needed to accept it and move on.

“She’s engaged to somebody else.”

“…fuck…”

I thought about saying, You were right, Gunnar. You should have contacted her first.

Or maybe, I never should have looked her up in the first place.

But I knew those thoughts were bullshit. They were the coward’s way out and a lie.

The truth was, I would’ve never been able to stay away from her.

As long as there was a chance, then I would’ve taken it.

I would’ve had to know for sure.

It hurt like hell finding out like I did, but it was over. The bullet had been cut out of the wound. I could heal now.

But… I did have one request.

“Do me a favor,” I said, “and never mention her name to me again.”

“Okay…” Gunnar said mournfully. “Are you still going to come see me?”

“Yeah. I’ll let you know when I get my ticket – but I need to take care of a couple of things first.”

“Okay. I’m really, really sorry, Lars.”

“Yeah,” I said as I felt the ring against my skin. “Me too.”

110

Once I felt about 60% human, I figured it was time to meet the other person on my itinerary.

I didn’t want to waste any more time, so I went directly to the MI6 building.

From far away, MI6 headquarters looked like a combination of a medieval fortress, a glass skyscraper, and a multi-tiered cake. But from the ground level, when you couldn’t see any of the ornamental flourishes several stories above your head, it looked like any other fancy office building.

I didn’t even bother going into the lobby; I just stood directly in front of one of the surveillance cameras outside and held up a piece of paper with ‘Alistair Webb’ written on it in black sharpie. I stared at the camera for about 15 seconds, then turned and walked away.

I went to the café, where this whole mess had started, and waited 20 minutes until Alistair finally arrived.

He was not happy to see me.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he snarled as he walked up to me.

“Good, you got my message.”

I’d figured that by calling him out on camera, the news would eventually reach him.

Guess I’d been right.

“Yes, I got your ‘message,’” he snapped. “I repeat: what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was in town. I’m closing the books on everything that happened, so I thought we should have a little chat.”

Alistair looked furious, but he sat down opposite me. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to see your face when I asked you a question.”

“Which is?”

“What the fuck happened in Italy?”

He relaxed a little, but he still looked dour. “Bad fucking luck is what happened.”

“Why did that cop stop me?”

“A mansion in Lake Como got hit while the owner was away. The staff found a couple of Picassos and Rembrandts missing the next morning. When they checked the security footage, the man’s face couldn’t be seen – but a little bit of hair peeked out of his mask, and they could tell he was blond. The servants notified the police, who were ordered to stop every car going in or out of Lake Como and compare the drivers against a mugshot of the prime suspect.”

“If they couldn’t see the burglar, how did they even have a mugshot?”

“He’d been caught in Lake Como eight years ago after a similar robbery.”

“I looked nothing like the guy in the photograph.”

“You were both blond,” Alistair said drily. “To an Italian who sees dark-haired men all day long, you were close enough.”

“And that’s it?” I asked angrily.

“If you’re asking if you were set up, or if there was a mole, or van der Linden somehow arranged it – no. None of that. It was just bad fucking luck.”

I peered into his face long and hard – and decided I believed him.

Which sucked. Because I would have loved to have gotten revenge for everything that had been taken from me…

Like the woman I loved.

…had loved.

“What happened to van der Linden?” I asked.

“That’s classified.”

“After everything I’ve been through,” I snarled, “I think you can indulge me.”

“Let’s just say we couldn’t accomplish what we wanted you to do… so we had to pay out of pocket to get his wares off the market.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“Very,” he said with a touch of humor. “You were the far more economical option. That is, if you’d been able to pull it off.”

I stared at him with full-blown hatred.

I’d just lost the love of my life, and this fucker was making jokes.

When he saw my expression, Alistair hastily added, “I’m sorry it happened. Obviously, I wish it hadn’t. But I told you repeatedly about the dangers if you were caught. You agreed to the terms.”

For the first time since all this shit had started, I realized I was furious with him. Not just for his glibness – but because of the ease with which he brushed it off and made it all my fault.

Before that moment, I’d tried to be professional and rationalize it all away: I’m a soldier. I knew the risks. Shit happens.

I’d accepted that not proposing to Rachel was my fault and my fault alone.

But hearing Alistair talk was infuriating. He was a bureaucrat who’d probably never taken any real risks his entire life.

The night I’d gotten caught, he’d probably eaten at some fancy restaurant, bitched about a ‘tough day,’ and then gone home and slept like a baby.

And in that moment, I remembered another person –

Someone else who would have never let me rot away in jail.

Who would have done everything possible to get me out.

Who’d had my back in San Vittore through thick and thin…

And who had offered me a whole new life if I wanted it.

“If you’re looking for a job, it’s out of the question,” Alistair continued. “I could recommend you to some independent contractors – ”

“I don’t need a fucking job,” I snarled as I stood up.

Alistair looked slightly alarmed as I towered over him. He reached for his wallet. “I can’t authorize agency funds, but if you need some money, I could – ”

“I don’t need your fucking money, either.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“Like I said – to close the books.”

And, true to my word, I walked away…

And I never looked back.

Not at him…

Or the past…

Or Rachel.

As far as I was concerned, it was over. Dead and gone.

Now it was time to move on.

111

Ifigured it would be a bad idea to call a member of the Cosa Nostra from a phone MI6 had given me. There might’ve been some sort of surveillance software on it, so I tossed it in the trash and bought a burner from a cell phone shop. Only then did I dial the number I had memorized – the one Dario had given to me in San Vittore.

After a few rings, a man’s voice answered. “Hello?”

I replied in Italian, “This is Lars. Dario gave me your number.”

“Ah, the estimable Lars!” the voice said, suddenly chipper. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you. I’m Niccolo, by the way, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

“Nice to meet you. Is Dario okay? Have you talked to him?”

“He’s fine. I talked to him earlier this morning. He more or less implied it would be better for YOU if I never heard from you… so I’m assuming it’s not necessarily GOOD news that we’re talking right now.”

I thought of Rachel standing in the doorway of her house, the diamond ring glinting on her finger.

“No… but that was the past. I’m ready to move on.”

“I’m sorry to hear things didn’t work out, but I’m glad you’re looking forwards instead of backwards. What can I do for you? Do you need any funds?”

“Actually, I’m interested in the job Dario mentioned.”

“Ah.” Niccolo paused for a second. “You understand that my father and uncle will need to meet with you first, yes? Sort of a job interview. And the job is contingent upon their approval.”

Dario hadn’t mentioned that, but it sounded reasonable.

“I understand.”

“Good. You know we’re in Tuscany? Out in the countryside?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have the necessary funds to fly to Florence?”

“Yes.”

“How about first class? We want you to be comfortable.”

“Economy is fine – ”

“No, no, Dario would thrash me – and deservedly so – if I made you ride coach. Get a first-class ticket, and if it happens not to work out – the job, I mean – we’ll reimburse you. If you get the job, money won’t be an issue. I can arrange to have someone pick you up at the Florence airport, or you can get a taxi and we’ll pay the driver when you arrive. Which would you prefer?”

“I can just get a taxi if it’s all the same to you.” Part of me wanted to give myself the option to bail if I changed my mind and didn’t want to go through with it. “However, I’d like to stop over in Amsterdam to see an old friend.”

“Of course, of course. The job isn’t going anywhere. If you want to take a week or two – ”

“No, just a couple of days will be fine.”

“Whatever you like. Whenever you decide to leave Amsterdam, text me your arrival time in Florence so I can schedule a meeting with my father and uncle.”

“Will do.”

“I look forward to meeting you – the famous Lars from San Vittore! We’ve heard quite a bit about you, you know.”

“I’ve heard about you, as well.”

“God only knows what Dario has told you,” Niccolo said with a chuckle. “If you have any problems – any issues with money – let me know and I’ll take care of them.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Did Dario tell you our address?”

“No.”

Niccolo gave me the address, which I jotted down in the Notes app of the burner phone. Once I’d repeated the street and number back to him, he said, “Excellent! Well – I’ll see you soon, Lars. Safe travels.”

“Thanks. See you soon.”

I hung up the phone, struck by how friendly Niccolo had been.

Quite a contrast with Alistair…

And not at all what I’d expected from the son of the mobster who ran all of Tuscany.

112

When I flew into Amsterdam, Gunnar was waiting for me at the airport.

He was in even worse shape than when I’d last seen him – 20 pounds heavier, a far shaggier beard, and a badly stained tracksuit – but the grin on his face was pure joy. He wrapped me up in a bear hug as soon as I walked out of Customs.

“My dude!” he shouted in Swedish.

“It’s good to see you, man,” I said with a smile, though I tried not to breathe in too deeply. He reeked of marijuana.

Gunnar pulled back to look at me. “You look great!”

“I don’t feel great,” I said dourly. I was still under a dark cloud from everything that had happened with Rachel. Part of me wanted to go drown myself in an endless row of liquor bottles.

“I meant you’re in tip-top shape. But, yeah, your expression looks like you’ve been put through the wringer.”

“I feel like it.”

“That’s all right!” Gunnar said as he put his arm around me and guided me out of the airport. “Now that you’re a single man, we’ll hit the red-light district, smoke some weed, and – ”

“No.”

“No?! Why not?!”

The truth was, the idea of sex with a woman besides Rachel revolted me. I just wanted her, as much as I hated that fact. I wasn’t about to go fuck some random sex worker.

And I’d always hated weed. No need to pretend I liked it now.

“I have a job lined up,” I said, telling him a little white lie.

“Um… a job like the kind that put you in prison?”

“Not exactly.”

“My dude – what do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”

“It’s working for the Italian guy’s family. The one I met in prison.”

Gunnar stared at me like I was insane. “Bro – you wanna go work for the fucking mafia?!”

I glared at him and looked around to see if anyone had heard. Thankfully, no one appeared to be paying any attention.

“Sorry,” Gunnar said apologetically. “But DUDE – ”

“Look, I know it’s hard for you to understand this – but other than you, Dario’s the only friend I have. He had my back the entire time we were in prison. He did everything he could to get me out early, even though it meant putting himself in danger. I trust him with my life. You’re the only other person I trust as much.”

I didn’t add, Although your drug habit tends to make me trust Dario more.

“So, yeah,” I finished. “I’m going to give it a try.”

Gunnar looked at me sideways. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“…okay,” he said sadly. “Then… congratulations… I guess…”

“Thank you.”

“You know, you can stay here with me as long as you want,” he offered. “I got a bigger place – I’ve even got a guest bedroom you could crash in.”

“Thank you, but I just want to go and start my life again.”

“I hear you. So… you just came to Amsterdam to see me?”

“Yeah – why else would I come?”

Gunnar smiled and teared up a little, then grabbed me around the shoulder in a sideways hug. “My dude.”

113

Istayed overnight in Amsterdam and went out drinking with Gunnar. I didn’t get drunk, though. My bender in London had cured me of ever wanting to get trashed again.

At least, until whatever heartbreaking bullshit came next.

Gunnar asked me about prison and what Dario was like. I told him everything I could – within the bounds of what I knew Dario would want to be kept secret.

After our third beer, I called it a night. Before I caught a taxi to my hotel, Gunnar said, “You know, if it doesn’t work out with the Italians, you can always come back here. I’ll help you out no matter what. You’re always gonna be my brother.”

“Thanks, man,” I said and got a little choked up. I hugged him goodnight and promised to keep him in the loop about what happened.

And then, the next morning, it was time to go.

I caught a 10 AM flight out of Amsterdam. As I boarded the plane, I texted Niccolo that I would arrive in Florence around noon.

The airline didn’t have first-class tickets, but they had business class, so I flew that.

I wouldn’t have ordinarily – business class was three times the price for just a two-hour flight, which seemed ridiculous to me – but I didn’t want to admit to Niccolo that I’d defied him from the very beginning.

As a civilian, I’d never flown anything other than economy before.

As a soldier, I’d flown a lot of missions crammed into the cargo hold of a C130 with a dozen other guys – but since that was far worse than economy seats on an airline, I didn’t count it.

I had to admit, business class was very nice. The way the flight attendants greeted you… then brought you a cocktail before liftoff… the entire experience was top-shelf. I thought to myself on several occasions, I could get used to this.

When I got off the plane, I checked my texts and saw one from Niccolo.

Wonderful! We’ll be expecting you for lunch around 1 PM. Safe travels.

I texted back, Just landed. See you soon.

Then I went through Customs and immediately got a taxi.

The drive into Tuscany was beautiful: rolling hills, vineyards, and olive groves. I stared out the window the entire time and watched the countryside go by.

About an hour outside Florence, the taxi driver turned off a small two-lane road onto a private drive. We drove through rows of thin cedar trees for a couple of minutes until we came to a ten-foot-tall stone wall with a massive iron gate.

“Is this the place?” the driver asked in Italian. “It’s the address you gave me.”

“I think so.”

“What should I do?”

“Hang on, let me – ”

Just then, my phone rang with a call from Niccolo.

“Hello?”

“Welcome! We can see you on the camera. I’m sending Adriano and Massimo down to get you. They’ll pay the driver, so don’t worry about that.”

“Okay…”

“See you at the house in just a moment! Ciao!”

And then he hung up.

“They’re sending someone to pick me up,” I told the driver. “They’ll pay you when they get here. How much do I owe you?”

“295 euros.”

I was glad the Rosolinis were paying. After buying the business-class ticket, I didn’t even have enough to cover the taxi fare.

Three minutes later, the iron gates parted, revealing a sleek black Mercedes sedan. Two men were already standing outside the car. I could see the resemblance to Dario in their faces, but the men couldn’t have been more different.

The one by the passenger door was 6’2”, trim and muscular under a flashy suit. He had stylishly cut hair and about three days’ worth of scruff. The most notable thing about him was the angry scowl on his face. He looked like somebody had just stolen a large amount of money from him, and he was going to murder whoever did it.

From what Dario had told me, I was guessing that was Adriano.

The guy by the driver’s door was a giant – at least 6’7”. He stood a little taller than Gunnar, but whereas Gunnar was all fat these days, this guy looked like he was 100% muscle. Not like a bodybuilder, but in an old-time circus strongman kind of way.

He wore an expensive but far more conservative suit than Adriano and had a short, neatly trimmed beard. Other than his height, his most conspicuous difference from Adriano was his placid expression. He wasn’t joyful like Gunnar, but definitely calm and unruffled.

Everything that Dario had told me suggested this was Massimo.

I got out of the car, making sure to keep my hands on the top of the door so the two brothers could see them at all times. It’s not that they looked particularly dangerous – but I was fully aware that I was walking into a mafia compound, which meant they were probably both armed. And I didn’t want to make anybody jumpy.

“You Lars?” Adriano called out. He sounded pissed off just saying my name.

“That’s me.”

As he walked over, I glimpsed a gun holster under his jacket. “Turn around.”

I did as ordered, and Adriano gave me a quick pat-down for weapons. Then he walked over to the taxi driver’s door.

The guy rolled down his window and looked out nervously. “Y-yes?”

“How much do we owe you?” Adriano barked.

“Uh, 295 euros,” the guy stammered.

Adriano pulled out a money roll at least two inches in diameter and peeled off a single note he handed to the driver. I figured it was 500 euros since that was the smallest domination that could cover the entire bill.

The driver reached into his jacket to make change –

“Keep it,” Adriano ordered. “Back out and turn around – there’s a big enough spot about 50 feet back.”

“Okay,” the driver said happily. “Thank you.”

Adriano just nodded, then met my gaze and gestured with his head as he walked back towards the sedan.

I followed Adriano inside the iron gates – which closed behind me with an electric hum.

“I’m Massimo,” the giant said pleasantly as I approached the car.

He held out his hand, and we shook.

“Lars,” I said.

I’m a tall guy with pretty big hands, but Massimo’s dwarfed mine.

“That’s Adriano,” Massimo said with a slight smile. “You’ll have to forgive his manners.”

“Fuck you,” Adriano said, though it felt more like banter than an insult.

“Have a nice trip?” Massimo asked.

“Excellent, thank you.”

“Good. Get in the back with Adriano and I’ll drive us up to the house.”

I got in the back behind Massimo. Adriano got in on the passenger side and sat with his back against the door, watching me like a cobra watches a mongoose.

Massimo turned the car around, and we headed up a gently sloping road through more cedars.

“So,” Adriano said. “You’re the Special Forces guy.”

“That’s me.”

Massimo peered at me in the rearview mirror. “Dario said you saved his life at least twice.”

“We had each other’s backs,” I said diplomatically.

“How?” Adriano asked. He sounded almost confrontational.

“How’d we have each other’s backs?”

“No – how’d you save his life?”

“He was exaggerating a little,” I said modestly. “The first time was when I saw a guy about to shiv him. I yelled out and ran over, but he had body armor on, so I didn’t do much more than just alert him to the danger.”

“Body armor?” Massimo asked in surprise.

“Makeshift body armor,” I clarified. “Phone books duct-taped around the abdomen. Enough to stop a blade.”

“That’s ingenious,” Massimo said.

“Yeah, I thought so, too,” I agreed.

I liked the gentle giant. He was pleasant and affable.

His brother… not so much.

“What was the second time?” Adriano asked like he was interrogating me.

“There was a riot. Dario and I got jumped by a guy in the Camorra and five of his goons. I took care of three of them, Dario took care of the other two, and…” I paused as I remembered Dario slashing the guy’s throat. “…then he took care of the boss.”

“Aristide Caproni,” Massimo murmured.

I hadn’t heard that name in over two years. “Yeah. Him.”

Massimo whistled.

Adriano just nodded slightly, like he approved.

“Thank you for taking care of our brother,” Massimo said. His gratitude was real and heartfelt.

“You’re welcome… but truthfully, he took care of me just as much. I would’ve crossed the wrong person and been dead in a few months if he hadn’t befriended me and shown me the ropes.”

As Massimo and I chatted, I watched the cedars give way to olive groves and vineyards. Then we reached an open space amongst the trees and gardens, and my eyes nearly bugged out of my head.

I’d assumed Dario’s family was wealthy – but I hadn’t been expecting this.

At the top of the hill was a gigantic mansion, three stories tall with two large wings. It looked like something out of a movie.

Massimo pulled the car around a circular drive in front of the house. Two guys in black suits were standing outside. One was young, maybe 25; the other was middle-aged, around 45.

The young guy at least looked alert. The older guy was puffing on a cigarette like he was on a break.

When Massimo, Adriano, and I exited the car, the young guy raced over and got behind the wheel like a valet. He steered the car down the driveway and headed for a humongous building in the distance – what looked like a garage.

The 45-year-old nodded at Adriano and Massimo as they walked past. He eyed me curiously as he continued to puff on his cigarette.

Massive marble steps led up to a pair of bronze doors at the front of the mansion. Before we reached them, the doors opened and a clean-shaven guy in a white shirt walked out with a mischievous grin.

“The international man of mystery has arrived! I’m Niccolo – good to finally meet you!” he said as he took my hand and shook vigorously. “Lunch will be a little delayed – my uncle and father wanted to meet you first, but we’ll eat afterwards. Are you starving?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Good, good – come right this way.”

We entered a magnificent foyer with an enormous crystal chandelier. Niccolo turned right and headed towards a pair of closed wooden doors.

“See you later,” Massimo said as he and Adriano continued through the foyer and out of sight.

“They’re not coming with us?” I asked Niccolo.

“No, this will be a private meeting,” Niccolo said as he opened the wooden doors and walked through. “We have business to discuss.”

114

Iwalked into a parlor that reeked of money. The walls were made of dark wood paneling, black leather chairs sat in a circle around a central coffee table, and large windows had dark red curtains drawn back to let in the sunlight.

At the far end of the room was a massive wooden desk. Behind it sat a man in an exquisitely tailored suit jacket and an open-necked shirt. He looked very similar to Dario, except his hair and mustache were iron grey, and his wrinkled face suggested a life of stress.

Beside him stood another man, a few years younger and less worn down by time. He was solidly built but had a small gut beneath his three-piece suit. His hair was streaked grey at the temples, although some flecked his mustache and goatee. The eyes beneath his heavy brows were sharp and piercing, and they were always roving, always searching.

As I walked into the room, the older man stood, and a look of sublime happiness came over his face.

“You’re Lars?” he asked in a gravelly voice.

“Yes, sir.”

He walked around the desk, arms open wide, and clasped my face tenderly like Dario had on many occasions back in San Vittore.

“You saved my son’s life,” he said with a huge smile and misty eyes. “I owe you a debt I can never repay.”

And he embraced me warmly.

I was surprised at the show of affection, but I hugged him back until he released me.

“I am Leonardo Rosolini,” he said, then gestured to the man in the three-piece suit. “This is my brother Fausto.”

“A pleasure to meet you both,” I said.

“Your Italian is quite good,” Leonardo complimented me. “You sound almost like you were born in Tuscany.”

“Your son is a good teacher. And he had three and a half years to teach me.”

Leonardo laughed. “An Italian teacher… now there’s something I never thought Dario would go on to do. Niccolo, pour us a drink.” The older man turned to me. “What’ll you have?”

“Scotch, please.”

“Excellent – we have a very nice Macallan. Niccolo, I’ll have grappa.”

I knew grappa was an old-country Italian liquor. Leonardo was apparently a traditionalist.

“Uncle?” Niccolo said as he walked over to a sideboard filled with crystal glasses and expensive bottles.

“Nothing for me,” Fausto replied.

“There’s a lesson for you, Niccolo,” Leonardo said. “A good consigliere always stays sharp so he can see what his don might miss.” The older man turned back to me. “You’re familiar with the term consigliere?”

“Dario explained the concept to me.”

“Niccolo’s a born consigliere, but he has much to learn, so we let him sit in and listen. He picks up little bits of wisdom here and there. Sit, sit, please.”

I sat in a leather chair as the two older men lowered themselves into seats opposite me.

“I know it’s been several days since you’ve seen him, but Dario’s doing well?” Leonardo asked, a hint of worry in his voice. “We’ve talked to him on the phone since then, but that’s not the same as seeing him.”

“He’s doing quite well.”

“He’s in good health and good spirits?”

“Very much so.”

Niccolo brought us our drinks. I sipped mine and was astounded – it was the smoothest scotch I’d ever tasted. I immediately wondered how old that ‘nice Macallan’ was – 30 years, maybe? Which would make it at least $5000 a bottle.

I looked over at Niccolo, who was sitting in a chair to my side without a drink of his own. He saw my expression and grinned like he knew exactly what I was thinking.

“I talk to my son every other day, sometimes every third day,” Leonardo said. I knew that to be accurate from being Dario’s cellmate for years. “I’d like to go see him in person, but my consigliere here won’t let me.”

“Probably prudent,” I said diplomatically.

God only knows what the Camorra might do if they knew Leonardo would be inside San Vittore.

Leonardo sighed. “Probably so. Dario says he’s well, but I wonder sometimes if he’s just telling his old man what he wants to hear so I won’t worry.”

“He’s doing well,” I said. “I promise you.”

“I’m sure that was because he had such a good friend to be there for him,” Leonardo said with a smile.

“I was sorry I had to leave him.”

“Really,” Fausto said in a tone that indicated he didn’t believe me at all.

“Well… obviously I was happy to get out early… but yes, I was worried about him.”

“Worried?” Fausto asked. “You just said he was doing well.”

“San Vittore isn’t quite as… refined as your house here, Signor Rosolini.”

Fausto smiled in amusement. “I’m sure.”

“You think he’ll be all right, though?” Leonardo asked, his forehead creased with worry.

“Yes. I taught him everything I know about hand-to-hand combat over the last three and a half years. He’s the best fighter in San Vittore.”

“Now that you’ve left,” Fausto said coolly.

I looked Fausto straight in the eyes. “Yes. He’s the best fighter in San Vittore now that I’ve left.”

“Stop harassing him,” Leonardo ordered his brother. “He’s our guest.”

Niccolo addressed his uncle. “Lars was the one who requested Ianelli not make too much noise, so he obviously wasn’t trying too hard to get out of San Vittore.”

I recalled that Ianelli was the name of the expensive lawyer who’d looked into my case three years before.

“Yes – why was that, exactly?” Fausto asked me. “Why didn’t you want Ianelli to probe too deeply?”

“First,” I said, addressing Leonardo, “thank you for doing that. From what Dario said, I know Signor Ianelli wasn’t cheap.”

“It’s nothing – nothing at all,” Leonardo said, waving my comment away with his hand. “The very least we could do.”

“Still – mille grazie.” A thousand thanks. Then I looked at Fausto. “Second, the reason I asked that Signor Ianelli not probe too deeply into my case is because my last name isn’t Andersen. I was afraid that if he tripped any alarms, it might make the government look closer at my case and unearth some things I didn’t want brought to light.”

“Bene, bene,” Leonardo said. Good, good.

Neither he nor anyone else seemed particularly surprised at my revelation.

“Did Dario already tell you?” I asked, slightly perturbed. The prison telephone line was recorded and listened to by the authorities – but Dario knew that, so he shouldn’t have said anything.

“No, he was discreet,” Fausto said. “But when we checked up on you, we couldn’t find anyone matching your background with the name of Lars Andersen. What is your real last name?”

“Henriksson. With a ‘k’ and two esses.” I assumed they would check up on me, so I made sure they knew the correct spelling. “Honestly, though, I’m not sure you’ll find too much under that name, either.”

“Why?”

I sighed. If they were going to hire me for a job, it was better the truth come out now than later – and from me, not someone else.

“I was in Swedish Special Forces, which I’m pretty sure Dario told you. What he couldn’t tell you – what I asked him not to tell anybody – was that I briefly worked for British Intelligence. MI6. I was told they wiped any identifying details off my record.”

The mood in the room shifted perceptibly.

Leonardo sat up straight, Niccolo looked stunned, and Fausto went from relaxed to high alert.

“I was on a mission for them in Lake Como when I got stopped with unregistered guns and silencers in my trunk. The condition for MI6 hiring me was that if I ever got captured, I couldn’t tell my captors who I worked for. So I went to jail instead.”

Leonardo and Fausto exchanged a look.

“I’m not working with them anymore, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I said. “They burned me, and I walked away.”

“You’ll understand if we’re still a little alarmed,” Fausto said.

“I understand.”

“We’re going to have to check out everything thoroughly.”

“I’ll provide you with any details I can.”

“Dario’s trust in you means a great deal to me,” Leonardo said reassuringly, “but we do have to proceed with caution.”

“Of course.”

“You really are an international man of mystery,” Niccolo said impishly. I gave him a half-hearted smile.

“Dario mentioned there was a woman,” Fausto said.

“…yes.”

“What happened?”

“I was in prison for three and a half years,” I said, stony-faced. “She moved on.”

“She wouldn’t wait for you?” Leonardo asked sympathetically.

“She didn’t know.”

“She didn’t know?” Niccolo asked in astonishment.

“I didn’t have her phone number – it changed right before I got arrested. And I didn’t have her address or an email.”

All three men looked at me like this was the most insane thing they’d ever heard.

I sighed again.

“Her contact information changed constantly because she worked for MI6, too. That’s how I met her – we worked on a mission together in Afghanistan while I was still in Special Forces.”

Fausto’s frown became even deeper. “What’s her name?”

“It won’t do you any good. I had a hacker friend of mine look for her while I was in prison so I could let her know what happened. He never found her. She’s a ghost.”

“I don’t care,” Fausto said curtly. “What’s her name?”

“Rachel Bauer. That’s B, A, U, E, R. But it’s most likely an alias.”

“But you found her when you got out, did you not?”

“Dario found her mother,” I said quietly. “I gave him what little information I had, and he sent some men and tracked her down.”

“Ahhh,” Niccolo said. “That was that business about Pescara, wasn’t it?”

I gave him a warning look, and he clammed up.

“I need to know everything you know about her,” Fausto said.

“Respectfully… no,” I replied.

Fausto’s eyes opened wide in shock. “Excuse me?”

I looked over at Leonardo. “She doesn’t know I’m here. She’s no threat to you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Fausto said coldly.

I ignored him and focused on Leonardo. “I’m grateful for your hospitality and any offer of employment. I am. But if the price of a job with your family is information about her, then I’m going to have to ask that your men take me back to the airport.”

Leonardo watched me like he was weighing my soul. He reminded me very much of Dario at that moment. “And why is that? Why won’t you tell us about her?”

“Because… despite it not working out… I still love her.” Admitting that felt like a needle slowly pushing through my heart. “And… no disrespect intended… I don’t want her to be tracked down by men in the Cosa Nostra.”

The temperature in the room immediately dropped a couple of degrees.

Not from Leonardo, who continued to look at me neutrally –

But from Fausto.

The consigliere stood up. “Well, Signor Andersen – or Henriksson, whichever you prefer – thank you for coming. Niccolo, if you’ll show him to the door – ”

“No,” Leonardo said.

Fausto looked at his older brother in shock. “‘No’?!”

Leonardo ignored Fausto and focused on me. “You loved her deeply, didn’t you.”

“…yes, sir.”

“I can see it in your eyes.” Leonardo nodded almost absentmindedly. “I greatly admire a man who protects the woman he loves, even if she’s ended things with him. And Dario is an excellent judge of character. If he says you are to be trusted, then I don’t require any further information about this woman.”

“Leo,” Fausto growled, like Come ON!

“I am your don in this matter, not your brother. And your don has spoken, consigliere,” Leonardo said simply.

Fausto looked irritated… but he sat back down in his chair.

“Now that we’ve broached the subject,” Leonardo said as he gazed at me, “tell me what Dario said to you. About the job, I mean.”

“Well…” I said hesitantly, “I had some reservations about working for your family. No disrespect intended.”

Leonardo smiled like he was amused. “None taken.”

“I would like to be placed in a position where I’m not required to… break any of my personal rules of conduct,” I said.

“Oh?” Fausto sneered. “And what would those rules of conduct be, exactly?”

“I never hurt women or children. Never.”

Leonardo dipped his head in respect. “Good rules.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m assuming you killed men in the military, though,” Leonardo said.

“I did.”

“How many, if I might ask?”

“When I was a sniper in Afghanistan, I had 31 confirmed kills. Probably another six on top of that that couldn’t be verified.”

Niccolo glanced over at his father and uncle.

Leonardo looked at me with increased respect.

Even Fausto’s attitude changed considerably.

“Plus, there were probably another five men in San Vittore I had to kill over the last three and a half years… including two of Aristide Caproni’s men when he attacked me and Dario.”

Leonardo looked over at Fausto in amusement. “Still questioning his qualifications?”

“Well… there’s a caveat,” I said.

Leonardo looked back at me. “Oh?”

“There’s a term we use in the military: righteous kill. It’s where you don’t kill an enemy combatant unless he’s an immediate threat to you, to one of your men, or to a civilian. Usually, that means he drew a weapon with the intent to use it. I would prefer not to be put in a situation within your organization where I would have to… not make a righteous kill.”

“A killer with morals,” Fausto said sarcastically.

“Fausto,” Leonardo reproached him.

“What? He only wants to do what he’s told if a priest blesses it?” Fausto asked indignantly. Then he turned to me. “You realize your moral qualms somewhat limit your usefulness.”

“Actually, not at all,” I replied.

“Is that so,” Fausto sneered.

“When I was in Afghanistan, one of my biggest responsibilities was to train the Afghan Armed Forces to fight against the Taliban,” I explained. “I was an instructor, and a damn good one.”

“As I recall,” Fausto snarled, “the Afghanis didn’t stand up to the Taliban very well when the Americans pulled out.”

“You’re right – but not because they weren’t trained. It was because they lacked a reason to fight. They weren’t going to die for a corrupt government that didn’t give a shit about them, so they ran instead.”

Fausto and I got into a staring match, but Leonardo ended it.

“What would you train our men to do?” the mafia don asked.

“Things like better shooting, hand-to-hand combat, physical conditioning, how to clear a building occupied by enemy combatants… but frankly, first I would address security. You need to run a tighter ship around here. No disrespect intended.”

“How do you mean?” Leonardo asked.

“Adriano frisked me for weapons, which was good, but he didn’t check my legs. I could have been carrying a knife in a boot and he wouldn’t have found it. I realize you trust me, and I appreciate that – but really, you shouldn’t have trusted me. No one here verified who I was when I showed up. No one asked for my passport, and I’m assuming Dario didn’t send you a picture to confirm my identity.”

“He described you to us,” Niccolo said defensively.

“What, that I was blond with a beard?” I asked. “I got popped in Lake Como because they had a mugshot of a thief who was also blond with a beard… and looked nothing like me. No offense to you or Adriano, but there should have been more stringent verification of who I was.”

Niccolo and Fausto looked annoyed, but Leonardo gestured with his hand. “Go on.”

“I’m also highly trained in hand-to-hand combat. Without any false modesty, I’m deadly in close quarters. To be clear, I’m NOT threatening you – but if I wanted, I could kill all three of you before someone got here to stop me.”

Fausto sat up straight, as did Niccolo.

Leonardo just smiled. “Simmer down, you two. If he wanted us dead, we’d already be dead.”

I nodded at him. “Thank you. But just to be clear, from now on, any stranger who gets within 50 feet of you should be assumed to be an assassin. And they should be guarded accordingly.”

“Continue.”

“Adriano should have had a gun on me at all times while we were in the car. I saw he had a pistol under his jacket. I could have killed him, taken his weapon, and shot Massimo before either of them could have stopped me. Better yet, I should have been in the front seat with Adriano in the backseat pointing a gun at the back of my head.

“When we drove up to your house, there were only two guards. One of them looked like he was out there on a smoke break, and the other one – a young guy – was acting more like a valet. There should have been four men out there, minimum, and even if they didn’t have a gun on me, their guns should have been out so they could kill me if I made the slightest move.

“Those are just my observations. I believe your men should be trained to anticipate threats and respond accordingly, and I think your security detail could be immensely improved. I could help you with all of those things.”

Leonardo smiled and looked over at Fausto, who shrugged and made a face like, He’s got a point.

Niccolo seemed fairly impressed.

Then Leonardo looked at me and said, “Barring any issues that pop up with your past… which we’ll still have to look into… I would like to hire you to do exactly what you suggested. To train my men and turn them into a world-class operation.”

I bowed my head slightly. “It would be my honor.”

Leonardo grinned. “Good! Business is settled – now it’s time for lunch. Come, we’ve set the table on the back porch. It’s a beautiful day – and it’s time for you to meet the rest of the family.”

115

Lunch was behind the mansion on a patio. We had a magnificent view of a vast lawn, an enormous swimming pool, and beautiful topiary gardens.

All nine of us sat around a large stone table: me, Adriano, Massimo, Niccolo, Leonardo, Fausto, and three other men I hadn’t met, but whom I’d heard plenty about from Dario.

Roberto sat to my right. He was the spitting image of Niccolo, except he wore a three-piece suit without a tie, and his hair was slicked back from his forehead. He was just like Dario had described him: pleasant, affable, looked like a banker, and was completely enigmatic.

Then there was Valentino, the youngest of the lot. All the brothers were handsome, but Valentino had the ‘pretty boy’ look of a pop singer or movie star. He was by far the most carefree of the younger men, and he joked with the servants as they brought out platters of food and refilled our wine glasses. I noticed he joked more with the female servants – especially the youngest and prettiest, a buxom girl with a pixie cut. Whenever he flirted with her, she blushed and barely managed to suppress a grin.

Then there was Aurelio, Fausto’s son, who was about the same age as Niccolo and Roberto. He had an air of bitterness about him and watched me like a hawk the entire time.

The food was excellent – platters of cold cuts, cheeses, and olives, followed by pasta side dishes and the most succulent, flavorful lamb chops I’d ever eaten. And the wine was magnificent: a delicious red with hints of cloves and cinnamon.

Leonardo sat at the head of the table and made me tell stories about my time with Dario in San Vittore. It was clear he wanted ‘adventures’ – stories of comradery in the face of overwhelming odds.

I didn’t consider them ‘adventures’ so much as survival stories set in a hellhole of squalor and violence – but I did my best to make them more entertaining and not quite as grim as I remembered.

“Did you really kill Aristide Caproni?” Valentino asked at one point, his eyes wide. He looked like a kid talking to a fighter pilot or astronaut.

“How do you think he got the job?” Fausto said with a smile.

Fausto might have been rude and sarcastic back in the parlor, but I noticed that he was now more complimentary and respectful. I chalked up his earlier antagonism to his role as consigliere, which probably included being a Devil’s Advocate.

“Actually, no,” I said. “It was your brother who killed Aristide.”

My stomach turned as I remembered Dario slitting the gangster’s throat and his blood pouring out over the concrete.

Nobody noticed my unease, least of all Valentino.

“Dario did it?!” he exclaimed. “Holy shit…”

“Lars is being modest,” Leonardo said. “He took down three of Aristide’s goons. Dario took down the other two and Aristide, but he couldn’t have done it without Lars.”

“Why didn’t you handle Aristide?” Aurelio asked me.

There was something snide in his tone, as though he was insinuating I was incompetent – or a coward.

“Careful, son,” Fausto warned with a smile. “Our guest has killed over 40 men. I’d use a more deferential tone if I were you.”

That got the table’s attention.

Both Adriano and Massimo looked at me wide-eyed like What the FUCK?

“FORTY GUYS?!” Valentino exclaimed with both laughter and astonishment.

“I was a sniper in Afghanistan,” I explained. “You tend to rack up a lot of numbers in an environment like that.”

“So you killed 40 men… from a distance,” Aurelia sneered.

“Hey, stronzo,” Adriano snapped at his cousin. “When you’ve done something besides shoot some prick when he was tied up and couldn’t fight back, then you can talk. Until then, show some respect and shut the fuck up.”

Most of the brothers – Niccolo, Massimo, and Valentino – erupted into oooooohs and amused laughter.

But Aurelio turned scarlet with rage, and his eyes fixed murderously on Adriano.

Adriano stared back, his expression a challenge: What’re you gonna do? Come over here and try it, you piece of shit.

Roberto was the only one of the younger generation who didn’t react at all.

“Boys – BOYS!” Leonardo shouted over the chatter and laughter. “Cut it out. Ignore him, Aurelio. And YOU – ” he said, pointing at Adriano, “you keep that tongue of yours in your mouth, or you’re gonna start something you don’t wanna finish.”

“Oh, I’ll finish it all right,” Adriano said as he stared at Aurelio.

More laughter from his brothers –

And then Leonardo exploded.

He BANGED his fist on the table, making all the plates and glasses jump.

Everyone went silent as the mafia don shouted at Adriano.

“You’re embarrassing me in front of our guest! Carrying on like you’re some piezo di merda Camorra gangster while your brother’s in prison fighting for his life – and the man who stood by him three and a half years has to sit here in silence and listen to you show your ass! Your mother raised you better than that, God rest her soul – and I sure as hell taught you better!”

“Sorry, Papa,” Adriano said quietly, all his bravado gone. He had long since dropped his gaze to the plate in front of him.

“Apologize to your cousin. Now.”

Adriano flicked his eyes up to Aurelio, though his gaze was still full of venom. “Sorry, Aurelio.”

When Aurelio didn’t say anything in return, Fausto gave him a raised eyebrow and a warning look. DO IT.

“I’m sorry, too,” Aurelio said coldly, although it was clear he was anything but.

“You two,” Leonardo said in disgust, shaking his head. “One day, when Fausto and I are gone – ”

“Papa,” Adriano said imploringly, like Don’t say that.

“Not for many years, God willing,” Leonardo said, “but it’s gonna happen – you know it, I know it, we all know it. When I do go and join your sainted mother, it’s gonna be up to your generation to carry on the family name. To work together to keep what your grandfather built when he came over here from Sicily. And you’re not gonna be able to do it with all this childish bickering and fuckin’ dick-measuring – capiche?”

“Yes, sir,” Adriano murmured, still looking down at his plate.

Aurelio stayed silent.

“Which is why I hired Lars here, to whip you into shape. To turn you boys into men. Into SOLDIERS, with the DISCIPLINE of soldiers. Got it? Because not only did Lars cut his fuckin’ teeth in the Special Forces – in Afghanistan, where it’s kill or be killed – he proved his loyalty by standing side-by-side with your brother in prison. You remember that when he gives you an order. And if anyone – ”

Here Leonardo glared at Aurelio.

“ – treats him with disrespect, from this moment forward, I’M gonna have somethin’ to fuckin’ say about it. Understood?”

There were a chorus of Yes, Papas from around the table.

Aurelio nodded. “Si, Zio.”

Yes, uncle.

“Alright,” Leonardo said, settling back into his chair. Then he looked at me. “Lars, I ask your pardon for my son and nephew’s foolishness.”

I shook my head slightly. “Not necessary at all. Actually, it feels a lot like being back with my squad members in the military.”

That cut the tension a little. Everybody knew I was lying, but Adriano and his brothers appreciated it anyway. I could tell by their barely suppressed smiles.

“Yeah,” Leonardo said, “except in the military, you mouth off, they throw your ass in the brig.”

“Here they just pop a cap in your ass,” Roberto said nonchalantly.

That brought the house down.

The quietest guy – the one in the three-piece suit, who looked like he had a stick up his ass – was the one with the most ‘mafia’ line of all.

All the other brothers howled with laughter. Fausto chuckled, and even Aurelio cracked a smile.

“That’s my boy,” Leonardo said with a grin as he pointed at Roberto. “Listen to him – he’ll set you straight!”

As the rest of the group went back to good-natured chatter and laughter, I looked over at Roberto.

“Well played,” I said.

He gave me a modest smile.

“Conflict mediation was something I had to learn early living in this family.” Then he leaned over towards me and spoke softly enough that only I could hear him. “By the way, did my father broach the topic of pay?”

“No.”

“I conferred with my uncle – we were thinking 30 grand a month to start. Would that be agreeable to you?”

360,000 euros a year – almost $400,000 US.

That was more than twice what Alistair had offered me for my work with MI6 – and almost eight times what the Swedish military had paid me.

I stared at him in shock.

Roberto mistook my silence for disappointment.

“That’s just to start,” he said as though to reassure me. “We can reassess after the first month or two.”

“No – no, that’s very generous – thank you.”

Roberto shrugged modestly. “We pay new recruits with zero training 50,000 a year. I figure a man with years of experience in Special Forces, who’ll be training those new recruits, is worth significantly more.”

“Well… thank you again. Although, if I could ask you a favor…”

“Name it.”

“Could you advance me some money? Maybe… half a month’s salary?”

“Of course. Might I ask for what, if it’s not too personal?”

“I just need some cash to buy new clothes. Basically, I’ve only got the ones on my back. And I’ll need to rent an apartment and lease a car.”

Roberto looked puzzled. “All that’s included.”

“…what?” I said, stunned.

“You’ll be staying in the main house with the family. No one told you?”

“…no…”

“I’m sorry, that was an oversight. We already have your room picked out. It’s very nice – there’s a beautiful view of the gardens. We’ll also have a tailor take your measurements tonight and get you a week’s worth of suits. If you need anything else – say, t-shirts or sweats for training purposes – just let me know. And we have a garage full of vehicles, from sports cars to sedans. Feel free to take any of them out whenever you want. Or we can have someone drive you, if you prefer.”

Again, I think he misinterpreted my silence because he added hastily, “I mean, unless you want to stay somewhere else. I think we could probably find you a nice house for rent somewhere – ”

“No – this is wonderful – it’s beyond generous.”

Roberto smiled. “It’s the least we could do for the man who saved Dario’s life.”

Then he continued eating lunch as though nothing out of the ordinary had been discussed.

116

After lunch, Niccolo took me to my new room.

As we walked through the mansion’s halls, I stared in wonder at the opulence all around me. I was beginning to realize just how much Dario had sacrificed by taking the fall for his family. He had traded paradise for the open sewer that was San Vittore – all so his father could be safe.

I’d always thought Dario was smart and capable – but in the last two hours, my respect for him had tripled.

Niccolo interrupted my thoughts as we walked up the stairs to the third floor. “So – what did you think of my father?”

If ever there was a loaded question, Niccolo’s was one of them.

“I liked him,” I said truthfully. “He’s authentic – very warm and welcoming. And… uh… kind of a character.”

Niccolo laughed. My appraisal had apparently gone over well.

“My father is definitely a character,” he agreed. “He’s a bit more old-world – rougher, less polished. But don’t let that fool you. He’s very clever.”

“The enemies you underestimate are usually the ones who kill you.”

Niccolo looked at me. “I like that – I’m stealing that.”

“It’s all yours,” I said with a grin.

“Mille grazie. Aaaaaand… here we are.”

I followed Niccolo into an absolutely opulent room decorated in old-world, masculine style. Dark mahogany furniture, centuries-old paintings of battles and soldiers, and a navy blue comforter on a king-size bed. Glass doors opened onto a balcony that looked out at a gorgeous view of the topiary gardens, just like Roberto had said.

“Given your background, we went with a military theme,” Niccolo said as he gestured at the paintings. “I hope it’s to your satisfaction.”

“It’s amazing,” I said in awe. “There’s just one thing.”

“What?”

“The windows and balcony doors,” I said. “Is the glass bulletproof?”

“Ah… no,” Niccolo admitted.

“How about the rest of the house?”

“No.”

“Is there a reason?”

Niccolo snorted. “Mostly because my father’s view of the family business is frozen at some point in the mid-20th century.”

“Look… I don’t want to make waves on my first day here – ”

“No, you’re absolutely right; it’s a problem. I’ll talk to Roberto and see about getting everything changed out as soon as possible.”

“It’ll be expensive.”

“It would be far worse to get assassinated,” Niccolo said with a wry smile.

“True. If you can, get Level 8 protection – it’s made to withstand up to 5 shots from a 7.62mm rifle. If Level 8 isn’t feasible, then get Level 5 at the very least.”

“We’ll go with Level 8,” Niccolo reassured me.

“When you get it installed, start with your father’s room first. Then any common areas where he spends a lot of his time – sitting rooms, the parlor we spoke in earlier, anyplace he eats – dining rooms – ”

“The kitchen,” Niccolo said. “He likes his late-night snacks.”

“Do you have an alarm system?”

“No, and it might be a challenge installing one,” Niccolo said. “Too big a house, too many entrances and exits, too many people coming and going.”

“Then we should install a camera-based security system as soon as possible. Glass first, then the cameras.”

“Any reason for doing the glass first?”

“Because if I were going to kill someone, my first choice wouldn’t be to break into the house. It would be to shoot them from a thousand feet away.”

“Hm,” Niccolo muttered. “Anything else you need?”

“I want to start training your men as soon as possible.”

“Is tomorrow good?”

“That’ll be fine. How many men do you have on staff?”

“Foot soldiers – basically, men with guns – about 55. We have another 20 or so younger guys who run errands and drive the cars but haven’t picked up a gun yet.”

“I want them all,” I said. “Have them meet me on the lawn by the pool, dressed to exercise. I’ll train half from 7AM until noon and the other half from 1 to 6.”

“Wow,” Niccolo said, a little taken aback. “Five hours each?”

“Will that interfere with the household schedule?”

“No, it’s just… that’s 10 hours for you.”

I didn’t tell him that I would basically be running a basic training camp, and basic training in the military was 24/7 for weeks on end.

“I’ll be fine – I want to hit the ground running. I’ll also need guns, by the way. Pistols and rifles. No live ammunition at first, but I want them to get used to handling actual weapons. We’ll do target practice in the weeks to come.”

“Okay.”

“We also need a structure to train in. Something where we can practice clearing a building like a SWAT team – preferably multiple stories with a lot of smaller rooms.”

“There’s an old three-story building out by the winery. As far as I know, they only use it to store supplies. Would that be alright?”

“Sounds good.”

“Excellent. In the meantime, rest up, walk the grounds, whatever you like.”

“Can I go see the building? The one by the winery?”

“Sure.” Niccolo pointed out the glass balcony doors and gave me directions. Then he said, “The tailor doing your suits should arrive around 5 PM. Dinner’s at 7. If you need anything in the meantime, just ask one of the servants or have them fetch me or Roberto. One of us will make sure you get anything you need.”

“Thanks.”

Niccolo turned to go… then paused at the door and looked back.

“I initially resisted hiring you. I thought Dario was just trying to help out a friend… but now I can see I was wrong. I think you’re going to be very, very good for the family.”

“Thank you. I’m going do my very best.”

Niccolo nodded, then walked away down the hall.

117

Training the next morning was a shitshow.

Niccolo sent me a group of 40 men, half young, half old – and they were abysmally out of shape. Even the young guys with good physiques had no stamina. They might have been gym rats able to deadlift 400 pounds, but they couldn’t run a quarter mile without collapsing afterwards.

The worst were the older guys – the 40- and 50-somethings who’d worked for the family for decades.

The young guys at least wanted to get better. They had an eagerness to learn and a competitive spirit.

The old guys had nothing but bad attitudes.

Why the fuck we gotta do this?

Nobody runs in the Cosa Nostra. If you’re running, you look guilty.

I ignored them and continued to put them through their paces.

After an hour, five of the old-timers walked off and went back to the house.

“This is bullshit,” one of them sneered. “I’m paid to guard Fausto, not train for the fuckin’ Olympics.”

I let them go without comment.

After another 30 minutes of calisthenics, I took the remaining men to grab some unloaded assault rifles and pistols in the garage, after which we sprinted to the building by the winery. They needed the exercise.

During the run, I lost another three old-timers who walked out.

The building was an old concrete structure filled with wine-making casks and a thousand odds and ends that nobody had ever thrown away. Lots of shadows… lots of clutter… lots of places to hide.

Perfect.

I started them with the basics: making sure their guns were unloaded. Keeping their fingers off the triggers unless they were about to shoot – otherwise, it was too easy to get startled and kill a teammate by accident.

Then we covered how to handle assault rifles vs. pistols. How to enter a room with guns drawn. How to cover your teammates to make sure nobody could get the drop on them. Where to look and how to make sure there were no threats in a room. How to go up a stairwell with at least one person watching the group’s back.

We drilled for two hours. I followed groups around and yelled at them whenever they made a mistake.

Then I turned it into a game of hide and seek. Half the men were ‘seekers,’ and the other half hid throughout the building. The goal was for the seekers to clear the structure using the principles I’d taught them and find all the ‘hiders.’

If a hider could sneak up and tag a seeker before he’d realized it, then the seeker was dead. At the end, we tallied up the living vs. the dead, and the winners got bragging rights.

They seemed to like that, if for no other reason than they didn’t have to run.

So I made them run back to the house.

By the time we got back at noon, they were exhausted – but the younger guys were excited and talkative. The older ones were sullen and pissed off.

I went and found Niccolo.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“They need a lot of work.”

“Great,” he said sardonically.

“We have a bigger problem, though. The older guys have a bad attitude.”

“The older guys?”

“Everybody 40 and up, basically. I had eight of them walk out.”

“Ah… the ‘old guard,’” Niccolo muttered darkly. “I’ll have my father let them know what’s what.”

“I have a better idea.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I want you and your brothers to train with us.”

Niccolo stared at me in shock. “…us?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“What, being the mafia don’s son exempts you from getting shot at?”

He looked irritated. “No, but – ”

“You need to train. All of you. You never know when you’ll need it. Plus, it will have the added benefit of being a good example for the guys with bad attitudes. They won’t dare say shit if they see the don’s sons out there sweating next to them.”

“I’m a consigliere in training,” Niccolo said, as though that were an excuse. “I’m supposed to use my brain, not my brawn.”

“Uh-huh. Does that make you bulletproof?”

He glared at me. “You know, I’m beginning to regret what I said about you being good for the family.”

I grinned. “I don’t care, as long as you show up for training.”

“Alright,” he grumbled. “Let me talk to the others.

Massimo, Valentino, and Roberto showed up for afternoon practice. Massimo and Valentino were in better shape than the foot soldiers, but there was a lot of room for improvement. Their gun-handling skills were sloppy, and Roberto’s were practically nonexistent – but all three brothers had a good attitude.

Even better: the younger foot soldiers were absolutely thrilled to have the don’s sons training alongside them… and the old guys didn’t say jack shit. They looked like they might have a heart attack, but not a single person walked out.

As everyone trudged wearily back to the house at the end of the day, Roberto said, “That was actually kind of fun.”

“That was a LOT of fun,” Valentino enthused.

“Glad you liked it,” I said. “See you again at one o’clock tomorrow, and we’ll do it all over again.”

Even better was what happened the next morning.

Niccolo and Adriano showed up at 7 AM. All the old guys who had walked out yesterday were back; they’d clearly been given a talking-to, and I could see the resentment on their faces.

Adriano needled me with jokes as we started exercising – This all you got, Army Boy? – to the point where he started to annoy me.

But then he proved himself invaluable.

When I started having everybody do wind sprints, one of the old-timers – the prime instigator from yesterday – started to walk away.

“This is fuckin’ bullshit,” he said. “I’m goin’ back to the – ”

“HEY, SAVINO!” Adriano roared.

The old guy – Savino, apparently – froze in his tracks.

Every man, young and old, went deathly quiet as they waited to see what happened next.

Adriano walked up to the old guy and got right in his face. “What does my father fuckin’ pay you for, Savino?”

“To guard him,” the old guy said sullenly.

“And?” Adriano snapped.

“To guard your uncle.”

“AND?”

“…to guard you and your brothers…”

“AND?!”

Savino looked afraid. He clearly didn’t know what Adriano was looking for.

“HE PAYS YOU TO FUCKING FOLLOW ORDERS! AND RIGHT NOW, YOUR ORDERS ARE TO DO WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT MAN TELLS YOU TO DO!” Adriano screamed as he pointed at me.

Savino whined, “He’s tryin’ to kill us with this runnin’ bullshit!”

“Yeah?” Adriano said, his voice suddenly low and menacing.

“…yeah…” the old guy muttered, clearly worried by the drop in Adriano’s voice.

“Well, here’s your choice, Savino: you can either do his running bullshit, and maybe you die… or I can beat the fuck out of you right here and now, and you can definitely die. What’s it gonna be?”

Savino lowered his head like a whipped dog. “…I’ll follow orders.”

“Good,” Adriano hissed, then turned back to me. “Alright, Army Man, let’s go.”

Niccolo tried to hide his grin behind his hand. I managed to keep a poker face, but it was difficult.

The best thing?

I didn’t hear one more complaint from the old-timers after that. Not a single one.

They might have looked like they were going to keel over from a heart attack…

But nobody said shit. They just kept on training.

One notable absence throughout the whole thing: Aurelio.

I was secretly glad he didn’t come – and was even happier when he never showed up in the future.

118

Little by little, the men began to get better. Better physical shape, certainly – but they were also getting better at handling their guns, clearing the building, and acting like a team.

As we worked, I took note of their individual strengths and weaknesses – including the brothers’.

Adriano was a born leader, fearless and clever – but he tended to rule with an iron fist, using fear rather than inspiration. However, he was willing to endure ten times as much pain as anyone else, and that usually meant others looked up to him and wanted to impress him. When they did put forth a big effort, Adriano would slap them on the back and give a nod – which was insanely high praise from him and something all the younger men craved.

Massimo was a beast – one of the strongest men I’d ever seen. But he was not the best strategist. More of a ‘barrel into the room and take them head-on’ kind of guy.

Valentino was enthusiastic and willing to take risks, but he was more of a follower than a leader. Not a huge surprise – he was the youngest man there, even amongst the foot soldiers.

Roberto was quiet. He took forever to learn a physical skill or tactic – but once he had it down, he had it down cold. He followed orders like a robot and rarely deviated from them.

Niccolo was a strategist. I could always see the wheels turning in his head, dissecting what I told him and trying to figure out why. On more than one occasion, he would take vague orders and put his own spin on them, improving the outcome with a clever change. Not the strongest soldier, but definitely the smartest.

I worked them all hard, and they improved by leaps and bounds.

I began to feel like I’d made the right choice by coming here.

And gradually, the heartbreak of losing Rachel began to fade…

At least to the point where I didn’t think about her every five minutes.

I was just about to start the afternoon training when Niccolo walked out of the house with a phone in his hand. He was still dressed in his sweats from the morning session.

“Hey, International Man of Mystery – my brother wants to talk to you!” he said as he handed me the phone.

“Dario,” I said, a big smile on my face.

“International Man of Mystery, indeed,” he chuckled. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going great. Thank you for the job.”

“Thank you for taking it. Niccolo says you’re a regular taskmaster.”

“Only because he’s out of shape.”

“I heard that!” Niccolo yelled from inside the house.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Dario said, and then his voice grew somber. “I’m sorry that it didn’t work out with Rachel. I’m… assuming it didn’t work out…?”

“…no,” I said, feeling that old familiar pain I tried so hard to avoid. “She moved on.”

“Shit. Now I feel like a fool for everything I told you.”

“No, you were right. If it was meant to be, it would’ve worked out. It didn’t… so I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. How are you doing?”

“I’m good.”

“Your father and brothers aren’t nearby. You don’t have to bullshit me. How are you really?”

He paused, then sighed. “…it’s hard. There was an attempt on my life yesterday.”

I froze, fear seeping into my guts. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. All your training saved my life. That’s why I’m so happy you’re doing it for my brothers and our men. But I’ve got to admit, I sorely miss having you watch my back.”

“Just a few more months,” I said, more to reassure myself than him. “All you have to do is make it a few more months.”

“I know…”

“I could get myself thrown back in San Vittore if it would help.”

He laughed. “You do that, and I’ll kick your ass myself.”

I grinned. “Like that’s even an option.”

“What, you getting thrown back in San Vittore?”

“No, you kicking my ass.”

He laughed again, then grew serious. “All I need to know is that you’ll be there when I get out. You, me, and my brothers… we’re going to build something together. Something new… something BIG.”

“I’ll be here,” I promised.

“Good. That’s all I needed to hear; I can do the next four months standing on my head.”

We talked some more, and then I eventually gave the phone back to Niccolo.

Dario sounded in good spirits, but I still said a silent prayer for his safety.

Help him stay alive…

Please.

119

Weeks passed. I talked to Dario every few days when he called his family from prison, and his spirits remained high despite the dangers he faced.

Since his release was only a few months away, no one was planning to physically go see him. Dario was fine with that – he told me he wanted everybody training relentlessly. Then we could have one huge party to celebrate both his release and his brothers’ hard work.

As for the training, it only increased in intensity.

Like they say in basic training: The only easy day was yesterday.

I started them on target practice out in the olive orchards – pistols, assault rifles, and sniper rifles. I began instructing them in hand-to-hand combat like I’d taught Dario. And I kept up the physical conditioning and training them to work as a unit.

The men began to coalesce into a real team – especially the younger ones. The older ones were more half-hearted about it, but at least they were making strides.

The brothers in particular impressed me. They pushed themselves harder than the men who worked for them as though to provide a good example.

Leonardo noticed. The old man would come out and watch the training sometimes and nod approvingly. More than once, he told me in private, “You’re doing an amazing job, Lars. I’m so grateful Dario brought you to us. Thank you for everything you’re doing for our family.”

“Thank you for giving me the chance, sir.”

He would laugh, give me a hug, and pat my back.

For the first time in my life, I started to get the sense of what it would have been like to have a father.

When my first paycheck came through, I immediately reimbursed Gunnar for the 5000 euros he’d paid to my lawyer, plus another 5000 for all the collect phone calls over the years – and for just being there for me.

We talked occasionally on the phone, and he seemed really happy that I’d found a job – and a new home.

My heartache about Rachel began to slowly fade… or at least lessen in intensity. I only took an hour at night to fall asleep. She was the first thing I thought of when I woke every morning… but it wasn’t always with grief. Sometimes I even smiled as I imagined her lying beside me in bed.

But no matter what, I wore the ring around my neck everywhere I went.

I never took it off, and I never forgot the lesson I’d learned:

When you have the shot…

Take the shot.

Life had given me a second shot with Dario’s family.

I intended on taking it.

Then, without warning, tragedy struck.

It was around 10 o’clock at night. I’d been having a beer with Massimo, and now I was heading up to my room when I heard Adriano’s voice scream, “HELP! HELP US, PLEASE!”

It was coming from his father’s room.

I raced down the hallway as fast as I could. Adriano continued to scream, “PLEASE, SOMEONE HELP!”

I burst into the old man’s bedroom and found Adriano kneeling on the floor. Leonardo was cradled in his arms. A few feet away was a chair, an overturned tray, and a liquor glass and plate of food scattered across the rug.

The old man’s face was red, his eyes bulged, and veins stood out on his face.

Adriano looked up at me in panic, his eyes wide and helpless as a frightened child’s.

“I just – I just found him like this…”

“Give him to me,” I commanded as I got down on my knees.

I had emergency medical battlefield training, although it mostly revolved around wounds and bleeding, not what was happening here.

Adriano shifted his father over to my arms, and I lowered the old man gently to the floor and checked his pulse. It was elevated but not weak.

Leonardo looked up at me with imploring eyes, like he wanted to tell me something but couldn’t speak. Only a choking gasp escaped his throat.

Adriano was standing and tearing at his hair in anguish.

“Get Niccolo to call an ambulance,” I ordered. “I think he’s having a heart attack.”

Adriano nodded, slightly stunned – then bolted from the room, screaming, “NICCOLO! CALL AN AMBULANCE – PAPA’S HURT!”

“It’s going to be alright,” I said calmly to Leonardo.

He looked up at me with wide eyes. His hands clutched at my shirt – in pain or fear, I couldn’t say.

Massimo, Roberto, and Valentino rushed in, a look of horror on their faces as they crowded around their father.

“Papa?!”

“Oh my God – ”

Niccolo and Adriano rushed in. Adriano was still frantic, but Niccolo had a calm, almost cold expression as he talked into his cell phone. “Yes, there’s a gate – it will be open by the time the ambulance gets here. I’ll be waiting for them at the front door to the house, but just in case, tell them it’s up the stairs and on the third floor to the left.”

“…Papa?” Adriano said, his voice no louder than a whisper.

Leonardo’s head tilted back and his eyes stared up at the ceiling, unseeing and unfocused.

“PAPA!” Adriano screamed.

Massimo had to hold his brother back. It took all his strength to do so.

120

The brothers and I piled into cars and followed the ambulance to a small local hospital about 10 minutes away.

We sat in the waiting room as the doctors tried to save Leonardo. Adriano was bent over, his head in his hands, as Massimo rubbed his back consolingly.

Niccolo was pacing back and forth, shouting angrily into his cell. He was on the line with the prison staff at San Vittore’s, trying to get them to allow Dario to come to the phone – just in case.

The staff were being assholes as usual and not budging a bit. After all, it was 10:45 PM – ‘lights out,’ and after the appointed time for inmates to be on the phone.

“Our father could die!” Niccolo hissed. “Have a fucking heart!”

Just then, Fausto and Aurelio rushed into the waiting room. They’d been in Florence having dinner by themselves. Niccolo had called them on our way to the hospital.

Fausto looked fearful; Aurelio was almost stony-faced, though.

At the time, his lack of visible concern didn’t mean anything to me.

I recalled it months later, however.

“How is he?” Fausto asked.

“We don’t know,” Roberto said. “The doctors are with him now.”

“Oh God,” Fausto said. He crossed himself and began murmuring, “Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb…”

There were footsteps behind me.

Everyone turned to stare at a doctor in surgical scrubs.

He looked at us with a mournful expression. “I’m sorry… we did everything we could for him… but he passed three minutes ago.”

Everyone’s faces went slack, not quite comprehending –

But the sound that came out of Adriano was like the wail of a dying animal.

121

The day of the funeral was somber. Leonardo was buried in a small field near the olive groves, next to a marble tombstone belonging to his wife.

Other than the immediate family and the foot soldiers who worked for them, 50 people attended – strangers I had never seen before. Middle-aged men with grey streaking their hair. Wives dressed in black. They said their condolences to Fausto and the brothers, then left shortly afterwards in limousines.

Members of the Cosa Nostra. The heads of families from across Italy.

Back at the house, the servants put out food for the few visitors who stuck around. I was standing guard when Niccolo came over and whispered, “There’s a meeting in the parlor. Dario’s on the phone. He requested you be included.”

“Alright,” I said, then followed Niccolo into the foyer.

I hadn’t talked to Dario yet; I hadn’t had the chance. From what Niccolo had told me, Dario had gone insane with grief and rage when they told him his father had died – especially when he realized that they could have told him the night before and that they had robbed him of the chance to say goodbye. He had struck a guard in his anger and been beaten and thrown into solitary confinement for 72 hours.

We entered the parlor. All the brothers were there, as well as Fausto and Aurelio.

A cell phone was sitting on the coffee table in the center of the room. Everybody was huddled around it.

“We’re here,” Niccolo announced loudly as he shut the door.

“Is Lars with you?” Dario’s voice called out from the phone. He sounded like a different man – broken and alone.

“I’m here,” I said. “I’m so sorry, Dario.”

“Thank you. Thank you,” he repeated, and I could hear the grief in his voice.

“What I want to know,” Adriano said with barely contained rage, “is why the fuck we have to do this today, of all days.”

Fausto replied calmly, “Because a great many things have to happen… and it’s best if we chart our course now so we don’t become confused in the days ahead. I know it’s painful… I’m grieving, too… but it needs to be done.”

Adriano looked like he wanted to reach across and throttle his uncle. “This is fucking BULLSHIT – ”

“Adriano,” Dario said wearily over the phone. “Enough.”

Adriano immediately fell silent.

“What are you thinking,” Dario said, and it was obvious the question was directed at his uncle.

“I would like your blessing to start my own family,” Fausto said. “Aurelio will join me. I would like half your father’s business in Tuscany… and the entirety of Florence.”

“No fucking WAY,” Adriano snarled.

“Why?” Aurelio sneered. “Because you think you’re going to run it someday?”

Adriano leapt to his feet, hands balled into fists.

The other brothers began arguing, too –

A cacophony of voices filled the room –

“QUIET!” Dario roared over the phone.

Everyone went silent.

When Dario spoke again, his voice was neutral. “I’ll have to talk with my brothers separately, but I’m amenable to starting your own family and taking half our territory. However, Florence is out of the question.”

Fausto frowned. “Dario – ”

“With all due respect, Uncle, I’M the one who went to prison to protect our position in Florence, not you. I didn’t agree to spend four years in San Vittore only to give up the crown jewel.”

Fausto took a respectful pause. “I realize that, Dario, but – ”

“My decision is final, Uncle. I’m willing to compromise on everything else… but not Florence.”

Now it was Aurelio who looked like he might kill someone.

Adriano just smiled at him with a Fuck you expression.

Niccolo spoke up beside me. “You realize, Uncle Fausto, that we’re willing to split our father’s business territory because of the love and affection we have for you, and in gratitude for your 25 years of service to the family. But you’re not owed anything.”

Fausto smiled. “Spoken like a true consigliere. I taught you well, Machiavelli.”

Niccolo gave a tight smile back. “Then you’ll understand why you’re not getting Florence.”

Fausto sighed. “All right. We can discuss the geographical boundaries now, or – ”

“I’m not going to be able to stay on the phone much longer,” Dario said. “I’d like a moment of privacy with my brothers.”

“Understood,” Fausto said. “Thank you, Dario… and I’m truly sorry for the timing.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Dario replied, though he didn’t exactly sound warm as he said it.

“Come, Aurelio,” Fausto said as he walked towards the foyer.

Aurelio gave his cousins one last hateful look, followed his father out of the room, and shut the door behind him.

“Are they gone?” Dario asked.

“They are,” Niccolo said. “Are you sure about this?”

“He wants to go. We need to give him something, or it will only breed resentment.”

“Agreed, but – ”

“I have to go soon, and we need to elect a new don.”

Niccolo looked at the others. “I say we put it to a vote. Everyone in favor of Dario becoming the new don…”

Niccolo raised his hand – and every other brother raised his hand without hesitation.

I raised mine, as well.

Niccolo smiled. “You don’t technically get a vote, Lars, but let the record show that you voted in accordance with everyone else. It’s unanimous, Dario – or, should I say… Don Rosolini.”

“Don Rosolini,” the other brothers said in unison.

There was a long pause. When he finally spoke, Dario sounded choked up. “Thank you, brothers. And thank YOU, Lars – I appreciate the show of support.”

I smiled in embarrassment. Everyone else chuckled kindly.

“I will do my best to bear the great responsibility you’ve entrusted me with and to be worthy of the honor. As my first act, I appoint Niccolo as my consigliere. Any objections?”

No one said a word.

“Good. Niccolo, I give you full authority to negotiate with Fausto on my behalf. No need to clear your decisions with me – I trust your judgment.”

“Thank you, Don Rosolini,” Niccolo said somberly.

“I have to go. Know that my heart is with you… and that I love you all. Goodbye.”

Everyone murmured goodbye, and the line went dead.

Niccolo exhaled heavily and looked around at his brothers.

“Well… so begins a new era,” he said. “Let’s make Papa proud. Lars, would you please bring Fausto and Aurelio back in?”

“Of course,” I said, then walked over to the parlor door.

When I opened it, I was immediately struck by what I saw.

Fausto stood there by the foot of the stairs with Aurelio next to him.

He was surrounded by foot soldiers – one of whom was bent over Fausto’s hand and kissing a ring on his finger.

I noticed that every single man surrounding him was one of the old-timers.

“They’re ready for you,” I announced.

Fausto smiled at me and walked back into the parlor like a king entering his court.

Aurelio followed close behind. He didn’t even spare me a glance as I shut the door behind us.

122

Niccolo and Fausto began negotiating and didn’t stop until 2 in the morning.

Neither side was truly pleased with the results. Fausto obviously still wanted Florence, but Niccolo wouldn’t budge. In return, the brothers gave up more territory than they would have liked in exchange for Florence and the family’s ancestral mansion.

Adriano was pissed. Of course, he was always pissed, so no surprises there. “We didn’t give away half our territory – we gave away almost two fuckin’ thirds!”

“But we got to keep Florence,” Roberto pointed out. “That’s the most important thing.”

“And we got the house and the grounds,” Massimo added.

“It still fuckin’ blows,” Adriano groused.

Niccolo smiled wryly. “That’s the mark of a good compromise – when everybody walks away unhappy.”

“At least we got rid of Aurelio,” Valentino said.

Everyone laughed – including me.

“I take back everything I said,” Adriano joked. “That alone makes it worth it.”

When Fausto and Aurelio left the next day to start their new empire, they took half the staff with them: half the servants and half the foot soldiers.

I noticed that the vast majority of the soldiers who went with Fausto were old-timers – the ones who had bitched and moaned on the first day of training, and whose efforts since then had been half-hearted at best. Only a couple of younger guys went with them.

Unlike the brothers, I was extremely pleased. We kept all the best men and got rid of a lot of dead wood.

Good riddance.

It was a win/win, as far as I was concerned.

A few days later, Adriano, Massimo, and Valentino went to see Dario in prison. They flew on the family’s Gulfstream, which took off from a runway hidden amidst the olive groves and vineyards.

Niccolo and Roberto stayed behind at the mansion. With the family’s new don in prison, it was unthinkable to also put the consigliere and the money man in danger as well. Despite their obvious reluctance, Niccolo and Roberto did the smart thing and stayed home.

But as head of security, I was very aware that an enemy might decide to make a move against the brothers when they visited San Vittore. Maybe someone from the Camorra – like an old associate of Aristide Caproni.

Which meant I didn’t trust anyone outside our inner circle, and the only cars I would trust were those from our own garage.

With Niccolo’s blessing, I assembled a team of the best men I’d trained to drive a convoy of four bulletproof Mercedes up to Milan. We had to leave hours earlier than the jet so we would be there when they arrived at the airport.

All of the men I chose were under 30. Most hadn’t even been working as foot soldiers when I’d arrived. But after five months of intensive training, they were ready. I would have gone into battle with any of them.

The trip took four hours. I sat in the passenger seat as Giorgio drove. He didn’t say much, which I liked about him. A man of few words and decisive action.

It also gave me time to think.

If someone had asked me a week earlier, I would have said Leonardo would live for a long time to come. He might have been stressed, but he seemed to be healthy and full of vitality.

His death reminded me just how fleeting life is. And his sons’ grief reminded me that, in the end, life is all about the ones we love.

As a result, I thought a lot about Rachel on the drive to Milan.

I wondered what she was doing… if she’d married her fiancé…

And bitterly wished it could have been me.

We picked up Adriano, Massimo, and Valentino at the Aeroporto di Milano Malpensa on the outskirts of Milan. Niccolo had called ahead and arranged it so we could drive out onto the tarmac to retrieve them once they landed.

The original plan was to put one brother in each car, with me in the lead vehicle. But Valentino wanted to ride with me, so the fourth car just trailed along behind us.

“What a fuckin’ name for an airport,” Valentino muttered from the backseat as we drove off the tarmac.

“What?” I asked.

“‘Malpensa,’” he said. “Mal pensa literally means ‘bad thoughts.’ I was like, ‘Why the fuck would you name an airport that,’ so I looked it up on my phone when we landed. Turns out the land they bought to build it on had a farm named Malpensa – and they kept the fuckin’ name. Can you believe that shit?”

Actually, I could.

It seemed consistent with the dark humor of Italians. Swedes have our own form of gallows humor to get us through the cold winter nights, but we had nothing on Italy – the land of passion and death.

I knew Valentino was just talking because he was nervous and upset about his father, so I let him ramble. But the closer we got to our destination, the more distracted I became with my own ‘bad thoughts.’

To me, Milan was a cursed city. It was where I’d lost nearly four years of my life…

And the woman I loved.

The day I left, I thought I would never go back –

So, of course, that’s exactly where Fate sent me.

And not just to Milan, but to the gulag itself.

From the outside, San Vittore was just a bunch of ugly walls concealing an even greater ugliness within. But as we drove up to it, I could almost feel the darkness seeping through the concrete. It depressed me even more to think of everything the prison had taken from me.

Of course, it had given me one of the best friends I’d ever had, and an amazing new life…

But the trade-off had been bitter indeed.

We parked in the visitor’s lot. I left my guns in the car as I accompanied Adriano, Massimo, and Valentino inside.

As we signed in, there was more than one double-take as the staff recognized me. One guard even joked, “Couldn’t stay away, huh?” but I ignored him.

Only one brother was allowed to visit at a time. Adriano went first, accompanied by a guard.

Valentino paced the corridor nervously as we waited for Adriano to return.

“Val’s never been in a place like this before,” Massimo said quietly as he and I stood by the wall.

“…and you have?” I asked.

Massimo looked at me with one raised eyebrow.

I put up my hands like Don’t shoot. “Sorry – I didn’t mean it the way it came out. I just was surprised you’d been in prison.”

Massimo looked at me for a long moment in silence.

Then he finally spoke.

“…I’ve visited them before.”

We stared at each other –

And then both broke out laughing.

“Okay, Mr. Tough Guy,” Massimo said good-naturedly, “I know we’re not all badasses like you, but please, allow me to retain some of my dignity.”

I began speaking in a voice like the narrator of a documentary. “Massimo Rosolini – he’s visited some of the WORST prison waiting rooms in all of Italy – ”

Massimo bumped my shoulder and nearly toppled me over.

I was just about to retaliate in a fun, rough-housing way when Valentino cleared his throat.

Massimo and I both looked over at him.

“Dario’s in there, and our father’s dead,” he said coldly. “Could you two show a little fuckin’ respect?”

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“Okay, okay,” Massimo relented.

Massimo and I stood there in silence for about 30 seconds…

And then Massimo leaned over and whispered, “You can tell from how serious he is that Valentino Rosolini has visited ONE of the WORST prison waiting rooms in all of Italy…”

I tried to cover my mouth to stop from laughing. It didn’t work.

Massimo and I both burst into guffaws as Valentino stood there, shaking his head in disgust.

123

Adriano returned about ten minutes later. He was as stony-faced as when he’d gone in.

“Go on in,” he said to Valentino. He clapped his baby brother affectionately on the shoulder. “He asked for you next.”

After Valentino walked out with the guard, Adriano approached me and Massimo.

“Well?” Massimo asked.

“Not fuckin’ good, man,” Adriano said wearily. “Not fuckin’ good.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s takin’ it real hard. I’ve never seen him so low.”

“…shit,” Massimo muttered.

“Yeah.”

“Did he say anything about being don?” Massimo whispered.

“No, his head’s not in the game yet. All he can talk about is how he didn’t get to say goodbye. He knew I found Papa first, so that’s all he asked about – what happened, what it was like.” Adriano rubbed his hand roughly over the lower half of his face. “I mean… as fuckin’ bad as it was finding Papa… at least I got to look him in his eyes, you know? I sort of got to say my goodbyes, even if it was just being there with him. But Dario…”

Adriano trailed off as he stared into the distance.

Massimo put one hand on his brother’s shoulder as though to comfort him, and we stood there in silence.

When Valentino came out, his eyes were red and raw. It looked like he was doing his best to hold back tears.

“Fuck. That was fuckin’ awful,” he muttered as he came over to us.

Massimo patted Valentino’s back reassuringly, then walked off with the guard.

“You okay?” Adriano asked Valentino.

The younger man shrugged. “No. I don’t know. He looks lost, Adriano.”

“…I know,” Adriano murmured. “I know.”

We stood there in silence until Massimo came out. His expression wasn’t as outwardly emotional as Valentino’s, but his forehead was deeply creased in a frown.

He walked directly over to me. “He wants to see you.”

“He does?” I asked, slightly surprised.

“He specifically asked for you.”

“…okay,” I said, then walked over to the doorway.

As the guard led me down the corridor, the smell hit me. It was the same as my very first day in San Vittore: body odor, sweat, bleach, and stale cigarette smoke, with a hint of urine and shit.

I must have gotten used to it when I’d been imprisoned here because I didn’t remember it smelling this bad. Now that I’d grown accustomed to the fresh air of Tuscany, the stench of San Vittore was like being trapped in a sewer. I could only imagine the effect it must have had on Valentino.

The guard brought me to a room with wooden chairs in front of a long counter. There were eight partitioned areas with thin walls subdividing each spot. A scratched-up plastic barrier shielded this side of the counter from the inmates. The only way to speak to them was with old-school telephone handsets bolted onto the partitioned walls.

Seven of the chairs were filled with young women and old people – the convicts’ mothers and fathers – but the eighth chair was empty.

And on the other side of the plastic wall sat Dario.

He looked like he had aged ten years since I’d seen him last. His hair and beard were still dark as ever, but there were lines in his face that hadn’t been there before.

The playfulness and joy I remembered were gone; in their place was a pain I’d never seen in him, not even during our worst hours in the prison.

I sat down and took the phone off the hook.

He gave me a sad, weary smile as he picked up his end.

“Lars,” he said. His voice sounded wistful, like seeing me conjured up memories of better days.

“Dario,” I said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

He gave me that same sad smile and nodded. “Thank you. I wanted to say it in person that I’m sorry, too… that it didn’t work out with Rachel.”

I stared at him in shock.

He’d lost his father just days before… had been denied the chance to say goodbye while he was stuck inside this hellhole…

And he was telling me that he was sorry for my loss.

It shook me to my core, and my heart broke for him all over again.

In many ways, he was the best friend I’d ever had. He and I had gone through things in San Vittore that Gunnar would never understand.

Gunnar and I had been in combat, which was its own kind of hell. That experience had forged a bond between us that only soldiers could understand.

But at the end of every day, Gunnar and I had gone back to the military base. We hadn’t slept every night amongst the enemy. We hadn’t walked past men every second of every day and wondered when they would try to slit our throats.

In Afghanistan, your enemy skulked in the shadows and carried a gun – but he could be identified by that gun.

In San Vittore, your enemy ate next to you in the cafeteria. He stood next to you in the yard… showered next to you… slept six feet away on the other side of a wall.

Or maybe he wasn’t your enemy at all. Maybe he was just another prisoner trying to make the best of a bad situation.

You could never know for sure…

Until his shiv was buried in your guts.

San Vittore was its own special type of hell. Only Dario and I knew what it was to have each other’s back in a place like this.

“That’s over and done with,” I said, talking about Rachel. It was a lie, and I was sure Dario knew it, but he didn’t call me out on it. “But thank you. I can’t even believe you’d think of that so soon after…”

I trailed off.

I couldn’t bear to say it:

So soon after your father died.

Dario gave me that sad smile again. “Losing someone you love dearly, no matter the circumstances, is the worst pain imaginable. I just lost mine a little more recently, is all.”

I had to get away from this topic. The feeling of being back in San Vittore, and knowing how Rachel had slipped away while I was trapped here, was too much to bear.

“How are you holding up?” I asked. “In prison, I mean. The day-to-day shit.”

He gave a sigh of despair. “Not well.” Then he followed it with a short, bitter laugh. “Not that I could tell my brothers that.”

I nodded. He could tell me these things because he knew I would understand them – because I’d lived them. He didn’t have to protect me from the horrors of his daily life like he did with his brothers.

“Are you in any danger?”

“No… my other friends are keeping the assholes off my back out of respect for my father. For the moment, anyway.”

I knew that ‘other friends’ was code for other members of the Cosa Nostra. They were protecting him from the Camorra and anyone else who would take advantage of his grief.

“Just hang on,” I said. “You won’t believe how good the air smells when you’re free.”

He smiled wanly. “What did it smell like when you walked back inside San Vittore?”

“Like Satan’s ass crack.”

Dario laughed – the first real laugh of our conversation and probably the first he’d had since the news of Leonardo’s death.

When he stopped laughing, he said, “That’s a very apt description. I can’t wait until I never have to smell it again.”

“Just a few more months and you’re out.”

Dario’s eyes drifted into a thousand-yard stare. “Yes… but what kind of world am I going to come back to?”

“One where you’re the head of your family. One where you get the chance to do everything you told me you wanted to do. Remember? All the plans you had, all the changes you wanted to make?”

His eyes met mine. They looked very, very tired. “I didn’t tell my brothers, but… I’m not sure I can do it.”

“Do what?”

“Lead the family.”

“Of course you can. You were raised to do this – you were born to do this. Hell, all your brothers look up to you. I was there when they took the vote – it was unanimous from the very first – ”

“That’s the problem,” Dario said wearily. “They look at me as some kind of hero who’s going to ride in and save the day. But I’m just… me.”

“And that’s enough. You can do this.”

“There’s a big difference between training to take the captain’s chair and actually being responsible for all the lives onboard.”

I nodded. I knew where he was coming from – because I’d felt exactly the same way back in the military.

“When I went through basic training, I drilled and I marched. I learned how to fight and how to shoot a gun… and then I went into Special Forces, where I drilled some more. I learned survival techniques and practiced how to react under pressure. But the first time I was in combat – the first time bullets were flying around me, and I saw one of the guys in my squad get shot in the head five feet away from me – you know what happened?”

Dario frowned. “What?”

“I shit my pants.”

Dario stared at me in shock –

Then burst out laughing.

“Just a little,” I protested, smiling. “But I still shat my pants. I think Americans call it a ‘Hershey’s squirt.’ At least, that’s what I heard in a movie, anyway.”

Dario laughed so hard that tears rolled down his cheeks.

When he finally settled down a bit, I continued. “But what I learned is, all those years of training? They were so I could get through the first few minutes of combat. You don’t really know what battle is like until you’re thrown in the middle of it… but all that training was to help you survive.

“And from that moment forward, you learn faster than you ever did before. You learn more in five minutes in a firefight than you did in five weeks of basic training… because one is just preparing for the thing, and the other IS the thing.

“But the training is crucial, because it gets you through the first five minutes… and that first five minutes gets you through the next five hours… which gets you through the next five days, and weeks, and months.

“I won’t bullshit you: it’s going to be hard. But you’ve trained. You’re prepared. You’re going to get through the first five minutes… and once you get through that, you’ll get through the next five hours… and then the next five days. You’ll be learning on your feet – on-the-job training, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It’ll be hard, but to start with… all you have to do is get through those first five minutes.

“And I know you can do it because I was in here with you. I fought side by side with you. I saw you every day. You not only survived – you thrived. You faced down the killers and the thugs and you always came out on top. So when you walk out of San Vittore a free man, I know you won’t just survive – you’ll thrive. And you’re going to make a hell of a great leader.”

Dario looked at me with misty eyes and a real smile. Not the weary one from before, but one of relief and gratitude – like he was finally seeing the sun after the darkest night imaginable.

He put his palm against the plastic barrier.

I put my palm up on the other side.

“You’re going to be there beside me?” he asked quietly. “Just like you had my back in here?”

“Every fucking step of the way. Count on it.”

He gave me the biggest smile imaginable. “Che Dio ti benedica, amico mio.”

God bless you, my friend.

When I left Dario a few minutes later, I didn’t leave the broken, grieving man I’d seen when I walked in…

But a warrior.

And a mafia don.

124

In the days after we returned from Milan, I tripled down on my efforts.

We had to replace the foot soldiers we’d lost when Fausto left, so I asked all my guys if they had family or friends who might want to join us.

Our foot soldiers’ lives had been utterly transformed by their training, and other people had noticed. We had dozens of applicants – but that was only the starting point.

Niccolo worked overtime to vet everyone, making sure that none of them had any ties to our enemies – or weaknesses like gambling or drug addiction that could open them up to blackmail.

Once I had a batch of new recruits, I trained them mercilessly ten hours a day. Massimo, Adriano, and Valentino helped. It really was like putting the new guys through basic training in the military.

Half of them dropped out… but the half who remained were fighters to the core. And they learned to follow orders not only from me but from Massimo and Adriano. Valentino was a bit young to command the same respect his older brothers did, but Adriano and Massimo transformed into officers who could lead men into combat when the time eventually came.

While the new guys were getting whipped into shape, the men I’d trained before Leonardo’s death had to work overtime to protect the grounds – but I never heard a single complaint from any of them. If anything, they asked if there was more they could do to help.

Niccolo and Roberto no longer trained with us, but that’s because they were working 12 hours a day on other projects. Roberto hired crews to replace every window in the house with Level 8 bulletproof glass. And those guys had to be vetted, too, which was a monumental task.

Once the windows were done, we installed a hundred cameras around the property. I worked with Adriano and Massimo to determine the biggest vulnerabilities. We put up cameras to cover them all and patched everything into a control room on the third floor so someone would always be watching 24/7.

The work was difficult and exhausting, but we got through it.

And it forged us into a team. Both me and the brothers – and the men who served beneath us.

Not only were we a force to be reckoned with, unlike anything Leonardo had seen before his death…

We were a family, willing to fight and die by each other’s side.

And when the time came to prove it, my men were ready.

125

Four months later, we returned to Milan when Dario got out of prison.

This time, Roberto insisted on coming along with us. “I wasn’t there for him when he was grieving – the least I can do is be there when he gets out.”

Niccolo argued vehemently against it. In fact, he argued against anyone going. “Don’t you think I want to be there, too? Things have changed, though – now we have to make the smart choice!”

But in the end, Roberto ignored his twin brother and boarded the plane with Adriano, Massimo, and Valentino.

It’s not like his presence created that much bigger of a headache for me. The situation was terrible no matter what: a new mafia don and four of his brothers all in one public place. If the Camorra was going to strike, a reunion outside the prison would be the perfect place to do it.

To make sure they were safe, I had a fleet of bulletproof Mercedes and a small army of foot soldiers in the parking lot. I even had Roberto rent a helicopter to scan the surrounding buildings for snipers.

The Camorra must have decided to give them a pass, though, because nothing happened the day Dario got out.

When he walked out of prison that morning, he wore a beautifully tailored suit, and his hair and beard were immaculately trimmed – but none of it could hide the new seriousness to his bearing, the world-weariness in his face. His father had died, and now the family’s legacy rested on his shoulders.

He would have his brothers’ help, of course. But in the end, there was only one don… and the don bore the responsibility for the family.

Dario smiled as he walked up to us, but it wasn’t exactly joyful. It was more relieved – the look of someone seeing the faces of loved ones after a long nightmare is finally over.

Adriano hugged him fiercely. Massimo enveloped him in a bear hug. Valentino hung on for dear life… and then there was Roberto, who was a bit stiff and formal.

“You came,” Dario said warmly as he embraced him.

“I couldn’t not come,” Roberto said. “I’m sorry Niccolo isn’t here – ”

“Don’t be. He’s consigliere now. He had to make the smart choice.”

Roberto’s face fell the tiniest bit at the implied criticism.

To soften the blow, Dario patted his brother’s cheek affectionately and winked. “But I’m very, very happy you’re here. Thank you.”

Roberto smiled and nodded… and then Dario turned to me.

He had embraced all his brothers with great affection. They were family; it was only appropriate.

I was a good friend, but I also worked for him now. I didn’t expect any overt displays –

So I was a little surprised when Dario walked over to me with a huge smile, wrapped his arms around me, and hugged me.

“I would have died in there if it hadn’t been for everything you taught me,” he said. “Thank you.”

“I would have died in there if you hadn’t been my friend,” I replied. “Thank you.”

He gave me an even bigger smile, then slapped me on the shoulder and turned to his brothers. “Everyone ready?”

They shouted a jubilant Yes!

“Good – then let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said, looking up at the prison. “I’ve had enough of this place to last ten lifetimes.”

As we walked towards the cars, he asked me, “Are we flying out?”

“You and your brothers are. I’ll go back with our men in the cars – ”

“No,” he interrupted. “I want a celebratory drink on the plane, and I want you there when I have it.”

“…alright,” I agreed.

After all, my don had spoken.

“Excellent.” Dario lifted his head and inhaled deeply. “You’re right – the air smells sweeter as a free man.”

“Just wait till you get home.”

He laughed, then slapped my back again. “Alright… let’s get those first five minutes over with.”

He was talking about the speech I’d given him the day we came to visit, right after his father had died.

“You remember that, huh?”

He smiled. “I’ll never forget it. That was what got me through the last four months.”

126

Iwas a little afraid that ‘one drink’ aboard the plane might become three or four, then turn into days of debauchery – but I sorely underestimated Dario. He drink one glass of champagne on the plane, followed by a celebratory dinner at the house that night. After that, he was 100% business.

Adriano, Massimo, and Valentino wanted to bring in some escorts from Florence, but Dario refused.

“Too dangerous. That would be the easiest way for our enemies to get at us. There will be time for women in the future. For now, we work.”

Dario made good on all his idealistic plans. First, he ordered Niccolo and Roberto to divest the family business of hard drugs like heroin, meth, and cocaine.

“Don’t sell off any inventory we have – just destroy it,” he ordered. “If there’s more in the pipeline, pay the suppliers what we owe them and tell them to keep their product. Take the loss and move on.”

Roberto winced. “We don’t make a lot of money from drugs, but it has a very high profit margin – ”

“I don’t care. We’re no longer involved with that shit.”

“Alright.”

Dario fixed Roberto with a piercing stare. “You always told Papa you could take us legitimate within two years. Was that the truth or an exaggeration?”

Roberto perked up. “The truth. The Hong Kong deal could dwarf everything we’re involved in currently – and it would be 100% legal.”

“Get it moving, then.”

“The only problem is it would require a sizeable investment upfront – ”

“Come back to me with the numbers and we’ll talk,” Dario said. “Now, as for prostitution: I know we’ve been involved in it for decades, and I know it’s a tiny part of the business – but that’s over now, too. Tell the pimps their services are no longer required. Tell them to either find another line of work or get the fuck out of our territory.

“Talk to the women directly. Let them know that if they want to continue on their own, that’s fine, but no pimp will be taking a cut of their wages anymore. However, if the women run into problems – a pimp who threatens them, or a violent john – they can let us know, and we’ll take care of it.”

“So we’re going to perform the duties of a pimp,” Niccolo said sarcastically, “but not get paid for it.”

“No. We’re won’t find customers for the women, and we’re not chasing down non-payers. But if a man becomes violent with them, we’re going to ensure he never hurts a woman again.”

I personally liked hearing that a lot.

“I also want to give them an incentive to quit,” Dario continued, “so offer every woman a one-time payment of 5000 euros if they promise to use the money to start a new life.”

“5000 apiece?!” Roberto asked indignantly. “That could be a million euros – maybe more!”

“Money we took from them over the last few years,” Dario snapped. “Consider it back wages.”

Niccolo looked doubtful. “You realize most of them will say they’re quitting, but they’ll just take the money and keep working the streets.”

“I know – which is why you need to emphasize that if they take our money and go back on their word, we’ll consider that a betrayal. If they want to stay on the street and work for themselves, no problem – we’ll protect them however we can. But if they take our money and lie about it, they’re dead to us. ‘Good luck and fuck off.’”

It was tough, but it was fair.

Niccolo sighed. “You also know that most of the women will just start working for Uncle Fausto in his territory. Or they’ll move to Florence and start working for the Agrellas.”

The Agrellas were the Cosa Nostra family that shared control of Florence with the Rosolinis. The Agrellas handled the streets – prostitution, gambling, and drugs – while the Rosolinis handled political corruption – politicians, judges, and cops.

Fausto had his own territory now, and he had shown no indication he would change a single thing about prostitution, drugs, or anything else.

“That’s on the individual women,” Dario said. “If only one or two get out and start a new life, then it’s worth it to me. I can only control what we do, not what the women choose for themselves.

“By the way – from now on, we have nothing to do with sex trafficking. No one transports women through our territory, from Eastern Europe or anywhere else. I don’t care how much they offer us; no one moves women through our territory. Period.”

“The Agrellas won’t like that,” Roberto said.

“Fuck them. Tell them to find another way or get out of the business.”

“You realize these are massive changes,” Niccolo complained. “How soon are we supposed to accomplish all this?”

“The new policies start now. I realize it will take some time to talk to the women individually, but get it done as soon as possible. However,” he said sternly, “it will get done.”

Then Dario had Niccolo brief him on every threat the family faced in the wake of Leonardo’s death – everything that he couldn’t be told over a prison phone.

As for threats, there were quite a few –

And the first real test came quickly.

127

The Monday after Dario’s return, Niccolo convened an emergency meeting before dinner. As head of security, I joined all the brothers in the parlor.

“I just got word that the Genoans sent their enforcer into our territory,” Niccolo informed us. “Umberto Fumagalli.”

An enforcer was the top soldier of a mafia family – usually the most trusted assassin, and an all-around scary motherfucker who could get people to fall in line with implied threats. The enforcer was usually the one given the assignments that needed to be handled quickly and decisively, with no room for fuckups.

‘The Genoans’ were the Oldanis – the Cosa Nostra family that controlled Genoa, a coastal city three hours to the northwest of Florence.

I was relatively new to the world of the mafia, but I knew one thing for certain: the Oldanis sending their top assassin into our territory was not a good sign.

“Where is he?” Dario asked. “Do we know?”

Niccolo frowned. “It makes no sense – one of our spies saw him in some backwater village named Mensano.”

“We’re sure it’s Fumagalli?” Dario asked.

“This is the picture I got from our guy,” Niccolo said as he held out his phone. “It was taken half an hour ago.”

We gathered around to get a better look. Onscreen was a snapshot of a man getting out of a green Audi. He was in his late 30s and ugly like a toad, with fat lips and heavily lidded eyes.

“That’s him, alright,” Dario said with a sigh.

“You know him?” I asked in surprise.

“We know all the major players in all the families,” Niccolo explained. “Fumagalli’s been their top guy for a decade.”

“What are we going to do?” Roberto asked.

Niccolo shrugged. “We have to kill him.”

Nobody else seemed taken aback by that; they all just seemed resigned. Dario even nodded his head approvingly.

Me, on the other hand…

“Are you kidding?” I asked.

All the brothers turned to me in surprise. They were far more shocked at my reaction than they were at Niccolo suggesting we gun down another family’s representative.

“No,” Niccolo said with a raised eyebrow, like Don’t be absurd.

“Why would you kill him?!” I asked, incredulous.

“To send a message.”

“Which is what?!”

Niccolo looked like he was about to tear me a new asshole when Dario raised his hand to silence him. Then he turned to me.

“This is a provocation,” he explained patiently. “A test. Right now, the families of the Cosa Nostra are sniffing around, trying to determine if I’m a wolf or a lamb. If I’m a wolf, they’ll leave me alone. If I’m a lamb, they’ll slaughter me and take my territory for themselves. It’s nothing personal – it’s just business. The weak don’t survive long in our line of work, so it would happen sooner or later. And the first to slit my throat gets the spoils of war.”

“You’re sure they’re testing you?” I asked dubiously.

“If they’re not, they’re still up to no good. The Oldanis should never have sent anyone into our territory without first asking my permission. For them not to ask me is disrespectful in the extreme; for them to send their enforcer is a blatant sign of ill intent.

“Whatever their reason for sending Fumagalli, the Oldanis know they’re playing with fire. If I don’t respond decisively, they’ll take it as a sign of weakness – and then they’ll be on our doorstep in just a few days, gun in hand.”

“What about when we visited you in San Vittore – and the second time when we took you home?” I challenged him. “Did you call the family that runs Milan and tell them we were coming?”

“Oh yes,” Niccolo said smugly. “That was the first thing I did.”

“…oh.” I felt a little deflated, but I still kept pushing. “Can’t you just call them, then? Tell them you know what they’re doing and order them to pull their guy out?”

Adriano snorted. “That’d tell them Dario has no balls.”

Niccolo glared at him, but Adriano just shrugged. “Well, it would.”

Niccolo turned to me and asked mockingly, “Would your former employers have made a cordial phone call to Vladimir Putin if the Russians sent their deadliest assassin to your country? And would they have politely suggested he remove his assassin at once – or ‘there will be consequences’?”

Even though I’d revealed I’d worked for MI6 during my first meeting with Leonardo, Fausto, and Niccolo, I assumed none of the other brothers knew (except for Dario, whom I had told in prison). I appreciated Niccolo’s discretion, even if I didn’t like his tone.

“No, but we would have tried to take him alive,” I argued. “Killing him outright would’ve risked starting a war.”

“Wars are fought often in the Cosa Nostra,” Dario said calmly. “Especially when a new, untested don takes control. Trust me: if we kill Fumagalli, it sends a message to every other family in Italy not to fuck with us.”

“Aren’t you afraid the Oldanis will get angry and try to get everyone else to help them kill you?”

“No. Everyone will know Fumagalli should have never been here in the first place. We risk a small war with the Oldanis, it’s true,” Dario said, “but we risk a gigantic war with the entire Cosa Nostra if we don’t react decisively. Do you understand?”

I understood one thing: these were entirely different rules than what I was used to.

In the military, I had always been bound by the Rules of Engagement: legal and military guidelines that dictated what I was allowed to do in a firefight – who I was allowed to shoot, and when I was permitted to shoot.

Here, the rules seemed to be Might Makes Right…

Project Strength At All Costs…

And Kill or Be Killed.

These were tribal warfare rules – and the mafia was nothing if not tribal.

I realized there was an analogy that described the situation pretty well. In many ways, MI6 had been like the Oldanis, and I had been like Fumagalli when I went to Lake Como. MI6 knew they were risking a huge international incident by sending me, and that’s why they had to disavow me when I got caught.

I had gone to Lake Como to kill someone high up the food chain – someone protected by a hundred layers of security. Given that, then what the fuck was Fumagalli doing in Dario’s territory?

“…I understand,” I said grudgingly.

“Well, now that we’ve got Lars’s approval,” Niccolo said sarcastically, “we need to figure out who’s going to handle Fumagalli.”

“I will,” Adriano volunteered.

Dario shook his head. “He knows you. He’ll recognize your face from a dozen weddings over the years. He’ll see you coming a mile away.”

“That applies to all of us, then,” Niccolo said in exasperation.

“…not all of us.”

Dario looked over at me, and his brothers did the same.

I immediately realized what they were thinking.

“No,” I said.

“I wouldn’t ask you if it weren’t serious,” Dario said quietly.

“I said I would train your men, not be your assassin. Plus, you said I could say ‘no’ to any request you gave me. Remember?”

Dario looked at me silently for a long moment… then nodded, no reproach in his eyes. “That’s true. That was our deal.”

“This is bullshit – ” Adriano snarled, but Dario held up one hand. Adriano stopped talking immediately.

Dario peered into my eyes. “This needs to be done, though. Which of the men you’ve trained are up to the job?”

“Theoretically, they could all do it… but only a couple of them have ever shot anyone before. I’m afraid they would freeze when the time came.” I sighed. “This guy Fumagalli is their number one killer, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t think any of them should do it. They haven’t trained for it.”

A voice in my head said, YOU have, though.

“Send me,” Adriano implored Dario. “I can do it – I can pop the motherfucker!”

“That attitude right there is exactly why you shouldn’t do it,” I snapped. “You can’t go in hot on this – you need to be cold. In control.”

Adriano glared at me. “Says the guy who’s too afraid to do it.”

“Fuck you,” I said at the exact same instant Dario snapped, “Adriano!”

“What?!” Adriano complained, more to his older brother than to me. “He knows that by not doing this, we’re inviting the Oldanis to come kill us and take our territory! But you’re letting him tell you no!”

“It was an agreement Lars and I made in San Vittore,” Dario said coldly. “I will not allow you to question that agreement.”

Dario’s willingness to stand by me, no matter what, touched me deeply…

And I began to reconsider.

“Well, we still need a fuckin’ enforcer!” Adriano snarled. “I’m more than up to the task, so send me!”

“Dario,” I said quietly.

He glanced over at me. “What?”

“Do you swear to me that if we don’t do it this way, it will only get worse? That by not killing this guy, it’s just going to bring down a shit-ton more trouble on our heads?”

“Remember when Aristide Caproni’s men attacked us, and I told you we had to kill them all, or it would only invite more reprisals?”

“Of course.”

“We’re in almost exactly the same situation right now.”

“But Aristide attacked us. This guy Fumagalli hasn’t done anything.”

Dario gave me a half-smile. “I realize it’s difficult to understand, but by trespassing on our territory without asking my permission, the Oldanis’ offense is almost worse. At least Aristide paid me the respect of confronting me face-to-face. The Oldanis hold me in such contempt that they think they can do whatever they want. Continuing to let them believe that is a serious mistake… and an invitation to try to kill us later.”

What Dario said made sense.

It was ugly…

But it made sense.

I sighed. “…all right. I’ll do it.”

A palpable sense of relief flooded the room.

“Are you sure?” Dario asked.

“…yeah,” I said grudgingly.

“If it makes it any easier for you,” Niccolo said, “Fumagalli’s a vicious sadist – a real piece of shit.”

I glared at him. “How convenient.”

“No, it’s true,” Valentino protested. “I met him at a wedding when I was 17. He got drunk and started telling me shit, like how he likes to torture people and record their screams for later. And after he’s done, he cuts off body parts and mails them to their relatives. ‘Keeps people in line,’ is what he told me.”

“Well, Jesus Christ,” I said loudly, “why didn’t you lead with that?”

The entire room laughed.

Niccolo slapped me on the back. “Don’t think of it as being our enforcer; think of it as performing a public service.”

“A public service which just happens to benefit you personally,” I said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

Niccolo gave me an impish smile. “Hey – win-win.”

Dario put his hand on my shoulder. “Thank you.” I could hear the relief and gratitude in his voice.

“Thank me after it’s over,” I grumbled.

128

Idrove to Mensano alone, using Google Maps to guide me through the dark countryside.

Dario suggested having one of our foot soldiers drive the car, but I declined. If I got caught like in Lake Como, I didn’t want to drag anyone else down with me.

I took one of the bulletproof Mercedes. The man who oversaw the garage switched out the license plates with fakes so any eyewitnesses would identify the wrong car.

I was halfway to Mensano when I received a text from Niccolo.

Our guy says your friend is at a café on the way.

Single building on the south side of the road.

He says you’ll see the car out front – it’s the only one there.

As I approached my destination, I kept my eyes on the south side of the road.

Sure enough, a two-story building appeared out of the darkness a half mile from Mensano. It was made of stone and mortar, a rough-hewn structure at least two centuries old. I could tell it was a café because of the handful of tables and chairs on the patio. I assumed that the second story was the owners’ residence.

More importantly, only one car was parked outside in the gravel lot.

As I pulled in next to it, my headlights revealed it was a green Audi – just like the one in the picture on Niccolo’s phone.

I parked the Mercedes, got out, and put on a black trench coat and hat Niccolo had given me. It was cold enough that the clothes wouldn’t raise suspicion.

The trench coat covered my bulletproof vest in case Fumagalli was quick on the draw; the hat would partially conceal my features. Not perfectly – nothing could be done about my blond beard and hair – but at least the hat helped.

I put on a couple of disposable latex gloves. I wouldn’t leave any fingerprints, and my hands would test negative for gunshot residue if the cops came snooping.

I put the revolver I’d brought – a Ruger GP100 snub-nose .357 Magnum – into my trench coat pocket. We’d talked about which gun I should take, and there had been some discussion of using a Glock… but a Glock would eject the spent shell casings, and I didn’t want to have to pick them up afterwards. I definitely didn’t want to leave any behind for the cops to find. Dario assured me he had the cops in his pocket and that it wouldn’t be a problem, but I didn’t want to tempt fate. Lake Como and San Vittore had made me paranoid.

The Ruger was a revolver, which meant the shells would stay in the chamber after being fired. No need to pick them up afterwards.

I also considered using a suppressor, but that would add an extra six inches to the gun’s overall length – horrible for a quick draw. I didn’t want to have to enter the room with the gun already out; I wanted to be able to walk in, assess the situation, draw, shoot, and leave. The Ruger solved all of those problems.

Since there wouldn’t be a suppressor, it would be loud – but Dario and his brothers said it would scare people and make them look away.

I hoped they were right.

The café windows had lace curtains obscuring the view inside, but I could see the lighting was minimal. That meant it would be harder for witnesses to identify me – especially if I kept my hat down low.

Hopefully – since there was only one car in the parking lot – there wouldn’t be anybody but Fumagalli and maybe a waiter.

My feet crunched in the gravel as I walked towards the café door. My heart hammered in my chest.

The first time I’d met him, Aurelio had sneered that I’d done all my killing from a distance – but he hadn’t been wrong.

Ninety-five percent of my body count had come from sniper shots. Killing someone up close was nerve-wracking.

I pushed through the door and walked inside.

The space was dark – stone walls and exposed wooden rafters. A few recessed lights in the ceiling cast shadows. No one sat at any of the tables –

Except for my target.

Ten feet away from me, Fumagalli was shoveling food into his mouth. A napkin was tucked into the collar of his shirt.

His heavily-lidded eyes glanced up at me and he frowned. Maybe it was the hat; maybe it was because I was blond in a region of dark-haired people.

I didn’t wait to find out.

I just pulled my gun as I walked towards him.

He froze for half a second, a forkful of food in his mouth – and then he comically left the fork sticking out of his lips as he fumbled for his suit pocket.

Not fast enough.

BANG BANG BANG!

All three shots hit him dead in the chest. Blood spattered out of the exit wounds onto the stone wall behind him.

Blood meant he wasn’t wearing a bulletproof jacket.

Good. He was a dead man.

As though to confirm it, he slumped to the side and tumbled out of the chair to the stone floor. The light in his eyes was already gone as blood pooled beneath him on the floor.

Almost no noise had followed the gunshots… just the sound of him falling out of his chair.

Then, suddenly, there was a scream – high-pitched and feminine.

I looked over and saw a young woman, maybe 20 years old, at the far end of the room. She was wearing a simple white dress. She was very pretty – long brown hair, big eyes –

And she was staring right at me.

FUCK!

Someone else would have pointed the gun at her. There were three bullets left; easy enough to finish the job.

But everything inside me recoiled at the thought.

I DON’T HURT WOMEN OR CHILDREN.

So I stuffed the gun in my pocket and walked out the door.

Once outside in the cold night air, I bolted for the Mercedes. I threw my hat in the passenger seat as I got behind the wheel, cranked the engine, and threw the car into reverse. There were no other vehicles for miles around, so I roared backwards into the road, slammed the engine into drive, and sped off towards the mansion.

It took me about 60 seconds to calm down. Once my heart stopped racing, I pulled out my phone and called Niccolo’s cell.

Even though Dario was out of prison, the protocol was to always contact Niccolo. In case the police became involved, the consigliere was the last line of defense. A good consigliere would keep his don from being prosecuted; he would lie and say he had acted independently without his boss’s knowledge.

Niccolo answered on speakerphone. “Is it done?”

“Yes,” I answered.

There were shouts of celebration in the room.

“But,” I said.

“…I don’t like the sound of that,” Niccolo said darkly.

“But what?” Dario asked. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” I took a breath and exhaled. “There was a waitress, maybe 20 years old.”

Somebody cursed in the background. My money was on Adriano.

“Did she see you?” Dario asked calmly.

“Yes.”

“Did she get a good look?”

“I was wearing the hat, but… yeah. She looked right in my eyes.”

There was even more cursing in the background.

“Just get back here safely,” Dario said.

Then he hung up.

Following Adriano’s lead, I started to curse myself out, to beat myself up –

But I stopped.

I had one rule, and I’d followed it.

There was no way I was going to kill an innocent woman who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It was just bad fucking luck. Like getting stopped at Lake Como.

If I had to, I’d take the rap alone… go back to San Vittore, if that’s what it took…

But I wouldn’t apologize for what I’d done.

I had one rule, and I’d followed it.

Nothing else mattered.

129

When I got back to the house, the mood was grim.

Dario was calm but obviously stressed. Adriano was pacing back and forth. Niccolo was sitting in a chair, his head bowed like he was praying. Valentino fidgeted nervously in a chair. For the first time since I’d met him, Roberto had taken off his tie and jacket, though he still wore his vest over his dress shirt. Only Massimo seemed relatively unfazed as he leaned against the wall.

Adriano glared at me and shook his head in disgust. “A fuckin’ enforcer who won’t enforce shit.”

“Shut up,” Niccolo snapped at his brother. “It’s not helping.”

“She surprised me,” I said apologetically. “I should have seen her – I could have kept my back to her – ”

“You SHOULD have taken care of her!” Adriano snarled.

I wheeled around on him. “By doing what, exactly?”

He didn’t want to say Killing her – even Adriano had his limits – but he still barked, “You should have taken care of it!”

For the first time since I’d set foot in the house, I yelled at the top of my lungs. “I DON’T KILL WOMEN OR CHILDREN, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!”

Adriano jerked back, shocked at my outburst – but he didn’t seem angry. Just surprised.

“Good,” Massimo said approvingly from where he leaned against the wall. “That’s the way it should be.”

“I agree,” Dario said as he clapped me on the shoulder. “It may be… inconvenient at the moment… but you did the right thing.”

Despite telling myself I wouldn’t apologize, I still felt bad enough to say, “Sorry it happened.”

Dario gave me a wan smile. “I know your rule. I sent you out there knowing it. Whatever happened, I know you did the right thing.”

“Besides, it may not be a big deal,” Niccolo said morosely, like he was trying to put a positive spin on the situation but failing miserably.

“How’s that?” I asked.

“There aren’t any homicide detectives out here in the sticks, so they’ll probably call in somebody from Florence. We have half the force on our payroll, so if we get the right cop, we can bury the investigation.”

“And if you don’t get the right cop?” I asked, slightly nauseated.

“Let’s just hope we get the right cop,” Niccolo said darkly.

“It’ll be fine,” Dario said. “Time for all our bribes to finally pay off.”

At least he sounded more reassuring than his consigliere.

It turned out that the situation resolved itself better than anyone expected.

The waiting was horrible – like a loved one was in critical condition, and we were standing outside the operating room praying they would survive –

But the news an hour later was more than encouraging.

“YES!” Niccolo roared as he read a message on his cell phone.

“What?!” everyone shouted.

“They put Cirilli on it!”

“Who’s Cirilli?” I asked.

Dario smiled. “One of the dirtiest cops on our payroll.”

The wait after that was a lot less stressful, but we all stayed up to hear more.

The best news came almost three hours later when Niccolo took a call.

“Uh-huh… really,” he said, almost in shock. “You’re sure? Excellent work. Expect a little something extra in your stocking next Christmas, my friend.”

Then he hung up the phone and turned to us with a giant grin.

“What?” Dario demanded.

“The girl was the only witness… and she claimed she didn’t see the face of the shooter. Just a black hat and trench coat.”

The entire room erupted into cheers – except for me.

“But… she did,” I said, shocked. “She looked right in my eyes.”

“Such is the fear of the Cosa Nostra, my friend,” Dario explained. “She obviously didn’t want to make any enemies.”

“Smart move on her part,” Niccolo said.

“I think we should go over there and have a talk with her and her father,” Dario said. “Why was Fumagalli in their café out in the middle of nowhere? Maybe the old man’s a spy for the Genoans.”

“Not a bad idea,” Niccolo conceded. “But you’re not going.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No. You just got out of jail – we have to keep you as far away from this as possible.”

Dario scoffed. “You can’t send Lars for obvious reasons. You can’t send Adriano; if he doesn’t shoot the girl, he’ll end up giving her a heart attack. Massimo will be too nice – ”

“I will not,” Massimo sulked.

“Roberto will bore her with financial talk – ”

“Hey!” Roberto exclaimed.

“And Valentino will try to seduce her.”

All the brothers made a face like, Yeah, well, THAT one’s true. Even Valentino.

“And I doubt you’re going to go,” Dario said to Niccolo. “So I will.”

Niccolo shook his head. “If the Oldanis sent Fumagalli, who knows who else they sent?”

“Nobody,” Dario said as he pulled on his suit jacket. “It was a roll of the dice to send him, and they lost. There is no one else.”

“You don’t know that – and even if it’s true, it’s still too dangerous!”

“I’ll take Adriano and Massimo as backup. Come on, let’s go,” Dario said to his two brothers.

“I forbid it!” Niccolo shouted.

“I’m the don; you’re the consigliere,” Dario said with a smirk. “You can’t forbid shit.”

Then he walked out of the parlor with Massimo and Adriano hustling along behind him.

Niccolo shook his head in disgust.

“Working for him is going to be the death of me,” he muttered.

Forty minutes later, we were sitting in the parlor waiting for news when Niccolo got a call.

“You’re kidding me,” he said in a stunned voice. “Well, tell him no, Adriano!”

There was a pause.

“Yes, I know he’s the don, but – ”

Another pause.

“FUCK!” Niccolo swore, then grimaced. “FINE. Whatever. But tell him I STRENUOUSLY DISAPPROVE.”

Then he hung up.

“What?” I asked.

Everyone stood there breathlessly, waiting to hear what Adriano had said.

Niccolo looked at me in exasperation. “That waitress who saw you?”

“What about her?”

“Dario’s bringing her here. He told her father that she’s collateral so the old man won’t rat on us – but Adriano thinks Dario’s taken a fancy to her. What the fuck – is she a model or something?”

I made an apologetic face. “She was very beautiful…”

“Oh my God,” Niccolo groaned as he put his face in his hands.

“I knew we should have gotten him laid when he first got here,” Valentino muttered.

“Too late,” Roberto said.

Niccolo sat there for a moment in despair… then abruptly stood up and clapped his hands together. SMACK!

“Game faces, gentlemen!” he called out. “I want our visitor not to be so frightened that she wants to go to the police… but juuuuust scared enough that she’ll never even consider ratting us out.”

“That’s a pretty thin line,” Roberto said doubtfully.

“Well, WALK IT,” Niccolo snarled, then went to the door of the parlor and yelled out into the foyer. “Giorgio! Go fetch a servant – that old Sicilian woman. Tell her I need her to prepare a room for a guest! Now GO!”

130

Meeting Alessandra for the first time was an interesting experience.

Well… speaking to her for the first time, that is. I suppose I’d already met her back at the café.

If you can call looking into a person’s eyes after you’ve killed a man ‘meeting someone.’

When Alessandra walked into the parlor and saw me, she was absolutely terrified – and understandably so.

“Lars, for God’s sake, get away from her!” Niccolo yelled at me theatrically. “You’re scaring the life out of the poor thing!”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I told her gently, but my words had no effect whatsoever on the panic in her face.

Again, understandably so.

“I said get away from her, not talk to her!” Niccolo shouted.

Man, he was really hamming it up.

I walked over and stood with Adriano and Massimo as we watched the show commence.

Niccolo was a born actor; he more or less handled the good cop/bad cop routine all by himself. He was by turns charming and solicitous – bella this and bella that – then pivoted on a dime to being vaguely threatening and sinister.

I knew from my training sessions that he wasn’t the best at handling a gun – but he was a fucking great interrogator, I’d give him that.

Alessandra was easy quarry, though – just about the most innocent young woman you could imagine. She hadn’t even drunk liquor before, which was evident when she started coughing after Niccolo gave her some brandy.

And she kept staring at me the entire time, like she thought I was going to whip out a machinegun and execute her on the spot.

The other guys just watched in silence, occasionally offering a comment or two, but it was Niccolo’s show.

Dario’s role in the production was… interesting.

He initially chose to remain behind his desk, all regal and intimidating.

When he finally spoke, though, it was to warn everyone in the room not to bother Alessandra. He even rebuked Valentino for a fairly innocuous remark.

“Alessandra is our guest. No one is to touch her. Understood?”

Valentino looked a bit blindsided. “I meant no disrespect.”

“Don’t say it to me – say it to her,” Dario said darkly.

His tone even sent a shiver down my spine.

Valentino was certainly spooked by Dario’s manner, and he apologized immediately. “Sorry, signorina. I meant no disrespect.”

I might have chalked up Dario’s behavior to making Alessandra feel safe… reassuring her that no one would hurt her…

But it didn’t feel like that.

It felt more like Dario was staking a claim.

Declaring she was his.

Later, after Massimo had escorted her out of the parlor and up to her bedroom, Dario and Niccolo started discussing the tiny scraps of intel they’d gleaned from her comments.

I leaned over to Adriano and whispered, “That whole ‘no one is to touch her’ stuff – what was that all about?”

I asked Adriano specifically because I knew he wouldn’t bullshit me. Every other brother might joke about it or be deferential to Dario – but not Adriano. If he was pissed about something, he wasn’t going to sugarcoat it.

“Let’s go outside,” he muttered.

Interesting…

Adriano turned and walked out without a word to the others.

He wasn’t one for social pleasantries – when he wanted to leave a room, he just left – but I wasn’t like that.

“Goodnight,” I said to Dario, Niccolo, Roberto, and Valentino as I followed Adriano out of the parlor.

I got several Goodnights in return –

“Lars,” Dario said, stopping me in my tracks.

I turned back to look at him.

“Thank you again for what you did tonight,” he said.

He meant Fumagalli.

“You’re welcome,” I replied. “I’m just sorry I got the girl involved.”

Dario gave me a smile that could only be described as enigmatic. “I’m sure it will turn out fine.”

…okay…

…THAT was odd…

Niccolo looked at me. “Considering tonight’s events, it’s probably best to stop training the foot soldiers until further notice.”

“No problem,” I said. “They’re 99% ready, anyway.”

“Good. See you in the morning.”

I nodded, then went out to the foyer where Adriano was waiting for me.

“What do you have to say out here that you couldn’t say in there?” I asked.

Adriano raised one eyebrow. “When we were at the café, the girl’s father was shitting bricks. I guess he thought we were going to rape her because he kept going on about how she was a virgin and goes to mass every Sunday. Know what Dario told him?”

“No, what?”

“‘I give you my word, I won’t take your daughter’s virginity… until she begs me to do so.’”

I stared at him. “What… the fuck?”

“Yeah,” Adriano snarled, obviously unhappy.

I looked back at the parlor.

Dario’s enigmatic smile was beginning to take on an entirely new meaning.

I muttered, “So I wasn’t imagining it when he said that thing about ‘no one touches her.’”

“No. You weren’t.”

“Should I go have a talk with him?”

“No, not yet.” Adriano sighed. “I’m not 100% convinced it wasn’t just to scare the shit out of her. On the other hand… I’m not 100% convinced it was.”

“I’m going to go talk to him,” I said decisively.

“Not YET, I said,” Adriano snapped.

I looked at him, a little pissed off. He immediately backed off.

“Dario’s the don now,” he said in a calmer voice. “It’s different than it was before.”

“Why’s it different?” I asked – although, deep down, I already knew he was right.

“Look… I know you two were tight back in San Vittore – but this is like you and your buddy were both sergeants, and then your buddy got promoted to five-star general overnight. You don’t go around telling five-star generals, ‘Hey, dude, knock it off.’ I’m his fuckin’ brother, and I wouldn’t even say that sort of shit to him now.”

“So what are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t know… just watch and see what he does. If he crosses a line, then we talk to him. But until that happens… just be cool.”

“‘Just be cool,’” I repeated mockingly.

And ignore the fact that the leader of our organization – which appears to be in the middle of a gang war – seems to have his eye on a 20-year-old virgin.

Adriano shook his head as he started up the stairs. “All I know is, we shoulda fuckin’ got him laid as soon as he got out of prison.”

I was beginning to agree with him.

131

Ididn’t follow Adriano’s order, though.

I’m sure he thought it was an order. I just considered it strongly worded advice.

Instead, I caught Dario as he was walking through the hallway the next morning when no one else was around.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said pleasantly. “What’s going on?”

“I’m a little concerned about the girl.”

Dario gave me that enigmatic smile again. “Don’t be – it worked out for the best. I think keeping her here will convince her father to talk.”

“That’s not what I’m concerned about.”

“Then what?”

I cleared my throat. “I heard you said something to her father last night about not taking her virginity unless she begged you to.”

Dario looked surprised at first. Then he smirked. “Did Adriano tell you that? After the two of you left us last night?”

“I had to pry it out of him,” I lied, not wanting to get Adriano in trouble – because he’d sure as shit make me pay for it.

“I’m sure,” Dario said sardonically.

“I just want to be clear… she’s not in any danger, right?”

Dario’s expression hardened. “What do you take me for?”

“Look, I know you’re an honorable man,” I said quickly. “I just wanted to confirm… that nothing’s going to happen to her.”

“I will not hurt her.”

“That’s not exactly what I asked,” I said.

He grew angry. “Perhaps you don’t realize how gravely you’re insulting me right now.”

Now I was angry.

“Adriano told me not to talk to you about it. He said you’re a five-star general, and I’m supposed to say ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ and keep my mouth shut. But I didn’t come here to work for a five-star general – I came here to help my friend. But if I’m not allowed to speak my mind to my friend – ”

Dario immediately softened. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like, exactly?”

“It’s true, there’s a certain level of… decorum that has to be observed now that I’m head of the family. And I would appreciate it if you observe that decorum when others are present… but you are my friend. You had my back when we were knee-deep in shit – ”

“More like neck-deep,” I said.

Dario smiled and nodded. “Yes. Neck-deep. I might not be able to act as casually as I once did when we’re around others… because of the trappings that come with my new position… but you can always come to me privately and speak your mind. Always.”

I was mollified by that and calmed down. “Thank you. So… what’s up with the girl?”

He grinned. “She’s something, isn’t she?”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, but – ”

“You don’t have to worry. My intentions towards her are…” He paused. “Maybe ‘honorable’ isn’t the right word – ”

“You’re not reassuring me,” I said darkly.

“I was thinking of this very thing last night when I saw her for the first time. I remembered a quote from a movie where an ancient Roman senator was close to taking control of the empire. Someone suggested he order his legions of soldiers to march on the city, and he replied, I shall NOT violate Rome at the moment of possessing her.”

“…that’s supposed to reassure me?”

“I will not harm her. I promise you that.”

“There’s a lot of grey area before you get to ‘harm,’” I pointed out.

He smiled as he backed away – almost jauntily. “As I said… she’ll beg me for it before I cross that line.”

“Dario – ”

“Do me a favor, will you? Keep watch over her. I want her protected at all times, day and night.”

“Is it others she needs to be protected from?” I asked sardonically. “Or you?”

He just laughed. “Trust me, my friend. This one’s special – I realize that.”

“Il solo e unico?” I asked.

The one and only?

He scoffed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Then he grinned again and continued on down the hall.

132

Whatever game Dario was playing with Alessandra, she didn’t appear to be happy about it.

That became crystal clear the day she tried to escape.

Now, she didn’t try to escape escape. She didn’t make a run for it. But I could practically see the gears turning in her head as she tried to figure out how to leave the property.

Following Dario’s orders, I kept watch over her from a distance. On that particular day, I was on a third-floor balcony, watching her through the scope of my sniper rifle.

Not to shoot her, mind you. Merely to see what she did when she thought she wasn’t being watched.

And to protect her. Niccolo thought the Oldanis might send their soldiers to attack the compound in retaliation for Fumagalli, so I wanted to be ready in case Alessandra stumbled across an ‘unfriendly.’

She ended up stumbling across an unfriendly, alright.

Just not a human one.

She walked past the swimming pool and the topiary gardens and entered a field that led to the olive groves.

I watched her stumbling across the uneven ground –

When she suddenly froze.

I frowned. I thought about scanning beyond her to see if she’d run across a stranger –

But she wasn’t looking straight ahead.

She was looking at the ground.

I tilted the scope down the tiniest bit and immediately saw the problem.

Coiled in the dry grass about four feet away from her was an aspic viper.

I’d first run across one while I was training our foot soldiers – and I’d jumped backwards about five feet. Tuscany had seemed like an enchanting land of vineyards and rolling hills, not deadly fucking snakes.

Massimo had schooled me on both aspic and meadow vipers (the smaller of the two venomous snakes in Tuscany). Aspics were roughly a hundred times more common than meadow vipers. Even though their bite was rarely deadly, the venom was excruciating – a good way to ruin your week.

I was about 600 feet away from Alessandra. I didn’t have time to grab my range finder, so I would have to wing it.

I calculated the distance… aimed a little high… and pulled the trigger.

CRACK!

The snake’s head exploded in a burst of red.

Bullseye.

I heard Alessandra scream. When I panned the scope over to her, she was stumbling backwards and looking around wildly. Then her gaze settled on the mansion.

I didn’t see the need to freak her out any more than she already was, so I waved at her.

In the scope, I saw the lightbulb go off over her head –

And the immediate wave of disappointment that washed over her features.

I chuckled. You’re not escaping TODAY, my dear.

I used a big, sweeping gesture of my arm to tell her to come back.

She looked glum, but she dutifully started trudging back towards the mansion.

I thought it might be worth having a chat with her, one on one. Just to clear the air.

I slung the rifle over my shoulder – just in case Niccolo was right about the Oldanis sending more soldiers – and quickly descended the steps to the patio.

When I met her halfway across the field, she looked at me with a mixture of fear and irritation. It was all I could do not to burst out laughing. She had so desperately wanted to escape, and I had ruined it all.

Well, actually, the snake had ruined it. I’d just prevented the snake from REALLY ruining her plan.

“You have to be careful out here,” I said kindly, trying not to lecture her too much. “You shouldn’t stray so far from the house.”

“Or what, you’ll shoot me?” she snapped.

A little bratty, considering I’d just saved her life. Or maybe just her leg.

But I chalked it up to her situation. If someone had kidnapped me and was keeping me against my will – no matter how nice the prison – I wouldn’t be in the best of moods, either.

I should know; I’d spent three and a half years behind bars. Even if San Vittore had been a five-star hotel, I would have wanted out.

Being helpless can make you hate even the most beautiful surroundings. Golden handcuffs are still handcuffs.

I chuckled, mainly to let her know that my next words weren’t a threat so much as a joke.

Although… they were still kind of a threat.

“No, I’d have to sling you over my shoulder and carry you back, and you might not like that so much.”

She looked at me out of the corner of her eyes – probably wondering if I would do to her what she’d seen me do to Umberto Fumagalli.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” I said gently as we walked back towards the house.

“Riiiight. I have nothing to fear from the man tracking me with a gun.”

“I was ordered to keep you safe. Which, you must admit, I just did.”

“Yes, but the snake’s not the only thing I’ve seen you shoot.”

There it was –

Confirmation of what I knew she’d been thinking.

“The man last night was a snake, as well,” I said. “Just a different type.”

“Let me guess,” she said sarcastically. “You were protecting me last night, too.”

“No. I was protecting the family.” And because I was getting irritated with her attitude, I added, “Although, one could argue that I protected you by walking out of the café after it was over.”

A wave of fear passed over her face, and I immediately regretted what I’d said.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” she asked quietly.

I tried to lighten the mood with a joke. “I thought the snake was a bigger threat.”

“You know what I meant. Why didn’t you shoot me last night?”

I played dumb. “Why would I?”

“I was the only witness – and you looked right at me. I could have identified you to the police.”

She was 100% right.

I decided to tell her the real reason I hadn’t –

The only rule I had.

“I don’t kill women or children. Ever.”

“What if they ordered you to?” she asked.

They meaning Dario and his brothers.

“They wouldn’t.”

“That’s a first,” she muttered. “Mafiosos not willing to kill someone.”

I thought about Dario – all the kindnesses he had done me, all the times he had offered to help me, all his plans to build a better world than the one he had inherited from his father.

I especially remembered what he had told me in the hallway – the part about being my friend and how I could always speak my mind.

“They’re different than you think,” I said.

“How so?”

“You should ask Niccolo or Dario. It’s not my place to talk about the family’s business. But let’s just say that they aren’t your ordinary, everyday mafiosos,” I said, making fun of her term for them.

“Hm,” she said absentmindedly. Then she hit me with a barrage of questions. “Are you Swedish?”

“I am.”

“Niccolo said you saved Dario’s life twice in prison.”

I thought about saying, Probably more than that, but knew I could just as easily say, He saved MY life, too.

In the end, I simply agreed.

“I did.”

“And that’s why they trust you?”

“It is.”

“Were you in the military, too? In Sweden?”

“I was.”

“That’s why you’re such a good shot?”

“Partly.”

“You’re talkative, aren’t you?”

I grinned. “I would talk more, Alessandra, if I knew my secrets were safe with you.”

“What secrets?”

“Who I am. What I’ve done. Who I work for.”

“I already know those things.”

I almost laughed. DO you now.

“And I see no need for you to know more,” I replied.

“Then why bring me here?”

“It wasn’t my choice.”

“Why did he bring me back here?” she asked, her brow creased with worry.

I could have said what Niccolo would have advised:

Because you’re leverage to make your father spill his secrets.

But then I thought of what Dario had said in the corridor the other day:

I shall NOT violate Rome at the moment of possessing her.

Trust me, my friend. This one’s special – I realize that.

I smiled.

Maybe he brought you back here, Alessandra… because he’s falling for you.

I sure as hell didn’t say that, though.

“Dario does what he wants. But I think you know the risk he’s taking by bringing you here. You’ve seen a great deal. You could say the wrong things to the wrong people.”

“And then you would shoot me,” she said.

“Not me.”

“Who, then?”

The truth was, probably nobody.

But I couldn’t let her know that, or she would try to escape again –

And maybe next time she would succeed.

So I gave her a dark look and let her come to her own conclusions.

The blood drained from Alessandra’s face. She looked so terrified that I felt bad about what I’d done.

“Just stick to the house and the nearby grounds, Alessandra,” I said gently. “Do what you’re told, and you’ll get to go home soon enough.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. Just be careful.” She needed to know I was serious – that real dangers were at play here – so I didn’t smile when I said, “There are vipers everywhere.”

I left her on the patio, her eyes wide and full of fear, as I climbed the steps to take up my post again.

I hoped I’d scared her enough that she wouldn’t try to escape again.

Turned out… not so much.

133

Afew days later, Emilio – one of my foot soldiers – called me on the radio.

“Boss, you better come to the observation room QUICK.”

I hustled up to the third floor of the mansion. As soon as I saw the footage on the video monitors, I got Niccolo and Dario up there ASAP.

“What the fuck is that?!” I asked as I pointed at the screen.

The camera was pointed at a stretch of forest bordering the mansion – but in the distance, we could make out a figure in a dress walking through the trees…

Twisting her body to the side…

And completely disappearing.

“Is that Alessandra?!” Dario demanded.

“We think so, sir,” Emilio said.

“Oh shit…” Niccolo murmured as he stared at the screen.

“What IS that?!” I asked.

Niccolo sighed. “There’s a gap in the wall around the property.”

“And WHY is there a gap in the wall?!”

“Because my grandfather escaped through it 50 years ago when hitmen attacked the house, and both he and Papa were too sentimental and superstitious to fix it.”

“So why am I just hearing about it now?!”

“Because I forgot about it,” Niccolo scowled.

“What the fuck do you mean, you FORGOT – ”

“Is this live?!” Dario interrupted.

“No, sir,” Emilio said. “It happened ten minutes ago.”

“God damn it!” Dario snarled.

I turned to him. “Do you need me to – ”

“No, I’ll handle it,” Dario said, then ran out of the room.

“You can’t go out there alone!” Niccolo yelled after him, but Dario was already gone. Niccolo turned to me. “Tell Adriano and Massimo to follow him!”

I radioed the brothers and told them to follow Dario, then turned back to Niccolo and pointed at the screen. “This is a big fucking gap in our defenses.”

“Well, now we can patch it,” he said irritably.

“The bigger question is, how did she get out there?”

Niccolo frowned. “What are you talking about? Didn’t she just walk out there?”

“No – my guys had orders not to let her leave their sight.”

“Well, somebody obviously fucked up.”

I ordered Emilio, “Rewind all the cameras back 30 minutes.”

He fiddled with the control panel, and every monitor showed footage of all the cameras rewinding. I stared at them, watching people moving quickly in reverse.

It took almost three minutes before I found what I was looking for.

“Stop!” I said.

Emilio hit ‘Stop,’ then ‘Play’ on the footage.

One of the cameras clearly showed Alessandra walking along a hallway inside the mansion. Then she disappeared offscreen.

“Where is that?” I asked.

“The west wing,” Niccolo said. “First floor, near the chapel.”

“Keep going,” I ordered Emilio. “Keep your eye on the exits.”

We watched all the doors –

No Alessandra.

“Fast forward,” I said.

Emilio fast-forwarded.

No Alessandra –

And then, after fast-forwarding six minutes of footage, there she was walking through the forest.

“How the fuck did she get out there?!” I exclaimed. “Are there any doors we missed that she walked through?”

“No, sir,” Emilio answered.

Niccolo stared at the screen with a sick look on his face. “Oh shit… I think I know…”

“What?” I demanded.

He winced. “There’s a secret passageway out of the west wing, through the old servant passageways in the walls.”

“HOW MANY SECRET FUCKING EXITS DO YOU PEOPLE HAVE?!” I roared.

“No one knows about it!” Niccolo snapped.

“Well, somebody does!” I said as I pointed at the screen.

“Shit,” he snarled. “Shit, shit, shit…”

“We need to get cameras on both those spots immediately.”

“Obviously.”

“Funny – it didn’t seem so obvious before Alessandra walked through both of them,” I snapped.

Niccolo gave me a vicious glare and was about to say something –

When Adriano’s voice crackled over the radio. “Uh… we have a problem…”

“What?” I asked.

“Dario almost beat a guy to death… and then the guy and a blind priest killed themselves.”

“WHAT?!”

134

We found out the details when Dario returned with Alessandra.

Apparently, she had fled to a church in a nearby village, where a blind priest had taken her in… but the priest had started asking disturbing questions about the Rosolinis. When she tried to leave, a different man stopped her outside the church and started to assault her.

Dario showed up just in time – and nearly beat the thug to death with his bare hands.

To avoid capture, both the thug and the priest bit down on cyanide capsules.

All of it was shocking, but the most surprising thing to me was the cyanide. I’d been in Special Forces and worked as an assassin for MI6, and yet I’d never heard of using cyanide capsules – not in real life. It was something straight out of a movie.

I wondered if Rachel knew about things like that…

And felt a sharp pang when I realized I would never be able to ask her.

As traumatic as the incident was for Alessandra, it led to an incredibly important piece of intel: we had spies all around us. The assailant and the priest were both connected to the Oldanis, just like the man I’d killed in the café.

Not only that, but Alessandra’s escape exposed several glaring weaknesses in our security.

We didn’t have time to patch the gap in the wall, so I installed a camera to monitor it instead. And I posted hidden cameras to watch the secret passageway.

I think the close call shifted something in Alessandra and Dario’s dynamic – because they started sleeping together soon after.

I don’t know how it happened, and I didn’t ask. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

What I did know was that I started hearing high-pitched feminine moans and screams coming from Dario’s bedroom at all hours of the night.

It was seriously annoying…

Because every time I heard them, I thought of Rachel and what she used to sound like when she came.

I got a white noise machine and cranked it up as high as it would go whenever I went to bed. That solved the problem.

I was worried about the situation – but Alessandra seemed smitten, and Dario was ten times happier than I’d ever seen him before. The stresses of being a don seemed to melt away whenever he was with her.

And there were plenty of stresses – like when a vicious new rival nicknamed the Turk tried to strongarm Dario into letting him use Rosolini territory for human trafficking and drug smuggling.

When Dario refused, the Turk apparently vented his anger by having his men try to kill Massimo and Valentino in Florence. They nearly killed Alessandra, as well.

But we got through it. The extreme circumstances not only drove Alessandra further into Dario’s arms, they fanned the flames of their passion.

Despite the danger, I was happy for them.

Everything was going so well between them…

Until it wasn’t.

One night, they had a terrible fight. Instead of passionate moans, we heard tears.

Then Niccolo came to me. His face was drawn, and he looked beaten down.

“I need you to take Alessandra back to her father’s,” he said quietly.

I stared at him in shock. “…what?!”

“Dario specifically requested that you take her back. He wants you to keep her safe.”

“If he wants to keep her safe, then why is he throwing her out?!”

“He’s not. She asked to leave… and he said yes.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “Niccolo – it’s fucking dangerous out there right now – ”

“I know,” he said wearily. “I know.”

“Whatever it is, they can’t work it out?”

“Apparently not.”

I sighed. “So, when? Tomorrow morning?”

“No. Right now.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Just do it, alright?” he snapped.

He held out his hand. In his palm was Alessandra’s cell phone, which Dario had taken away when he first brought her to the estate.

After I took it, Niccolo turned and walked away, leaving me in stunned silence.

I stood there for a second, wondering what the hell I could do to protect her… then came up with the only solution I could think of.

I powered up her phone, which luckily didn’t have a password. Then I punched in my number and added my name.

My heart was heavy as I shut her phone down again and slipped it into my pocket.

I had grown quite fond of Alessandra over the last couple of weeks. Her initial sarcasm towards me – during our talk after I’d shot the snake – had obviously come from fear. Once she trusted me, she let me see the charming, sweet, kind soul that she actually was.

I began to understand why Dario had fallen so hard for her… which made it all the more wrenching when he ended things between them.

I didn’t understand; it was incomprehensible. I wanted to talk to him, to ask him why – but now wasn’t the time. I had a job to do, and it was to deliver Alessandra safely home.

Even though he’d broken up with her, Dario had entrusted me to keep her safe… which meant that, deep down, he still loved her.

I just hoped that after I got back, I could find out what was going on in his head – and maybe knock some sense into him.

Massimo, Roberto, Valentino, and Adriano waited with me in the foyer to say goodbye before she left.

Niccolo walked her down the stairs, her hand on his arm.

When she saw us, she froze – probably out of fear that we would shame her.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. We had all come to care for her deeply, in our own separate ways… and the fact that she was leaving was tearing us all apart.

She bravely started down the stairs and passed us one by one.

Massimo was first.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For saving my life.”

“I would do it a thousand times over.” He gave her a sad smile; it was the most torn up I’d seen Massimo since his father’s death. “I had hoped… that you would be around for a long, long time to come.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she managed to smile. “So did I.”

Roberto was next. He said he would help her however he could, and she gratefully accepted his offer.

Valentino hugged her. Not in his typical lady-killer way, but like a little boy about to lose the sister he’d always wanted.

Alessandra made him promise not to break the heart of the servant girl he was hooking up with, and he promised to try not to.

But Adriano… Adriano was the one who surprised me.

He looked angry. That was nothing new; Adriano always looked angry.

But he wasn’t angry wasn’t at her or the circumstances –

He was angry at Dario for letting her go.

“You deserve better than this,” he murmured.

It was an incredible moment.

Adriano had gone from shouting at me for not killing her that first night…

To taking her side over his brother’s.

Alessandra didn’t know the details, but she knew a profound change had occurred in him.

She started crying, but she still managed to smile as she said, “Thank you.”

And then, even more incredibly, Adriano leaned over and tenderly kissed her forehead.

Alessandra started bawling.

That moment even made my eyes mist up.

Finally, she looked over at me.

My heart ached as I said, “I’ll be the one taking you home. Are you ready?”

She nodded.

As I held the front door for her, she looked back at the brothers and silently mouthed, Thank you…

And then I closed the door behind us.

The ride towards Mensano was excruciating. I was hurting, so I knew Alessandra must be in agony.

All I could think of was Rachel telling me it was over.

While you were gone, I moved on. You should, too.

The pain I had gone through…

That must be what Alessandra was dealing with right now.

I felt absolutely awful for her.

I didn’t know what to say, so I mumbled some bullshit about, “It’s poetic in a way, isn’t it?”

She looked over at me in confusion. “What is?”

“Our little journey started the moment we saw each other in the café… and now it ends with the two of us, as well.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“Is there anything I could say to change your mind?” I asked. I would have done anything to help save her and Dario’s relationship – maybe because I hadn’t been able to save mine and Rachel’s. “Anything I could do so you’d let me take you back to the house?”

“No. But thank you for asking.”

It was too awkward to continue talking, so I drove in silence.

Then she said my name in a weird, frightened voice.

“…Lars?”

“Yes?”

“Why were you the one to take me back home?”

I didn’t want to say, The man you’re breaking up with told me to.

So I said, “I volunteered.”

It was a little white lie. If Dario hadn’t asked me, I absolutely would have volunteered. Once I’d gotten over my shock, that is.

“Why?” she asked.

I had to come up with a reason, but I didn’t have to think long: the best excuse was the God’s honest truth.

“Somebody’s out there trying to kill Dario and his brothers. They’re a target. I’m not.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” she said softly.

For a second, I was surprised. I thought she knew I wasn’t being completely truthful –

And then I realized that she meant the part about my not being a target.

“Well… it’s true they think of me like family… but the fact of the matter is, I’m not as tactically important as any of them. I’m just the muscle. The enforcer, if you will.”

I found it amusing to describe myself in a role I hadn’t even wanted.

It was easier that way, though. Simpler.

“Plus,” I added, putting aside any false modesty, “I’m better in a firefight than any of them. Dario, Adriano, and Massimo are good, but I’m the best.”

“You wouldn’t… be taking me out into the country at night… to tie up loose ends, would you?” she asked in a freaked-out tone of voice.

…tie up loose ends…?

Suddenly, I realized what she meant.

I stared at her in shock –

Then looked back at the road as I burst out laughing. “You thought I was driving you somewhere to KILL YOU?!”

“Well, I mean – that’s what you do, isn’t it?”

“No!”

A little voice in the back of my head started rattling off names. Umberto Fumagalli… Hans Solberg… Jan van der Linden, if you’d gotten the chance…

“I mean, I kill when I have to, but I do it to protect the family!” I protested. I knew I sounded like I was trying to justify myself. “Plus, I would never kill women or children – you know that!”

She looked at me timidly. “What about the man in the café?”

“Umberto Fumagalli was an enforcer for the Oldanis – a rival family that wants to kill Dario and his brothers so they can take over their territory!”

“So… he basically had the same job as you?”

Ouch.

“Yes – except I do it out of necessity. From what I’ve heard, Fumagalli enjoyed his work a little too much, if you get my meaning.”

“…oh,” she said quietly.

Had I really become a monster in other people’s eyes?

Did they look at me and see a murderer – the kind of man who would kill a defenseless girl in the middle of the night?

It made me a little angry. This whole thing had started because I’d walked out of the café rather than hurt her!

After you murdered someone else in front of her, the little voice reminded me.

“I can’t believe you thought I was going to kill you,” I muttered.

“Well, I mean, you are in the mafia.”

OUCH.

Not ‘You work for Dario.’

Not even ‘You work for a mafia family.’

No, she’d said exactly what she thought:

You ARE in the mafia…

“Yes, but there’s a difference between those who inflict pain and suffering with no regard for innocents, and those who are in a business that happens to be outside the law,” I argued. “That’s why Dario insisted they get out of drugs and sex trafficking – because he doesn’t want to be part of that anymore. The things he’s keeping – gambling and political influence – they’re not like taking women out of Eastern Europe and forcing them to be prostitutes. He wants no part of that shit.”

“But his father was involved in it,” she pointed out.

“And Dario’s stopping it. In fact, you probably got shot at in Florence because Dario refused to let the Turk do anything in his territory. Well… I think that’s what happened, anyway.”

In reality, none of us knew for certain why the Turk’s men had shot at them in Florence… but his beef with Dario seemed to be the only explanation.

“The Turk… Fausto and Dario talked about him a lot,” Alessandra said.

“I forgot you were there. Yeah, he was the bastard we had a meeting with while you were in Florence.”

Suddenly she said, “My father’s place is up here on the right.”

I couldn’t help but smile grimly. “I know. I’ve been here before, remember?”

To kill someone…

I parked the car in the gravel outside the café. All the lights were out; her father had closed the place for the night. That is, if he’d even been running it while she was gone.

Either way, he’d obviously gone to bed.

I pulled out Alessandra’s phone and handed it to her. “Here. Do you have a key to get in?”

“I know where the spare is hidden.”

“Do you want me to go in with you?” I offered.

She looked conflicted, but finally said, “No… I’ll be fine.”

I held her gaze and tried to think of what I should say.

What could I have said to Rachel to make her come with me?

To give us a second chance?

In the end, I couldn’t think of anything, so I just asked. “You sure I can’t convince you to come back with me? I think you can probably patch things up with Dario.”

Alessandra smiled sadly and shook her head no.

The pain in her eyes broke my heart.

“Alright… well, it was worth a shot. I, uh, programmed my personal number into your phone. I know Roberto gave you his card, and he can help you with money – that’s his specialty – but I can help you if you’re ever in danger. If you need anything – anything at all – give me a call, day or night.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

I didn’t know what else to do – I hated leaving her like this –

So I tried a little joke to lighten the moment.

I held out my hand. She frowned the tiniest bit like she was surprised I was making our goodbye so formal. She reached out to shake it –

But at the last second, I pulled my hand back and turned my finger and thumb into a gun.

“Pew pew,” I said quietly.

Her expression was priceless.

Shock – outrage – disbelief.

I broke out into a belly laugh at the look on her face.

“Sorry – I couldn’t resist,” I said, then leaned forward and gave her a proper hug. “Good luck, Alessandra. Call if you need me.”

“I will,” she promised.

But as she got out of my car and entered the café, I got the sinking feeling I would never see or hear from her again.

Just like Rachel.

Little did I know what would happen just a couple of hours later.

135

When I returned to the house, the atmosphere was like a funeral.

Adriano stood outside by himself, smoking a cigarette and staring off into the darkness. I hadn’t even known he smoked; maybe he only did it when he was stressed.

Massimo stood silently with the footmen under the portico. He nodded somberly to me as I got out of the car and headed inside.

It felt like someone had died.

And I knew that however bad it was for everyone else, it was a thousand times worse for Dario.

When I walked into the foyer, Niccolo was coming out of the parlor. He’d just closed the door behind him.

“He in there?” I asked, gesturing with my head.

Niccolo raised one eyebrow like he was saying Unfortunately.

I headed for the parlor.

“He’s not going to talk to you,” Niccolo warned me.

“I’ll make him,” I said as I opened the door.

Dario sat at the far end of the room, alone behind his giant desk, staring out into space.

As soon as he heard the door, he snarled, “I told you – ”

Then he looked over and saw it was me.

“Oh.” His anger disappeared, only to be replaced with a bone-deep weariness. “I’m not in the mood to talk right now.”

“We don’t have to talk,” I said as I shut the door and walked over to the sidebar. I grabbed a bottle of scotch and two glasses and walked over to the desk.

After I poured a glass, I held it out for him.

He looked at me resentfully for a moment, like he might tell me to get the hell out… and then he sighed and took the glass.

I poured myself a shot, turned the nearest chair around towards the desk so I could face him, and sat down.

“She’s safe?” Dario asked.

“Well… she’s home.”

‘Safe’ was another thing entirely.

Dario just nodded dully as he went back to his thousand-yard stare.

“So,” I said as I sipped my scotch. “What happened?”

He glared at me. “I thought we didn’t have to talk.”

I made a face like Sorry. “I think we both know that was a lie.”

He glared at me for a second more – then his anger broke, and he gave me a wry half-smile, like You motherfucker.

He took a sip of the scotch and went back to staring into space… but he started talking.

“Niccolo says I’m a fool because I’m in love with her and won’t admit it.”

“Are you?”

His eyes darted over to me angrily. “Am I what? In love with her, or a fool?”

“Well, I know you’re not a fool. So what about the other part?”

He sighed heavily. “I don’t know.”

“You can lie to yourself, but don’t try to get me to swallow your bullshit,” I said quietly.

He looked over at me like I’d slapped him –

And then a smile of recognition slowly crept across his face.

“I didn’t know if you would remember that,” I said with a hint of a smile myself.

“How could I forget?” he said quietly. “That was the moment we truly became friends… when we stopped lying to each other and started telling the truth.”

“So… was it a one-time thing?”

He frowned like he didn’t understand. “Was what a one-time thing?”

“Now that I work for you – now that I’m your enforcer, or whatever you want to call it – am I supposed to stop telling you the truth? And stop asking you for the truth?”

He glared at me out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not sure I like where this is heading.”

“Too bad,” I said quietly. I paused, then finally asked what this had all been leading up to. “She’s the One, isn’t she.”

He closed his eyes and grimaced like I’d stabbed him.

“Isn’t she,” I repeated.

Dario didn’t open his eyes, and he didn’t stop frowning… but he nodded Yes.

“You know how I know that’s the truth?” I asked.

He opened his eyes and waited for the answer.

“Because it hurt,” I said.

He gave a rueful hmph, then slugged back his scotch and returned to staring into the distance. “Do you know what our fight was about?” It was a rhetorical question, and I stayed silent so he could answer it. “She wanted to marry me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Alessandra moves fast.”

Dario chuckled darkly, then went back to being somber. “Actually, what I said was only part of it. What she really wanted was for me to tell her I loved her.”

“From everything that’s happened since then, I assume you didn’t.”

“You would be correct,” he said sardonically.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I told Niccolo it was because there’s no place for love in what we do. Then I told him that her staying here would only endanger her further.”

“…and what’s the real reason?”

“Niccolo gave me an earful. He got most of it right, but not all of it. He said I was afraid it would make me weak if I loved her. I’ve been don for three weeks, and I’m struggling to keep my head above water. He said I’m afraid that if I make one mistake, I’ll lose everything my father and grandfather fought so hard to build… and I think it will be all my fault.”

“And is that really how you feel?”

“Partly.”

“What’s the other part? The part Niccolo didn’t get right?”

Dario finally looked over at me.

“In prison, I could have lost my life. Now that I’m free, I could lose everything my family owns – everything my brothers have entrusted me with. But as stressful as those possibilities are, they feel like…” He paused, struggling to find the words. “Like they’re outside me, if that makes any sense.

“In the short time I’ve known Alessandra, she has become everything to me. What I couldn’t tell Niccolo is that I fear my feelings for her are becoming stronger than my feelings of obligation to our family. And I know what I feel for her is far more important to me than my own life.

“It feels like if I lost her, I would lose everything. EVERYTHING. Do you know how terrifying that is? One day you’re dealing with life, the world, and all the obstacles you’re up against – and then the next day a woman comes along, and suddenly she’s the only thing that matters. The only thing that makes you happy, or could ever make you happy.”

I nodded. “I know exactly how that feels.”

He groaned. “Shit… then she really is the One.”

I half-smiled. “A little advice from a sniper?”

Dario looked over at me, waiting to hear what I would say.

“When you have the shot,” I said slowly, “take the shot.”

He frowned like he didn’t understand.

I pulled the necklace out of my shirt collar and held the diamond ring between my fingers. “This is what you told the prison clerks not to steal from my belongings. Do you remember that?”

“How could I forget?” He smiled quizzically. “You wear it around your neck?”

“Every day. As a reminder.”

“Of Rachel?”

“No. Of something else.”

I paused… then finally started speaking.

“Before I went to Lake Como, I was going to propose to her. I had the shot all lined up – but I didn’t take it. I told myself, ‘It’s not the right time. It’s not perfect. I should wait.’ So I waited… and I lost the moment forever.

“Now, maybe proposing to her wouldn’t have changed anything.

“But it might have changed EVERYTHING.

“Maybe she would have known beyond a shadow of a doubt that I hadn’t disappeared because of one stupid fight. Maybe she would have waited like you said she would… if she was the One.

“It doesn’t matter now because what’s done is done.

“But for you, the door hasn’t closed yet. You still have a chance.

“The truth is, there is no ‘right time.’ There is no perfect moment. We just tell ourselves there is because we’re afraid. Of fucking up… of losing what we have. So we wait for the perfect moment… which never comes.

“When you’re a sniper, there’s a brief instant when you have everything lined up in your sights. The shot will never be perfect – it can only be ‘good enough.’ So you shouldn’t wait for the perfect moment. You look for a moment that’s good enough.

“If you wait and the moment passes you by, you might get a second chance if you’re lucky. But you shouldn’t count on that. And you should never, ever count on it being perfect.

“When everything is good enough, you have one decision to make: ‘Do I pull the trigger?’

“And the only rule is… when you have the shot… you take the shot.”

Dario stared at me for a long moment in silence –

And then he stood up. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“Back to the café.”

I smiled. “You sure you want company?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Just in case I run into trouble… I could use my enforcer.”

I nodded and smiled. “Alright – let’s do it.”

Just as I stood up, Niccolo barged into the room without knocking, his face an ashen grey.

“We have a problem,” he announced.

136

All seven of us – Dario, me, Niccolo, Adriano, Massimo, Roberto, and Valentino – huddled in front of the computer monitors.

After Alessandra had escaped and fled to the church, I installed extra cameras to monitor the gap in the wall and the secret passageway that led from the servant quarters to the forest. I had hidden the cameras so well that they were impossible for anyone to see unless they knew precisely where to look.

Our foot soldier Giorgio had been on surveillance duty in the monitor room, toggling through the various camera angles, when he spotted a figure crawling through the gap in the wall.

Giorgio immediately called Niccolo, who had come and gotten me, Dario, and all the other brothers.

Now we stared in disbelief at what was unfolding before our eyes.

The image was green from the camera’s night vision, but what we saw was crystal clear.

The Turk was heading for the house with a dozen armed men behind him…

Alessandra was walking out in front of them…

And the Turk had a gun pointed at her back.

Dario looked enraged and stricken at the same time – like he was about to crawl out of his skin but couldn’t turn away from the nightmare onscreen.

“We have to kill him,” he said, his voice ragged and sick with worry. “NOW.”

I shook my head. “If we start shooting at them in the dark, we’ll hit Alessandra. And there’s 13 of them. There’s no way we can neutralize them all before they figure it out and threaten to kill her. Once that happens, it’ll become a standoff – and then all bets are off.”

Dario turned away and tore at his hair as he paced behind us. He looked like a man possessed by a demon.

“They’re heading for the hidden tunnel,” Niccolo said, urgency in his voice.

Dario whipped back to the screen to watch.

Alessandra was crawling along the ground, groping blindly for something in the underbrush.

“What’s she doing?” Valentino asked, mystified.

“She’s looking for the entrance to the passageway,” Niccolo realized. “Because she can’t see it in the darkness.”

Alessandra paused and apparently called out, because the Turk and a couple of his men ran over and disappeared down hidden stairs in the earth.

“How the fuck are they going to get in?!” Adriano snarled. “The door to the tunnel locks from the inside – there’s no lock to pick!”

“If they got this far,” Roberto said dourly, “they probably have a plan.”

Dario grabbed my arm. His fingers were like steel claws. “You have to help me save her – you HAVE to!”

“…I don’t know how,” I whispered helplessly.

“I do,” Niccolo said.

We all turned to look at him.

“They don’t realize there are cameras,” he said. “They haven’t looked up at them once, and they’ve made no attempt to cut the power to the house – which means they have no idea that we know they’re coming.”

“Oh shit!” Valentino said with an excited laugh. “They probably think we’re asleep – ”

“And that they’re going to sneak in the back, creep upstairs, and murder us in our beds,” Niccolo said. Then he grinned. “I say we let them.”

“…what?!” Adriano exclaimed.

Niccolo laid out his plan in broad strokes.

After he was done, Dario looked at me for any scrap of hope I could give him.

“It could work,” I agreed. “But we have to move NOW.”

As though to underscore my words, the camera in the tunnel showed a circular ring of fire that quickly whited out the entire image.

However the Turk’s men were doing it – with acetylene torches or explosives – they were cutting through the door.

We had no more than 15 minutes before they reached the main foyer. Maybe only 10.

Dario roared into action. “Roberto, wake up the servants and get them into the panic room downstairs! Niccolo, explain the plan to the foot soldiers! Everyone else, dress in black and grab your weapons!”

Valentino, Roberto, Niccolo, Massimo, and Adriano tore out of the room at breakneck speed.

I was just about to follow them when Dario grabbed my arm.

I looked into his eyes and saw they were quite nearly insane with fear.

“If you get the shot… take the shot,” he said, his voice more intense than I’d ever heard it in all the time I’d known him.

“Of course,” I said, and turned to go –

But he jerked me back to face him again.

“I’m serious,” he said in a gravelly voice. “My life doesn’t matter. Hers is the only thing that does. If it’s a choice between me and her, you save her – and sacrifice me.”

I stared at him in shock. “But – ”

“SWEAR to me, Lars. SWEAR to me that you’ll save her, no matter what. I need to hear you say it.”

Cold beads of sweat broke out on my skin. “If I have to make a choice… I’ll save her.”

“No matter what,” he repeated insistently.

“…no matter what.”

The tiniest bit of relief appeared in his eyes.

“Thank you,” Dario whispered hoarsely, then raced out into the hall.

I ran back to my own bedroom, quickly changed into black, pulled a balaclava over my head, grabbed my rifle –

And prayed as I ran to my post.

137

Ilay on my belly, the muzzle of my rifle just barely peeking over the floor of the second story. I’d had to pile up a bunch of pillows under my body to give myself the right angle.

I just hoped it would be enough.

Down in the ground-floor hallway, I could just barely make out the silhouette of Alessandra’s dress – a shifting darkness against pure black.

The Turk was behind her, his pistol at her head.

Half of his men waited behind him, guns at the ready. The other half had already crept up the staircase to the third floor.

Gunshots rang out.

Muffled ones on the third floor –

And much louder ones below me.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!

The hallway was lit up by a half-dozen muzzle flashes –

And in the strobing lights, all the Turk’s men fell to the ground.

The Turk shouted and pulled Alessandra closer to his body, pressing his gun to her temple –

Just as I’d feared he would.

His head was right behind hers, with only a couple of inches visible through my scope – and most of his head was obscured by her tangled hair.

Even if I took the shot and managed to not hit Alessandra, the Turk might still pull the trigger in his death throes.

As long as the pistol was aimed at her head, I couldn’t risk taking the shot.

Cold sweat poured in rivulets down my neck and back. I could feel the sharp edges of Rachel’s diamond ring cutting into my chest as it pressed against my skin.

Images flashed through my brain of Rachel on the rooftop in Kabul as I shot the gunmen trying to reach her.

This was entirely different, though.

This was a waiting game.

I heard Dario’s voice directly beneath me, though I couldn’t see him.

“Let her go,” he said, his voice steady and calm.

He was doing an excellent job of hiding his internal panic at seeing Alessandra in danger.

“STOP!” the Turk screamed. “STOP, OR I’LL KILL HER!”

Dario said calmly, “Adriano, Valentino… lower your guns and get back.”

Just as Niccolo had suggested, Adriano protested. “But – ”

“DO IT.”

It was all window dressing – a play designed to make the Turk think he had the upper hand.

We had to get him to point the gun away from Alessandra’s head.

Only then could I take the shot.

“There,” Dario’s voice said beneath me. “They’ve backed off. Now let her go.”

The Turk laughed. “I don’t think so.”

Dario and the Turk went back and forth, verbally sparring.

I kept my scope trained on what little of the Turk’s head was visible… and I tried to mentally slow the hammering of my heart against my ribs.

Finally the moment of truth came when Dario said, “Now, stop pointing your gun at her… and aim it at me.”

The Turk stepped backwards, dragging Alessandra along with him –

And disappearing out of my sights.

I adjusted my gun until the edge of his head was back between my crosshairs.

“Aim your gun at me,” Dario repeated calmly.

“Why bother?” the Turk hissed. “You’ll kill me no matter what.”

“No, I won’t – and neither will my brothers. I swear on my father’s grave.”

“And why should I believe you?”

“Because I’ll take her place,” Dario said calmly.

Alessandra screamed beneath the tape over her mouth.

“Shhh, it’s fine,” Dario comforted her, then addressed the Turk again. “Take me hostage, and you’ll walk out of here a free man. All you have to do is aim your gun at me, not her.”

“…get rid of your pistol first.”

“Alright… don’t shoot.”

I heard the slight clunk of metal being placed on wood, then the sound of the gun skidding across the floor as Dario kicked it towards the Turk.

“I’m defenseless. Take your gun away from her… and aim it at me.”

When it happened, it happened in the blink of an eye.

The Turk swung his pistol away from Alessandra’s head and pointed it at Dario.

As he moved the gun, the Turk pulled his head away from Alessandra’s – to give him a clear line of vision so he could shoot Dario.

“Fool!” he snarled –

Just as I squeezed the trigger.

The suppressor on my rifle barrel rendered the gunshot a muffled PTOK –

And the Turk’s head exploded behind Alessandra’s.

Then he collapsed to the floor.

Everything after that was a blur.

I slung my rifle over my shoulder and raced for the stairs. Underneath my sweat-soaked shirt, the metal of Rachel’s ring pressed against my skin.

Dario yelled out to confirm everyone was okay; the brothers yelled back that they were fine.

Our foot soldiers – Emilio, Gustavo, Giorgio, and the others I’d trained – cheered and gave each other celebratory high-fives.

Dario was holding Alessandra tightly in his arms as I reached them.

I ripped off my balaclava and asked Alessandra, “Are you alright?”

I knew she was alive, obviously – but I was terrified that I might have grazed her.

“What, you couldn’t see that from the kiss?” Niccolo shouted from above.

Alessandra half-laughed, half-sobbed as tears of joy ran down her face. “I’m fine!”

“That was the most stressful shot of my entire life,” I said, and I meant it.

Dario looked me in the eyes, grinned, and put a hand on my shoulder.

“I knew you could do it,” he said, and I could hear the profound gratitude in his voice. “That’s why I entrusted it to you.”

It was a moment that only the two of us understood.

Only I knew he had admitted his love for the woman he now held in his arms.

Only I knew that he had called her the One –

And only I knew he had told me that if I had to choose, I was to save her, even if it cost him his life.

Neither Dario nor Alessandra – or anyone else besides me – had any idea how close it had been.

Just a half-second more –

If the Turk had fired his gun before I did –

But then Alessandra hugged me and broke me out of my dark reverie, and I laughed as relief washed through my body.

A lot more happened in the chaotic moments that followed.

The old servant woman trying to kill Dario…

Alessandra shooting her instead…

And the revelation that the old woman had poisoned and killed Leonardo, Dario’s father.

I beat myself up in the weeks that followed, telling myself that I should have seen the old woman’s gun.

I should have been the one to shoot her instead of making Alessandra shoulder that burden.

Dario reassured me that he didn’t care. I had succeeded in the one thing that mattered.

More than anything, one moment stood out the most starkly in my memory:

Dario grasping me by the shoulder as he said, I knew you could do it.

That’s why I entrusted it to YOU.

PART VI

138

Lars

Present Day

Ididn’t know why, but Dario’s words from the night I shot the Turk kept coming back to me:

I knew you could do it.

That’s why I entrusted it to YOU.

That was what I heard in my head as I raced onto the lawn…

As I shouldered my rifle and looked through the scope…

As I watched the assassin scale the stone wall and jump over the other side, out of sight…

And when I didn’t pull the trigger.

I knew you could do it.

That’s why I entrusted it to YOU.

The words felt like an accusation…

A judgement on my failure.

I ENTRUSTED IT TO YOU…

“Boss?” one of my men asked over the radio. “Do you see him?”

“Get the Bugatti ready,” I said in a daze. “I’m going to have to chase her down.”

There was a pause.

“…uh… did you say ‘her’?”

I ignored the question as I raced back for the house.

It couldn’t be her –

It COULDN’T be!

But if there was even the slightest possibility…

That was why I couldn’t pull the trigger.

I sprinted back to the garage where Giorgio was waiting with the Bugatti.

“Have a dozen men guard Dario and the others!” I ordered him. “Then put a man on every entrance to the mansion and have everyone else search the grounds for more shooters!”

Giorgio nodded as I jumped in the race car and sped away.

I roared past the iron gates and out onto the main road, heading for the spot closest to where the sniper had jumped the wall –

But I’d arrived nearly five minutes after I’d watched her escape.

There was no sign of a getaway car.

I screeched to a stop and got out of the Bugatti.

This part of the road was on a ridge with a view of the surrounding countryside.

If I could just get a glimpse of –

There.

Miles away and at a much lower elevation, the road curved back around through the valley –

And a tiny black speck of a car raced away at breakneck speeds.

It was her. It had to be.

I jumped back in the Bugatti and roared off in pursuit.

Unfortunately, if there was one area I was sorely lacking in, it was high-speed pursuit.

I’d spent years as a soldier, and soldiers got shuttled around in Humvees and transports. They didn’t go tearing around the countryside in car chases.

I’d never trained for it, and that lack of training was coming back to bite me in the ass.

I went as fast as I safely could – and probably pushed it way beyond my skill level – but it wouldn’t do Dario any good if I rolled the Bugatti and got myself killed, so I took the corners as a greatly reduced speed.

However, I was guessing that Rachel had definitely trained for high-speed evasive driving during her years in MI6.

No matter how fast I went on the straightaways, I lost precious time on the curves – and there were a lot of curves as the road wound back and forth through the hills.

After 20 minutes of pursuit, I was sure I’d lost her.

The best thing now would be to try to anticipate her next move.

I slowed down and called Niccolo. He answered on the first ring.

“Did you get him?”

“No, they got too big of a head start,” I said, being careful to say ‘they’ and not ‘she.’ I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation where I had to reveal my suspicions about the shooter. “But I was thinking, maybe we could get the cops on your payroll to look out for a speeding car heading for Florence – ”

“Forget about it and get back here,” Niccolo said. “We’ve got other problems.”

“What other problems?” I asked fearfully, expecting to hear about another attempt on Dario’s life.

“Somebody fucked up our jet in Venice, and now Massimo’s stranded.”

Niccolo filled me in on the drive back.

Massimo had the Widow’s granddaughter with him, but there was no way to get her back to the Widow without fighting more Wagner mercenaries.

He also couldn’t bring her back here. The family jet hadn’t been completely destroyed, but a rocket-propelled grenade had taken it out of commission while it was sitting in a hangar.

Niccolo didn’t want to rent another plane from an outside party because we had no idea how far our enemies’ influence reached.

As soon as Niccolo booked the plane, the owner could tip off Fausto – and Massimo might show up to fly home and be greeted by a dozen assassins.

Massimo and the girl couldn’t risk flying commercial, either. Fausto might be willing to blow up the plane and kill 200 civilians just to kill his intended targets.

“How far away is Venice?” I asked. “I could drive up there with a team and extract them – ”

“No, Massimo’s going to take the granddaughter and go on the run.”

“But – ”

“It’ll be MORE dangerous trying to bring him back than just letting them hide out for a few days.”

He was probably right.

“What about the shooter? Did you find out anything?

“I’m pulling up to the front gates,” I said. “I can tell you in person in five minutes.”

“Alright, sounds good.”

Niccolo hung up as I pulled onto the property.

This was not a conversation I was looking forward to.

139

In my absence, Dario, Alessandra, Adriano, Bianca, and Niccolo had moved to a panic room deep within the house.

Being young and impetuous, Valentino had demanded to help the foot soldiers guard the compound. Niccolo figured Val was the least likely target amongst the brothers and would be a bigger pain in the ass if they made him stay in the panic room, so he’d agreed.

Roberto was in his office doing something financial. Niccolo wanted him in the panic room, but Roberto had refused. At least he was being guarded by two of our most trusted men.

The panic room was a large stone chamber with no windows. In case the shooter came back, no one wanted to give him a second chance.

…or, as I explained to the others, to give her a second chance.

Some didn’t take it so well.

“Your ex-GIRLFRIEND was the one who tried to kill us?!” Adriano yelled.

“I didn’t get a good look,” I replied, “but from the way the shooter moved, I’d bet good money on it.”

“Rachel,” Dario murmured.

It was a statement, not a question, but I nodded anyway.

“This is the one in MI6, correct?” Niccolo asked.

I glared at him. “That was supposed to have been between us.”

“If she’s taking potshots at us,” Niccolo snapped, “then I don’t really give a shit about keeping her secrets!”

“Wait – MI6, like James Bond MI6?!” Adriano asked, his eyes bugging out.

“Yes,” I grumbled.

“You had a girlfriend who was like James Bond?!” Alessandra asked, clearly impressed.

“More or less.”

“Why the fuck would MI6 want us dead?!” Adriano asked.

“I doubt the shooter wanted you dead,” I told Adriano, “or she would have killed you and Bianca when you were on your picnic.”

“…fuck…” Adriano whispered, realizing just how close he and his new bride had come to death.

Bianca huddled up against him with a whimper, and he hugged her close.

“Why would MI6 come after us in the first place?” Niccolo asked.

I sighed. “When they hired me – ”

“Whoa, whoa, WHOA,” Adriano butted in. “YOU worked for MI6, too?!”

“Briefly.”

“That’s so cool…” Bianca whispered, her awe temporarily overcoming her fear.

“NO IT’S NOT!” Adriano shouted, then turned angrily to me. “Why the fuck are you only telling us about this now?!”

“Dario and I knew,” Niccolo said.

Adriano looked at him like Niccolo had stabbed him in the back. “You knew, but I didn’t?!”

“It was on a need-to-know basis.”

“Well, I think I need to know right fucking NOW!”

Niccolo glared at Adriano. “Will you please be quiet so we can figure out how the hell we’re going to handle this?”

That just made Adriano angrier. “You didn’t tell me about this fucking shit, and now you want me to – ”

“Adriano,” Dario said sternly.

Adriano immediately shut up.

Dario looked at me. “You were saying?”

“When they hired me,” I said, “they told me I would be eliminating rogue arms dealers, terrorists… and organized crime figures.”

“Great,” Niccolo grumbled.

“So you think that’s what she’s doing?” Dario asked.

“No disrespect intended, but I find it hard to believe MI6 would care about you.”

“Why not? I’m an organized crime figure.”

“Yes, but you’re not a big enough fish.”

Dario chuckled. “I don’t know whether to be offended or relieved.”

“Why do you say that?” Adriano asked in irritation. “Why aren’t we be big enough?”

“When I got arrested in Lake Como, I was on my way to kill an arms merchant. He was going to auction off a bunch of plutonium to Iran for nuclear bombs. I don’t think you guys are quite at that level yet.”

“…oh,” Adriano said, his ego clearly deflated.

“There’s another reason it’s doubtful your ex was working for MI6,” Niccolo said.

“What’s that?”

“Ten minutes after we get word from Massimo that he’s been attacked in Venice, there’s an attempt on Dario’s life. Who benefits from both events?” Niccolo asked rhetorically, then answered: “Fausto.”

He was right. It was obvious.

“Could Fausto and MI6 be working together?” Dario asked.

“No. Well, I suppose it’s theoretically possible – but it’s highly unlikely.”

“Why?”

“MI6 would never risk working with a gangster, especially not on an assassination attempt. It would be too big a liability if it was discovered, and the gangster could blackmail them by threatening to go public. I just don’t see it.”

“Which leaves two possibilities,” Niccolo said. “If it really was your ex-girlfriend who tried to shoot Dario, then she’s either left MI6… or she’s moonlighting as an assassin-for-hire.”

He was right. Nothing else made sense –

But both options seemed incredibly unlike Rachel.

Or maybe I just didn’t want to admit that if she had left MI6, then all the times I’d kept Alistair’s secrets were utterly pointless… and I’d sacrificed our relationship for nothing.

“Just how bad was your final parting, Lars?” Dario asked.

“Bad, but – why are you asking?”

“Was it bad enough that she would intentionally take a job where she might have to kill you?”

I stood there, stunned.

I hadn’t even considered the possibility.

“Jesus, dude, what did you do to her?” Adriano asked.

“I didn’t do anything!” I snapped, then went back to feeling blindsided. “I can’t imagine she would have taken the job if she knew I was here…”

“She might not have,” Niccolo said darkly. “One other person knew her name and that she worked for MI6.”

My mind flashed back to my first day at the mansion and my meeting with Niccolo, Leonardo, and –

“Fausto,” I murmured.

Niccolo nodded. “It would be just like him to track her down and hire her but not tell her about you. He would realize that even if she didn’t succeed in killing Dario, it would still be an insidious way to fuck with you personally – and disrupt our entire organization.”

I grew enraged. I wanted to track down Fausto and kill him myself –

But a part of me wondered if Rachel actually had known I worked for the Rosolinis and decided to take the job to send me a final Fuck you.

That possibility gnawed at my guts.

“Whether she knew or not,” Niccolo said, “we have to decide on our next – ”

“I need to go after her,” I blurted out.

Everyone in the room stared at me.

“Why?” Dario asked.

My mind raced for a good enough reason to convince him. “We need to know what Rachel knows. If she’s working for Fausto, then she might be able to tell us something about his grand plan.”

“I’m pretty sure Fausto’s grand plan is to kill us,” Niccolo said sarcastically.

“She might know more about that. She might know his next – ”

“No,” Niccolo interrupted.

“‘No,’ what? She doesn’t know more, or – ”

“You’re not going after her. It’s a poor use of our limited resources.”

“If I find out what Fausto’s next move is, I’d say it’s an excellent use of our resources.”

“IF – if, if, if,” Niccolo said impatiently. “Don’t you see? You’re playing right into his hands. This is exactly what he wanted: to distract you so you abandon us, which makes us easier to kill.”

“I’m pretty sure he wanted to kill Dario,” I snapped. “And that didn’t happen.”

Niccolo shook his head. “You’re too close to this.”

“It’s business.”

Niccolo snorted. “Riiiiight – it’s not personal at all.”

I looked over at Dario. He was the one I had to convince, not his consigliere. “Dario, I need to go after her.”

“NO! We need you here!” Niccolo argued.

“Please,” I said as I stared at Dario.

My old friend considered for a long moment…

And then he nodded. “Alright.”

“What?!” Niccolo shouted.

“Lars has trained our foot soldiers well. We’ll take every precaution in his absence,” Dario said. “Short of a missile strike, nobody can reach me in the safe room – and if it’s a missile strike, not even Lars can save us from that.”

“This is insane!” Niccolo snarled. “With Massimo gone, the rest of us should be closing ranks – not going off on wild goose chases!”

Niccolo was right.

But Dario knew that I had an agonizing pain burning deep within me. I wouldn’t be any good to him until I had taken care of it for good.

“Your objection is duly noted, consigliere,” Dario said, then looked at me. “Do what you must… but do it as quickly as possible.”

“Thank you,” I said gratefully.

Then I left the room to make my first call.

140

Iimmediately phoned Gunnar.

“Hey, man,” he answered cheerfully. “Sorry, I don’t have word on the other Wagner dudes in the pictures yet – ”

“I’m not calling about that.”

He could tell from my tone of voice that something was seriously wrong.

“What’s going on, brother?”

“I think Rachel just took a shot at my employer.”

There was a pause.

“What, you mean like a nasty Facebook post, or – ”

“No. I mean she fired two bullets at us half an hour ago.”

“WHAT?!”

I gave him a quick rundown of what had happened.

“Are you SURE it was her?!” Gunnar asked in astonishment.

“No, but that’s why I need your help.”

“Dude, if I couldn’t find her before, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to find her NOW.”

“You won’t be looking for Rachel Bauer. Not by name, anyway. You’ll be looking for a female assassin for hire.”

Another pause.

“Um, bro, I’m not exactly sure I – ”

“She won’t be advertising openly. She’d have put the word out through her old intelligence contacts… which means your intelligence contacts might have heard about her.”

Gunnar sighed. “What happens if I DO find out something about her? Am I supposed to text her, ‘Hey, Lars wants to know why you shot at him’?”

“No. I want you to hire her.”

“…WHAT?!”

“Tell her you want a meeting – that it’s a matter of the utmost delicacy.”

“Dude – ”

“Offer her 10,000 euros just for the meeting.”

“DUDE – ”

“I’ll handle the payment,” I said.

“But she’ll know who I am as soon as I show up!”

“You won’t be there for the meeting,” I said grimly. “I will.”

“Oh,” Gunnar said, finally realizing what I was planning. “Why don’t you just go to her house in London? I found it for you last time – ”

“I want to catch her unawares. And seeing as she botched the job on my boss, I don’t think she’ll be staying there. She’s probably laying low someplace else.”

“Oh…”

I knew he didn’t like being caught up in this, so I tried to reassure him. “I really appreciate this, Gunnar. It’s important.”

“Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“You’re just going to talk to her – right?”

“Of course. All we’re going to do is talk.”

At least, that’s what I hoped.

141

Alot happened over the next 48 hours – although none of it was related to Gunnar’s search for Rachel.

Massimo called. He and the Widow’s granddaughter were safe. Interestingly, Aurelio had contacted Massimo directly and tried to get him to hand over the girl.

The news seemed to confirm that Fausto was behind both Venice and the assassination attempt on Dario… but Massimo seemed to think Aurelio had gone rogue and that Fausto might not be involved at all.

Then our consigliere dropped another huge bombshell.

A few hours after Massimo called with an update, Niccolo announced he and Roberto were leaving for Hong Kong.

“What?” I asked, stunned. “Why?”

“That doesn’t concern you,” Niccolo said curtly.

“What was that you said earlier?” I snapped. “Something about closing ranks and going on goose chases?”

“Well, if you can do whatever the hell you want, why not me and Roberto?” Niccolo said with a saccharine smile.

I tried appealing to the boss. “Dario – ”

“It’s for the best,” he reassured me. “I’ve already discussed it with them and approved the trip.”

“What about not trusting private jets or airline companies?”

“We’ve made arrangements,” Roberto said. “It will be fine.”

And that was that.

Niccolo and Roberto drove away an hour later with a small group of foot soldiers to guard them.

Now it was just me, Dario, Alessandra, Adriano, Bianca, and Valentino –

And about 80 foot soldiers on high alert.

I pulled Valentino off patrol and stuck him in the safe room with the rest of the family. He complained bitterly, but I told him his safety was the highest priority. He finally quit bitching after an hour or two.

Over the next few days, I busied myself with preparations for when I left. I scheduled security teams so the family was as protected as possible – but I also had to make sure the men had adequate rest. Exhausted people make mistakes… and with all the danger around us, mistakes could be fatal.

I pored over our surveillance systems, trying to shore up every weakness. I drove myself twice as hard as any of my men.

I did it not only because it needed to be done…

But also to distract myself. To keep me from contacting Gunnar.

It didn’t work.

At least twice a day, I texted him, Any word on Rachel?

And every time, he replied, Nothing yet.

Niccolo returned three days later from Hong Kong – but Roberto wasn’t with him.

“Why didn’t he come back?” I demanded.

“He had things to take care of,” Niccolo replied.

“And what did you take care of?”

“Something that doesn’t concern you.”

He still hadn’t forgiven me for going over his head to get Dario’s permission.

“You’ll notice I haven’t gone after Rachel,” I pointed out.

“Yet,” he said sardonically. “Was that because you chose to stay – or because you just don’t have any information yet?”

Ouch.

“I’m still here,” I protested.

Niccolo snorted, then said as he walked away, “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Everyday life descended into an eerie limbo. Calm, but with the ever-present threat of death.

We put Dario and Alessandra, Adriano and Bianca, Niccolo, and Valentino in rooms with no windows. I had the doors guarded 24 hours a day. Everyone took their meals together in the safe room, then returned to their individual quarters afterwards.

“I feel like I’m in prison,” Valentino griped.

“Come talk to me after three and a half years,” I quipped.

Our foot soldiers ceaselessly patrolled the house and grounds, but there were no new attacks.

Niccolo tried to contact Fausto and Aurelio, but neither answered his calls.

There was also no further news from Massimo…

And none from Roberto, either.

I was beginning to despair…

When I finally heard from Gunnar.

142

Let’s talk, he texted.

I called him immediately. “Did you find anything?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Your name is Herman, and you’re gonna have dinner with a woman named Diana.”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“I had to give her a name, so I used Herman. I figure Diana’s a code name. She’s the only female mercenary to come on the scene in the last six months. Several of my homies heard about her, but nobody knew how to contact her. They finally tracked down some Hungarian dude she did a job for three months ago, and he coughed up an email address.”

“How do we know it’s Rachel?” I asked.

“Well, when I talked to her – ”

“You TALKED to her?!”

“Just by text. Don’t worry, she doesn’t know who I am. I told her I needed somebody with an intelligence background, preferably British intelligence. She said she was qualified, so I figured that’s as much confirmation as I’m gonna get. I didn’t want to press it any further than that.”

“You did good,” I reassured him. “Where am I supposed to meet her – and when?”

“She said you gotta come to her. It’ll be sometime in the next two days. I asked where, but she said she’ll only tell you after you wire 20,000 euros to a Swiss bank account – ”

“20,000?! I told you ten – ”

“Hey, man, SHE named the price. That’s not even for the job – that’s just to get your foot in the door. I’ve got the Swiss bank account number – do you want it?”

“Yeah, yeah, hold on,” I grumbled as I grabbed a pencil and paper. “Go ahead.”

I copied down the information and read it back to him.

“Yeah, that’s it. When she confirms the deposit, she’ll tell me when and where.”

“Okay… thanks, Gunnar.”

“Lars?”

“Yeah?”

“…you’re not gonna kill her, are you?” he whimpered.

“No.”

“Then what are you doing all this for?”

“I just want some answers.”

“What if she doesn’t want to give them to you?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

I asked Dario and Niccolo if they could wire the 20,000 euros.

They exchanged a look.

Not quite a worried look – but there was definitely a note of concern.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Dario said as he took the piece of paper with the Swiss bank account number.

“Is this absolutely necessary?” Niccolo asked in irritation.

“It is if you want me to be able to get in the same room with her,” I said.

Niccolo smirked. “Yes, well, it’s not ME who wants to get you in the same room with her.”

I could feel myself losing my temper. “Look – ”

“We’ll wire it immediately,” Dario interrupted. “I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

Niccolo sighed in passive-aggressive disgust.

“Am I missing something?” I asked.

“No,” Dario said in a tone that conveyed the discussion was closed.

Which meant there was something amiss, but he wasn’t going to reveal what it was.

“I’m also going to need to buy a plane ticket to wherever I’m meeting her,” I said.

“Which is where?”

“I don’t know – I’ll find out after we wire the money. But I’m betting London.”

“Alright. Book a flight as soon as you find out.”

“Fly coach,” Niccolo snapped.

It was a far cry from the very first time we’d talked, when he insisted I fly first-class.

“Fine.” I turned to go, then remembered something. “By the way, I can’t check a weapon on the plane without drawing unwanted attention, so I’m going to need a local contact to buy a gun.”

“I’ll have Niccolo make a call,” Dario promised.

“I thought you were only going there to talk,” Niccolo said snarkily.

“If we do more than ‘talk,’ I want to be prepared.”

Niccolo smiled darkly. “Now that I can get behind.”

143

Dario sent the 20,000 euros.

Thirty minutes later, Gunnar texted I would be meeting ‘Diana’ the next evening at Dinner by Heston Blumenthal, a swanky restaurant in London. ‘Diana’ would be identifiable by a single yellow rose at her table.

I doubted that would be the only way I could identify her.

I was told to arrive after 7PM, but I decided to show up a good bit earlier than that.

I flew into London that evening on a commercial flight.

The restaurant where we would be meeting was in the Mandarin Oriental, a beautiful hotel next to Hyde Park. I booked a room for the night; I wanted to check out the meeting place beforehand, and I figured the best way to do that without arousing suspicion was to stay at the hotel.

It was a thousand pounds a night, which I knew Niccolo wouldn’t be happy about if he was having me fly coach –

But fuck him.

I also walked a couple of miles down the road and booked another room at the Gore London as a backup. In case my meeting with Rachel got out of hand, I didn’t want the Mandarin Oriental’s staff – or the police – to know exactly where to find me.

The next morning, I went to meet my contact.

He was an old-school British gangster with a bald head and jowls like a bulldog. I met him in the back room of a pub, probably a front for a local crime syndicate.

He gave me a choice between a Glock 19 and a Ruger-5.7.

“Neither of ‘em has ever been fired,” he assured me, then paused. “Well… not at anybody.” He paused again. “Well… nobody got hit.”

After checking the slide mechanism, I bought the Glock and four magazines of ammunition for 4000 pounds.

“That’s a steep markup,” I commented.

“Times’re hard. Want a suppressor?” he asked, pronouncing it suh-press-ah. “Extra three grand.”

“Jesus,” I said as I shelled out the money.

“Well worth it if you don’t want all of London hearin’ ya do yer business.”

He had a point.

I had lunch at the restaurant where we would meet later that evening.

I was paranoid that Rachel might be scoping it out beforehand – but then again, she had no idea what her ‘prospective client’ looked like, so why would she bother?

I decided to take the chance – to get the lay of the land and give myself an unfair advantage.

The restaurant was quite nice: modern furniture, recessed lighting, and a beautiful bank of plate-glass windows looking out on an exterior lawn with shrubs.

While in the restaurant, I visited the restroom twice – once after I was seated and once halfway through the meal. I didn’t actually have to go to the bathroom. Instead, I used the opportunity to plant spy cameras the size of packs of chewing gum. They were impressive gadgets I’d ordered on a whim back when we were buying surveillance cameras for the mansion.

I placed one at the bar, sticking it under the counter with adhesive tape.

Another I hid in a flower arrangement on a shelf.

When I left after my meal, I hid a third camera at the far end of the restaurant in a display of wine bottles.

When I reached the lobby, I opened the surveillance app on my phone and made sure I was receiving the transmissions.

Everything worked great. Between the three camera placements, I had every table in the restaurant covered.

All that was left was to wait.

I showered at 5:30 PM and was dressed in a suit by 6.

I spent the next hour watching the camera feeds on my phone.

My stomach was tight with nervousness. Niccolo’s taunts about this being personal kept coming back to haunt me.

Seven o’clock rolled around, and I watched the camera feed for Rachel to appear.

She didn’t.

But another woman did…

And she placed a yellow rose on the tablecloth in front of her.

SHIT.

I used the app’s controls to zoom in on her. She was blonde and 5’3”… obviously not Rachel in a wig.

FUCK!

Then I started to think.

If I were an assassin who had once been an MI6 agent, would I really go meet any Tom, Dick, or Harry without knowing who they were first?

No, I wouldn’t.

And I was sure Rachel wouldn’t, either.

I placed the Glock in the back waistband of my pants, where it was hidden under my jacket. The suppressor was too long for a quick draw, so I put it in my pocket.

Then I walked down to the hotel lobby. I kept glancing at the app on my phone to see if Rachel showed up.

She didn’t, but the blonde woman looked around periodically.

She seemed to be waiting for someone:

Me.

Unfortunately for her – and for Rachel – I would have to send another ‘me’ in my place.

I just had to find him.

There was a bar on the opposite end of the lobby from the restaurant. I walked in, scoped out the Saturday evening crowd, and found the perfect mark: a young guy at the bar, about 25 years old. He was dressed for a night out and nursing what looked like a whiskey sour. Most importantly, he was alone.

I walked over and sat down next to him.

“Shit,” I muttered to myself.

He looked over. “Something wrong, mate?”

“No,” I grumbled – then immediately said, “Yeah, actually, I’m supposed to meet a woman for a business dinner in the restaurant – but I think it might be the girl I had a one-night stand with last night.”

“Oh shit!” he said as he laughed.

“It gets worse. I snuck out of her flat before she woke up this morning.”

The guy at the bar was nearly pissing himself with laughter. “That’s a bloody cock-up! How the hell did that happen?!”

“It’s a long story. My company threw a party, she was there, one thing led to another… the problem is, I don’t know if the woman at the table is her or not.”

“How do you not know?!”

“I can’t get too close or she’ll see me. Plus, I was fuckin’ drunk. The woman from last night was short and blonde – that’s all I remember. I definitely don’t remember her name. All I know is that the woman I’m supposed to meet for dinner is named Diana.”

“Well, you’ve got yourself into quite the pickle, my friend. You American?”

“Yeah,” I said, pleased he couldn’t place me as Swedish.

“Welcome to England,” he said with another laugh.

I paused like I was hesitating. “…could I ask you a huge favor?”

“Oh no. I’m not getting anywhere near this one.”

“But – ”

“Can’t do it, mate. I’m meeting someone in ten minutes.”

“It’ll only take two,” I said as I pulled out five 100-pound notes.

That got his attention.

“If it’s the woman from last night, this whole situation could ruin my career – so I’ll gladly give you this,” I said, holding up the money, “if you just go in there, sit down, and find out if her name is Diana.”

“What good is that going to do you?”

“I’ll be watching from a distance while you keep her distracted. If it’s the girl I slept with last night, I’ll signal to you by shaking my head ‘no.’ You say you’ve got to go to the bathroom. Come meet me, I’ll pay you, and we both bail. If it’s not the girl from last night, I’ll walk up to the table, say you’re needed back at the office, slip you the money with a handshake, and take your place.”

He laughed uneasily, but he was eyeing the cash. “Isn’t she going to find all of that a bit odd?”

“She’ll get over it. Five hundred pounds for two minutes’ worth of work – and you might save me from getting fired. I’d owe you forever.”

He sighed heavily… then grinned. “Alright.”

He reached for the money –

“Ah,” I said, pulling it out of his reach. “Only at the end.”

He gave me an irritated look, so I put one of the hundreds in his hand. “But consider that a down payment.”

“Okay,” he said, considerably happier. “What do I do?”

“She’s a blonde with a yellow rose on the table in front of her. Left side of the restaurant. Go ask if she’s Diana and say you’re Herman.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look like a Herman.”

“I get that a lot,” I said drily. “If she says her name is Diana, sit down and talk for a minute. Just say things like, ‘Have you been waiting long?’ and ‘Nice place.’ I’ll come around from the side to get a good look at her. Once I’m sure it’s fine, I’ll signal to you – or I’ll walk up to the table and take your place. Either way, you just made 500 pounds.”

“Okay,” he said, drained the last of his drink, and stood up. “Why not.”

“That’s the spirit,” I said. “What’s your name?”

“John.”

“Thanks a million, John. You have no idea how much you’re helping me.”

“Get ready to pay me, Herman,” he said with a wink.

“I will. You have my word.”

144

Iwatched on the surveillance app as John walked up to the table and said something.

The cameras didn’t pick up sound, but it looked like he said, Diana?

The blonde replied, and John reached over and shook hands with her. Then he sat down opposite her.

I’d gotten lucky with my choice. John seemed to be fairly charming – a big smiler and easy talker.

I continued to watch the camera feed, waiting.

John started glancing around the restaurant, obviously looking for me –

And then it happened.

Another woman – tall, brunette, and wearing a slinky black dress – walked up to the table with her back to the camera.

My heart stopped in my chest.

Rachel.

I switched camera feeds to confirm.

It was definitely her.

She tapped the blonde on the shoulder, and the woman got up and left.

John was incredibly confused as Rachel sat down in the blonde’s place – although he also seemed pleased with his good fortune. The blonde was very pretty, but Rachel was stunning.

I quickly left the lobby, walked into the restaurant, and headed for the table, approaching from behind Rachel.

As John looked up, a bit of disappointment washed over his face. “Oh, there you are.”

“Here I am,” I said as I circled around and shook his hand, slipping the remaining four hundred pounds into his palm.

But the entire time, my eyes were on Rachel.

She looked up at me, her eyes widening –

And all the blood drained from her face.

“Well, uh, I guess I’ll be going,” John said awkwardly.

“Thanks again,” I said, ignoring him as I stared at her.

John got up… looked at us staring at each other… and then shuffled out of the restaurant.

I took his old seat and gazed at Rachel. She was even more gorgeous than in my memories. Her long, dark tresses were piled on top of her head in an elegant hairdo, and her body was mouthwatering beneath the thin material of her dress. She wasn’t wearing a bra, which distracted the hell out of me.

I also noticed she wasn’t wearing a diamond ring on her finger.

I didn’t know if that meant anything or if she just didn’t want it to get in the way during a gunfight.

I was absolutely sure she’d brought a gun. Something small – either in her purse or strapped to her inner thigh where a garter would normally go.

“So,” she said drolly. “Herman.”

“Hello… Diana.”

“It’s been a while.”

“It has.”

“Cute diversion with the guy,” she said.

“Nice decoy with the girl. Who is she?”

“My assistant.”

“Kind of shitty to put her in harm’s way like that.”

“She knows the risks, and I pay her very well. Speaking of shittily putting people in harm’s way, did your patsy know he was walking into the lion’s den?”

“No, but I figured you wouldn’t hurt him. And he was well-paid, too.”

“I’ll bet.” Rachel settled back in her chair. She was still on high alert, but she seemed satisfied I wasn’t going to try to kill her – at least right away.

At that moment, our waiter made the inopportune decision to come over.

“Good evening, and welcome to Dinner by Heston Blumenthal. Could I start you off with something to – ”

“We’re talking,” I said without looking away from Rachel’s face. “When we’re ready to order, I’ll let you know.”

“…oh… of course,” the waiter said. “Excuse me.”

And then he walked away.

“That was rude,” Rachel said mockingly.

“That was civil. You haven’t seen me be rude yet.”

“No, I’ve just seen you be shifty and duplicitous.” She smirked. “So, who made the appointment on your behalf… Herman?”

“Gunnar did.”

“Next time you talk to him, tell him I said he’s a real son of a bitch.”

I tsk tsked. “That’s not very nice.”

“Not very nice of him to set me up, either.”

“He’s your biggest supporter, actually. He made me promise that all I would do is talk to you.”

Rachel peered deep into my eyes. “Is that a promise you’re going to keep?”

“That all depends on you.”

She was silent for a second… then her shoulders slumped the tiniest bit as a note of sadness entered her voice. “I didn’t know you were going to be there. I had no idea you even worked for them until I saw you dive on top of Rosolini.”

I believed her.

Time to find out if I believed the rest.

“Who were you working for? Your pals over in Vauxhall?”

Vauxhall was the neighborhood where MI6’s building was located.

“No,” she said coldly.

“Are you still with them?”

“No,” she said, her voice even colder. “I’m not.”

I raised one eyebrow. “What happened?”

“We had a parting of the ways.”

“Mutual?”

“No,” she said, bitterness dripping from that one syllable.

Despite how things had turned out between me and Rachel, I felt a surge of relief that I’d never told her about Alistair.

I had lost her when I went to prison, yes… but Rachel had also lost me. I tended to forget that.

Hearing the rancor in her voice, I would have hated for her to have lost her job because of me, too.

“Who hired you, then?” I asked.

She gave me a disapproving look. “That’s confidential.”

“Fausto Rosolini?”

“I didn’t get a name.” If it wasn’t the truth, she had a great poker face.

“Did you meet him?”

“I did.”

“Italian, 50-something, bit of a gut? Mustache and goatee like the devil?”

She smiled like Okay, I give up. “That’s him.”

“Was his son Aurelio there, too?”

“Again, I didn’t get a name.”

“Young guy, handsome, scowls all the time? A real asshole?”

“Two for two,” she said, playfully mocking me. “You know all about these people.”

“I should. I met them the day I got hired.”

“They must not have liked your job performance.”

“It’s more that they didn’t like the people who hired me.”

“The mafia,” she said, her voice laced with contempt. “That’s who you’re working for now, huh.”

Her disdain made me angry – as did her hypocrisy.

“You were working for them, too,” I growled, “when you showed up in Tuscany.”

She shrugged dismissively. “I didn’t know.”

“Or you didn’t want to know, so you didn’t ask.”

“Oh, I asked,” she hissed. “If what you’re saying is true, then they lied to me.”

“And that absolves you of everything, huh,” I said, addressing her with the same contempt she’d shown me.

She glared at me but didn’t reply.

“Fausto hired you to kill his nephew,” I said.

“Family drama’s always the worst, isn’t it,” she said flippantly, like she was bored of the conversation.

“I don’t know… I’ve always found relationship drama to be worse. Speaking of which – where’s your ring?”

I’d hit a nerve.

I could see it in the flash of anger in her eyes.

“I gave it back.”

“Didn’t work out?” I asked mockingly.

“No… it didn’t.”

I suddenly felt bad.

Despite everything that had happened between us, I still loved Rachel.

I didn’t want her to get married to someone else –

But I didn’t want her to be miserable, either.

And from her reaction, I was fairly sure the end had been miserable.

Before I could say anything, though, she beat me to the punch.

“I guess you’re right,” she drawled.

“About what?”

“Relationship drama is the worst,” she sneered, her eyes locked on mine.

I knew she wasn’t talking about the other guy.

She was talking about me.

I stopped feeling bad and went back to being angry.

“What happened when you didn’t succeed?” I asked.

“Succeed at what – my relationship?” she asked bitingly.

“The job in Tuscany. Fausto just let you walk away?”

“He didn’t pay me the remainder of the fee. We parted amicably.” She smirked as she stared into my eyes. “Unlike some other men I’ve been involved with.”

I didn’t take the bait, even though her little barb pissed me off. “Fausto didn’t ask you to make a second attempt?”

“He did.”

That surprised me a little. “And you refused?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The look of hatred she gave me took my breath away. “Why do you think?”

“I don’t know,” I said icily, “or I wouldn’t have asked.”

Her voice broke as she said, “Because of you, ASSHOLE.”

I sat there in shock.

I’d secretly hoped that might be the reason…

But I never thought she would say it. Not to my face.

And I never, ever suspected the depths of her pain…

Pain I had caused.

“So you really didn’t know I was involved when you took the job,” I murmured.

“I already told you that,” she said acidly. “You should start paying attention.”

I ignored her sarcasm and asked, “How did Fausto find you?”

“Same way you did, probably.”

“This is what you’re doing now? After…” I decided to be discreet. “…parting ways with your former employers?”

She shrugged. “A girl’s got to pay the bills somehow.”

“Hell of a way to do it.”

“Said the man working as a flunky for a mafioso,” she sneered.

“Said the woman working as a paid killer,” I shot back.

She stared at me hatefully but kept quiet.

“Even though I was involved,” I asked, “why pass up a second crack at the job?”

She stared at me, dumbfounded – but her voice was full of contempt. “Is that really a serious question?”

I let my own anger show through. “You told me it was over. You said I should walk away. So why would my presence affect you at all?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I changed my mind. Gunnar’s not the son of a bitch – you are.”

“You mean to tell me,” I said sarcastically, “that your ex-boyfriend was involved, and that’s why you passed up a second chance at a paycheck?”

“I’m beginning to regret it,” she sneered as she grabbed her purse, obviously preparing to leave.

I wasn’t about to let that happen.

As I pushed away from the table to stand up, I snapped, “I’ll bet you are – ”

That was when the glass window of the restaurant shattered –

And the empty plate in front of me exploded.

145

Rachel and I dove to the floor as pandemonium erupted all around us.

People were screaming and shouting –

But there were no more gunshots.

Yet.

I pulled the Glock from my waistband.

At the same instant, Rachel hiked up her dress and pulled a Walther PPK out of a thigh holster attached to her garter.

Called it, I thought.

I caught a glimpse of silky black panties –

And she caught me staring.

“REALLY?!” she snapped.

I ignored her indignation and said, “We should run while we have the chance.”

She glanced at the people running all around us and nodded.

I hated using civilians as cover, but the flurry of activity would make it impossible for the shooter to get a bead on us.

Only the very best snipers could hit a target in a panicked crowd – and if our shooter was one of the best, he wouldn’t have missed the first time.

“Hold on,” Rachel said as she pulled off her high heels. “Okay – go.”

We crouched low and ran for the exit, surrounded by the crowd.

I kept my Glock under my jacket, and she hid her gun behind her purse and the shoes she grasped in her free hand.

I waited for another gunshot –

But it never came.

We passed by the stairwell in the lobby. No one seemed to be going into it, so I grabbed Rachel’s arm and pulled her with me through the door. “In here!”

The stairwell was deserted.

I shut the door behind us, then turned –

To find her gun aimed right in my face.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I hissed. “There’s an assassin out there – ”

“And you led them right to me!”

“Or maybe Fausto decided not to let you off the hook after all – ever think of that?”

She scoffed. “The shot hit the table in front of you.”

“Didn’t get me, though, did it? They could have just as easily been aiming at you.”

“Fuckin’ bad shot, then.”

“Didn’t say they weren’t.”

Suddenly, a door banged open several stories above us and echoed in the stairwell. Footsteps clattered down the stairs as a man shouted over a radio, “WHERE IS HE?!”

Rachel had a choice to make, and we both knew it.

She could point the gun at the new arrival, but that would open her up to an attack from me.

She could keep her gun pointed at me and let the new arrival see her with it, potentially inciting more panic and maybe bringing armed guards rushing into the stairwell –

Or she could lower her gun and give up her advantage over me but not be seen by the stranger.

She chose to lower the gun –

Which I immediately took advantage of.

I stepped forward, grabbed her arm before she could raise it again, and slammed my body into hers against the wall.

Rachel was a skilled fighter, but I had over a hundred pounds on her –

And she didn’t want anyone to see her gun.

Two disadvantages.

“Get off me,” she hissed.

“We’ve been a lot closer than this, Älskling,” I said, using my Swedish pet name for her.

The guy from upstairs darted past us.

“TELL HIM TO CONTROL THE CROWD!” he screamed into his radio, then ran through the doorway into the lobby.

At which point Rachel kneed me in the balls.

Hard.

I twisted my legs at the last instant, but she still got in a pretty good shot.

“UNGH,” I grunted in pain.

She shoved me off of her and kicked me in the chest with her bare foot, sending me slamming back into the stairwell railing.

Despite the pain radiating from my crotch, I was ready for her next move.

She raised her gun –

But I slammed her forearm with mine, deflecting her motion and keeping her from pointing the pistol at me.

I’d seen her fight Delgado back in Afghanistan.

I knew she was deadly beyond belief –

But seeing a cobra in action doesn’t really prepare you for fighting one.

She kicked at the outside of my knee, trying to break it.

I remembered that from her fight against Delgado –

And I squatted low just in time.

The kick hit my thigh rather than my knee. Painful, but not crippling.

Then I threw a punch.

She dodged and brought her knee up into my gut.

I doubled over with an Oof.

I prepared to have to use my gun –

But she surprised me.

In the split second she had while I was doubled over –

She ran.

She swung around the railing and took the stairs three at a time, disappearing around the corner in less than two seconds.

“Rachel!” I called out.

She didn’t answer –

But I could hear her bare feet slapping against the stairs.

“Fuck,” I groaned.

Ignoring the pain in my still-tender balls, I started up after her –

Although considerably slower than she was going.

146

As I chased after Rachel, I half-expected to hear her open a door and run down a hallway –

But the hallways might have witnesses, and she couldn’t take the risk of anyone seeing her.

Instead, I heard a door open, followed by the distant sounds of traffic.

She was on the roof.

So THAT’S where we’re going to do this.

I opened the door slowly when I reached the top of the stairwell.

The roof was dark, but the night sky glowed with the city lights of London.

“Can we talk about this?” I called out.

“What’s there to talk about?” her voice floated up from somewhere nearby.

I shut the door behind me. “About how we don’t have to hurt each other.”

“Again.”

“What?”

“I think you mean, ‘How you don’t have to hurt me again.’”

“You’re not talking about how you kneed me in the testicles, are you?” I joked.

She didn’t answer.

“I never meant to hurt you, Rachel,” I said softly. As I crept across the roof, I tried to pinpoint the source of her voice.

“Too bad,” she answered. “You did.”

My anger got the best of me. “And you think it didn’t hurt me when I showed up and you told me to get lost? That you’d moved on, so I should, too?”

She didn’t answer.

I regretted losing my temper and tried to reengage her. “Remember the rooftop in Afghanistan?”

There was a pause, but she answered this time. “That was a lifetime ago.”

“Just a little over five years.”

“Like I said – a lifetime ago.”

“I saved you back then. We could help save each other this time.”

“That’s the thing… this time, I don’t need saving.”

And she kicked at my head from out of the darkness.

I barely blocked it in time. I stumbled backwards, but it was like fighting two people at once – she was so fast that I could barely keep up with her flurry of punches and kicks.

She wasn’t holding back –

So neither did I.

I landed a punch to her ribs, and she grunted –

But then she elbowed me in the solar plexus.

I gritted my teeth and shoved her away –

Then aimed my gun at her.

Unfortunately, I also found myself staring down the barrel of hers.

“We don’t have to do this,” I said.

“It would seem we do.”

“I just wanted to talk – ”

“YOU LEFT ME!” she suddenly screamed, her face twisted with suffering.

“Rachel, I went to prison – ”

“YOU STILL DISAPPEARED!” she cried out, a howl of suffering from the depths of the abyss. “YOU ABANDONED ME!”

It finally hit me:

Her father had left her when she was seven.

She saw him two more times after that, then never again.

I had left her, too…

Just like her father.

I hadn’t meant to…

I hadn’t wanted to…

But I had.

I’d always known that my disappearance must have hurt her…

But I’d never considered how it might tear open a 20-year-old wound that had never healed.

Lars, you stupid fucking idiot…

I lowered my gun… and then I dropped it on the roof.

“What are you doing?!” she demanded, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I need to show you something,” I said softly. “Just – don’t shoot me, okay?”

She watched distrustfully as I loosened my necktie, unbuttoned my collar –

And pulled out the necklace with the diamond ring.

She visibly flinched. “What’s that?!”

“The only thing that got me through three and a half years in hell.”

Her eyes flicked from the ring to my face, not understanding.

“They took this from me when I went into prison. San Vittore in Milan. The worst fucking place I’ve ever been. Every day I fantasized about when I got out… how I was going to get the ring back, come track you down, and ask you to marry me. That’s the only way I made it through.”

“You… you had it before you went in?” she asked, suddenly realizing what that meant.

I nodded. “I bought it here in London. I was going to propose to you that day in St. James Park, right before I left… but we had a fight. Do you remember?”

Her face filled with horror as the memory came rushing back.

I was afraid she would think I was blaming her, so I immediately continued.

“It was my fault I didn’t propose. I should have asked you to marry me that day – and I shouldn’t have let anything stop me. If I had, then you would have known I would have never voluntarily walked away from you. Ever.”

She was sobbing now. The gun trembled in her hand.

“I love you, Rachel. I’ve always loved you.” I paused and gave her a lopsided smile. “Okay, maybe not always. You were a little bitchy to me after that first briefing in Afghanistan.”

She laughed and sobbed at the same time, the noises blending into each other.

“But ever since that first night we spent together… you’ve been the only woman I ever wanted. So… if you’re going to kill me… that means you don’t want me anymore. And if that’s the case, you might as well go ahead and pull the trigger. Put me out of my misery. But I’m still going to love you. I’ve always loved you… and I always will.”

She stood there, arms shaking, tears rolling down her face.

She whispered, “God damn you…”

And dropped her gun.

That was all the sign I needed.

I stepped forward to take her into my arms –

And she rushed to meet me halfway, her lips tasting of salt as her mouth met mine.

147

Iput my arms around her and crushed her against me as we kissed.

The feel of her body against mine –

I got hard within seconds.

I knew she felt my cock, because she grinded against it and groaned into my mouth.

Suddenly her hands were fumbling at my belt.

I broke off our kiss and grabbed her hands.

“No,” I whispered.

“NO?!” she asked, half-dumbfounded, half-outraged.

I laughed. “There’s an assassin out there, remember?”

“On the ground,” she grunted as she tried to undo my belt. “We’re six stories up.”

“I’ve got a room at another hotel – we can – ”

“LARS,” she said, her voice ragged with need. “I have waited four years to fuck you – I can’t wait another second.”

Shit.

My cock got hard as steel, and all my resistance vanished.

“Well – at least in the stairwell,” I said huskily as I groped her breast and nibbled at her neck.

“Uh-huh,” she groaned.

“And it has to be quick – ”

Without answering, she leaned down and grabbed both her gun, my Glock, and her shoes.

As she was bent over, her ass was so astoundingly hot under that little black dress that I couldn’t help myself – I reached out and grabbed it with both hands.

She looked over at me with a sly smile and fuck me eyes. “I thought we were waiting until the stairwell.”

In answer, I grabbed her wrist and ran with her over to the door.

We slipped inside the door and I shut it. The hubbub down below had either died away, or we couldn’t hear it six stories up.

I turned to look at her. I could barely see her face in the darkness. “You keep guard.”

“Why me?”

“You’ve got the guns – and somebody’s got to fuck you.”

She grinned, then watched the stairs below us with a gun in each hand.

I quickly unzipped my pants, fumbled to get my cock out –

And then pulled it out of my fly. It was so hard it hurt.

Rachel looked down at it, and the most beautiful look of desire washed over her face.

“Oh god,” she moaned as she stared at it.

“Watch the stairs,” I grunted as I hiked up her dress to her waist.

Thank God she’d worn her panties over her garters or I would have had to rip them off.

I slipped the black thong down to her ankles, she stepped out of them, and I put them in my pocket. I could smell her scent in the air, sweet and musky.

“Are you ready?” I whispered.

She nodded frantically.

“Watch the stairs,” I whispered again as I reached up, grabbed her bare ass, and hoisted her into the air.

She put her arms out to either side, one gun aimed at the door to our left, the other aimed at the stairs to the right.

Then – pressing her against the wall – I slowly lowered her body down on the head of my cock.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” she whimpered as her body slowly sank down the length of my shaft.

Jesus –

She was wetter than I’d ever felt her before.

Hot – slippery – and so, so tight –

It had been years since I’d fucked her. Since I’d fucked anybody.

And it had been months since I’d jerked off.

This was the woman I was wildly in love with –

And the sensation of being inside her was everything I’d fantasized about.

I had to force myself not to come in those first few seconds.

She clamped her lips shut, muffling a passionate cry – “Mmmf!” – as I sank all the way inside her.

Oh Christ –

I bit her neck and kneaded her ass with my hands as I slowly began to rock in and out of her.

“Mm – MM – fuck – oh fuuuuuck!” she whimpered and groaned as I slid a few inches out, then back deep inside her.

I reached one hand up to her breast and felt her hard nipple under the silky material of her dress. I wanted her – all of her, all at once – and I roughly squeezed her breast as I dug my fingers into her ass cheek and thrust deep inside her.

“My clit… play with my clit…” she whispered in my ear, her voice hoarse with desire.

I pulled my hand away from her breast and slipped it down between her thighs. I found the thatch of her hair, damp and hot, and moved my fingertip gently through it –

Until I reached bare skin, hot and swollen and soaking wet.

“OH,” she gasped.

I began circling my thumb over her hood, pulling back the soft skin, stroking the swollen pearl beneath –

“Oh Lars – oh Lars – ” she moaned in my ear.

She was so turned on that I could feel drops of her wetness trickling down my balls.

I began to thrust harder, deeper, as I caressed her clit –

“Ohhhhhhh!” she cried out, a whimper.

I pulled back to look into her face.

Her expression was one of exquisite agony and pleasure all at once, that look where you can’t tell if she’s coming or dying – or maybe both at once.

Her eyes had been focused on the stairs, but she looked at me –

And when her eyes met mine, I sank all the way inside her – pressed firmly on her clit as I rubbed back and forth –

And I whispered, “I love you.”

“OH GOD!” she cried out, a whisper-shout, as she began to come.

Her eyes never left mine as her mouth opened wide in an ‘O’ –

And that’s what pushed me over the edge.

“Rachel – oh FUCK – oh RACHEL – ” I hissed as I gazed deep into her eyes –

“LARS!” she whisper-screamed, and then her eyes rolled back in her head as she felt me explode inside her.

I’ve never come that hard or that long, with burst after burst of my cock throbbing inside her.

When it was over, I nestled my head in the hollow of her neck, gasping for air…

And I felt the trembling of her body slowly ease up and die away.

I pulled back to look at her, my cock still hard inside her.

I was overwhelmed by how beautiful she was… and I smiled.

She grinned back, then kissed me fiercely.

When we finally stopped, she asked, “You said you had another hotel room nearby?”

“Yeah.”

“We need to go, then.”

“To get away from the assassin?”

“No,” she murmured right before she kissed me again. “I need you to fuck me like that all night long.”

148

Ihad to unbuckle my pants to get my cock back under my clothes. Her line about I need you to fuck me like that all night long didn’t do anything to help me go soft again.

Finally, though, I arranged everything so that the crotch of my pants didn’t look overtly obscene.

Rachel readjusted her dress and let the silky material fall back to the floor. Except for the light sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, she looked like nothing had happened.

But apparently looks were deceiving.

“I can feel your cum dripping down my leg,” she said, her voice husky and dark.

FUCK.

I pulled her underwear out of my pocket. “You can wipe it off with – ”

“I like it,” she said, her eyes ravenous as she smiled. “Let’s go to your hotel room. NOW.”

“Fuuuuck,” I whispered as I followed her down the stairs.

Again, nothing she said was helping my cock get any softer.

Before we exited the stairwell, Rachel pulled something out of her purse: two black booties. They looked like something you might wear to climb wet rocks.

“Steel-plated, rubber-covered soles,” she explained as she slipped them over her feet.

“Spy slippers,” I said, amused.

“Of course. Can’t run in heels.”

While she did that, I pulled off my suit jacket and draped it over my arm to hide my Glock. Rachel hid her pistol behind her purse and stiletto shoes, which she carried in her left hand.

Then we exited the stairwell and walked quickly down the second-floor hallway.

There was an exterior fire escape on the side of the building, so we climbed out the window and used the steel ladder to reach the street-level alley.

“Which way should we go?” I asked.

“That way’s Hyde Park,” she said, pointing to our right. “I figure that’s where the shooter was when he fired at you. I say we don’t give him a second chance, just in case he’s hanging around.”

“Agreed.”

We exited the alley onto Knightsbridge, where the entire street was filled with police cars and frantic hotel guests. We quickly walked in the other direction.

Knightsbridge was a heavily trafficked road full of multi-story buildings. If the assassin had gone to high ground since his shot through the restaurant window, we would be sitting ducks – so we grabbed the first taxi that drove by. Not only would it be faster, but it would at least give us some protection.

The driver dropped us off at the Gore Hotel, less than two miles away.

Rachel and I hurried inside, then ran up the steps to my third-floor room.

Once inside, I pulled the nearest dresser over in front of the door and barricaded it. Then I pulled the curtains over the window so no one could see inside.

“I can’t believe we did something so stupid back there,” I said, shaking my head.

Rachel smirked. “It was worth it.”

And then she looped her arms around my neck and kissed me deeply.

This time, we took it slower. Our physical need for each other wasn’t as frenetic as it was during our tryst in the stairwell, and we savored the moment instead of rushing through it.

I drank in the sight of her body as she slid the straps off her shoulders and let her dress fall to the floor. I touched every inch of her – the curve of her hips, the slope of her back – as she slowly undressed me, and we kissed every time a new article of clothing came off.

Finally we stood there naked, skin to skin, our hands exploring each other’s bodies.

“Kneel on the bed,” she whispered.

I did as she asked, my knees bent and my legs folded underneath me.

She got on the mattress and straddled me, one leg on either side of me, and reached down to take hold of my cock.

Then – with her eyes locked on mine – she guided my head to her pussy and slowly took me inside her.

“Ohhhh,” she groaned, then bit her lip as she eased all the way down on me.

She caressed my hair and gazed into my eyes as she undulated her hips, working my cock inside her. We kissed often, but we paused just as often to stare into each other’s eyes – something we’d been denied for years and which was almost as pleasurable as the sex itself.

She had her first orgasm about ten minutes after we started. As it began to build to the point of no return, she moved her hips hard and fast, grinding against me – and then she cried out and flung her head backwards, her spine arched, as she came. I fondled her breasts and enjoyed the sight of her shaking from head to toe.

Once she recovered, she sat back up – my cock still inside her and her thighs still straddling my body – and smiled shyly as she looped her arms around my neck.

Her diamond ring was dangling on its necklace against my chest. She took the ring between her fingers and looked at it.

“You really bought this four years ago?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“You were really going to propose to me that day?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes welled up with tears as she whispered, “Lars… I’m so sorry… I know I – ”

“Shhh,” I whispered, brushing a tear away as it beaded at the corner of her eye. “We’re together now. That’s all that matters.”

She smiled through her tears and nodded her head yes.

“Marry me,” I whispered.

Her eyes opened wide – and she laughed.

“What?!” I demanded indignantly.

“You are not going to propose to me with your cock inside me!” she said.

I grinned. “Why not?”

“What the fuck am I supposed to say when people ask where you proposed? ‘Yeah, he was balls-deep in me when he popped the question.’”

“I think it’s perfect,” I joked, and moved as though to grab my phone. “In fact, we should get a picture – ”

“Don’t you DARE!” she yelled as she howled with laughter.

I could feel the pulse of her pussy around my cock as she laughed – a sensation I suddenly remembered from the first night we’d spent together.

I loved that feeling.

And I’d forgotten all about it.

So many things to rediscover about her…

And I knew what I wanted.

“Marry me,” I said seriously.

She grinned as she gazed deep into my eyes. “Your cock’s still inside me.”

“I can pull out and get down on one knee if you – ”

“Don’t you DARE,” she demanded as she locked her thighs tightly against mine.

We stared at each other for a few seconds more.

“You know,” she said, “I pretty much hated your guts just an hour ago.”

I shrugged. “A lot’s happened in the last hour.”

She laughed again. “Yes, it has.” Then she grew somber. “You really want to marry me?”

I nodded. “With all my heart.”

She bit her lower lip… then smiled. “Take it off and do it properly, then.”

I grinned like a fool as I pulled the necklace from around my neck. “I can pull out and get down on one knee – ”

“Don’t you dare,” she said, her voice smoky and dark. She rocked her hips a little, and I felt her hot and wet all around my cock.

“Fuck,” I moaned as I ripped the necklace off violently and held up the ring. “Rachel Bauer – ”

“Rachel Abbandando,” she whispered as she stared into my eyes.

My heart stopped in my chest.

It was her real name.

I already knew it from what Dario and Gunnar had found –

But it was the first time she had ever told me.

I kissed her softly, then asked, “Rachel Abbandando… will you make me the happiest man alive… and marry me?”

Her eyes shone with tears, but she smiled as she said, “Yes.”

She raised her left hand, and I slipped the ring on her finger. It fit perfectly.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“So are you,” I murmured. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” she whispered.

She kissed me, then pulled away and grinned. “But you have to propose again – with our clothes on – so we can take a fucking picture.”

“Or take a picture fucking,” I teased her.

“Ha ha,” she said without laughing, then gasped as I rocked inside her. “Oh God – ”

“You want to get dressed and take the picture now?” I whispered as I kissed her ear.

“No,” she moaned. “Now I want you to fuck me.”

So I did.

149

An hour later, totally spent, we were lying in each other’s arms when she murmured, “È stato il miglior sesso di tutta la mia vita.”

That was the best sex of my entire life.

I grinned. I knew she was expecting me to ask what she’d said, as we’d done many times in the past –

But I thought I would surprise her instead.

“Ogni volta con te è il miglior sesso di tutta la mia vita,” I replied.

Every time with you is the best sex of my entire life.

Her eyes got huge as she looked at me in shock. “You speak Italian now?!”

I laughed. “Three and a half years in an Italian prison was good for something, at least.”

“I guess so. Your accent, though… it doesn’t sound like my mother’s…”

“It’s Tuscan. My cellmate – and also my friend – was from Tuscany. He’s the one who taught me.”

“Is that how you started working for the mafia?” she asked. I knew she was trying hard to keep the judgment out of her voice. “You met somebody in prison?”

“As a matter of fact, my cellmate is the guy I work for now.” I smiled wryly. “The guy you took a shot at.”

Rachel winced, then glanced down at the diamond ring on her finger. “Um… is that going to be a problem?”

I actually wasn’t sure how Dario would react… although I was pretty damn sure how his brothers would.

“I don’t know,” I said. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Can’t you just quit?”

“I don’t want to quit.”

She stared at me. “Are you serious?”

“They’re my family now.”

Rachel’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head.

“They’re not what you think,” I said. “At least, not the guys I work for. They’re different.”

“Is that so,” she said sardonically. Now she was definitely letting judgment creep into her voice.

It pissed me off me. “You actually worked for one of the worst assholes in the Cosa Nostra when you accepted that job.”

“I told you, I didn’t know,” she snapped. Then she closed her eyes in pain. “Can we just – not? Everything was so perfect – please – ”

That last ‘please’ sounded like she was begging me.

I pulled her closer to me. She didn’t resist.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“I’m sorry, too,” she murmured as she held onto me. “A lot of bad shit happened since you left. I’m not in any position to be throwing stones.”

“You’re really out of MI6?”

“Yeah.”

I could hear in her voice that there was a lot of pain behind that answer.

“Well,” I said, trying to find the silver lining, “the good thing about you being out is there don’t have to be any more secrets.”

“What secrets? Like where I live?”

“No. I was working for MI6 when I was busted in Italy.”

Her reaction was not what I expected.

She jerked away from me like I was a scalding hot stove.

“WHAT?!” she shrieked.

“Rachel – ” I said, trying to calm her down.

“That’s a LIE!” she cried out, her eyes wild with panic. “That can’t be true!”

“It is!” I insisted. “Alistair hired me!”

As soon as I said it, all the blood drained from her face.

“…what?” she whispered in horror.

“Alistair – that guy we met my first week in London,” I said. “He was the one who got me out of the Swedish military.”

Rachel shook her head frantically. “No – he told me he looked for you! He told me he couldn’t find you!”

Now I was the shocked one –

And I quickly became enraged.

“He knew exactly where I was,” I seethed.

“Why didn’t you TELL ME you were in MI6?!” she cried out in desperation.

“I was in prison – ”

“NO – before you LEFT! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!”

Her reaction was almost unhinged. Something was deadly wrong, but I didn’t know what it was – other than Alistair had betrayed me and lied about my whereabouts the last four years.

“He said if I ever told you I was working for him, you’d be forced out of your job,” I explained. “That’s why I never told y– ”

She threw up.

She literally doubled over, got her head over the side of the bed at the last second, and vomited on the floor.

“RACHEL!” I shouted in shock.

When she wiped off her mouth and finally looked back at me, tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“When you came to see me at my house, I was wearing a ring,” she said, her voice trembling. “You asked if I was engaged, and I said you didn’t know him – remember?”

Of course I remembered.

I’d asked her who the guy was, and she’d said –

She’d…

No.

Oh GOD, NO –

“I lied,” she whispered, “because he told me to.”

I knew what she was about to say next, and it felt like the earth would open up and swallow me whole.

Tears ran down Rachel’s face as she whispered, “Alistair was my fiancé.”

PART VII

150

Rachel

Alistair had always had a thing for me. We’d met seven years before when I’d debriefed him and some of my other bosses on one of my first jobs for MI6.

He probably thought he was being subtle about his intentions, but it was rather obvious. Overly complimentary of my appearance… a few veiled passes, delivered in such a way that he could say he just wanted to discuss work over drinks or a meal…

It made me uncomfortable. He was an Assistant Director of Operations in the Europe Division and was on the fast track for advancement. Although I didn’t report to him directly, he was very much in my chain of command.

Whenever he made one of his attempts, I said I was flattered but that I always kept business and pleasure separate.

Still, he kept trying.

And trying.

And trying.

He wasn’t sleazy or gross about it – just annoyingly persistent. He refused to take a hint.

So when I saw Alistair that first week Lars was visiting, I saw an opportunity to put a final nail in the coffin.

We’d just walked into Nova Casa, the Portuguese place I wanted to show Lars, when I heard a familiar voice.

“Rachel?”

There he was – Mr. Assistant Director of Operations himself.

“Alistair,” I said, surprised and unhappy to see him. “What are you doing here?”

“A few of us came for drinks after work.”

That was one of his ways of trying to get me to go out with him: Let’s have a drink after work.

“I thought you were more a fan of Le Gavroche or Club Gascon,” I said.

Both were extremely expensive restaurants that Alistair had offered to take me to. He was a creature of the moneyed class: an education at Eton and Oxford, with plenty of aristocrats for friends.

“Yes, well, one doesn’t always get to choose,” Alistair said with a smile. A slightly snobbish way of saying, Yes, I would have MUCH preferred to go there.

Then he looked at Lars.

I could see the edge of his mouth quiver the tiniest bit.

Probably his insecurity coming out – although Lars was so gorgeous, he would have made most men insecure.

“And you are…?” Alistair asked.

“I’m sorry, I’m being rude,” I said – even though I wasn’t sorry, and I didn’t care if I was rude. I just wanted to get out of there. “Alistair, this is my friend Lars. Lars, this is Alistair, a colleague of mine.”

I would have introduced Lars as my boyfriend, but I wasn’t sure how he would take that.

On the other hand, he had just told me he loved me an hour before, so I doubt he would have minded.

Maybe I should have introduced him truthfully: Here’s the hottest man I’ve ever met. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him – and oh, by the way, he fucks me like a god and gives me earth-shattering orgasms.

THAT probably would have ended Alistair’s little veiled passes for good.

However, a part of me didn’t want to let Lars know exactly how deeply I’d fallen for him…

Just in case.

Self-preservation, I guess.

Lars answered in a friendly voice. “Lars Henriksson.”

Alistair’s mouth twitched again as he shook Lars’s hand. “Alistair Webb. So – you must be why Rachel’s taken a week off from work. How’s the trip so far?”

FUCK.

Alistair had known about that?!

WHY had he known about that?!

He wasn’t my immediate superior. There was no reason for him to know I was on vacation.

The two men chatted about various things – what we’d done so far in London, Lars’s accent – until Alistair asked the one question I didn’t want to answer.

“How did the two of you meet?”

I had brushed Alistair off many times with the excuse that I never mixed business and pleasure; I didn’t want to admit I’d met Lars on my trip to Afghanistan.

So I grabbed his arm and blurted out, “Dating app.”

Lars looked both surprised and amused.

“Oh – how long ago?” Alistair asked.

“A while,” I said curtly.

Alistair gestured towards the bar section of the restaurant. “Well, if the two of you would like to join us for a drink, I’m here with Reginald Blakely and Patricia Leighton – you know both of them, Rachel.”

Two other Oxford alums. Both from money, both in the upper echelons of MI6 management.

I was sure an evening with them would feature lots of gossip about aristocrats – did you hear who Lord Fuckwit is cheating on his wife with? – and which of their trust-fund-baby friends had just returned from the Seychelles.

FUCK no.

I plastered on a fake smile. “Thank you for the invitation, Alistair, but we really must be going.”

“But… you just arrived.” He sounded confused – and a bit petulant, too.

I was annoyed, I was uncomfortable, and I didn’t want to be around him anymore –

So I used the nuclear option. Or at least a very polite version of the nuclear option.

“Yes, well, we’re late for something.”

“What?”

“Sex. Toodle-oo,” I said and dragged Lars with me out of the restaurant.

It was cruel, yes – to so blatantly tell a man who had a crush on me that I was about to go fuck the Viking god I’d just introduced him to.

But it worked.

Alistair completely stopped hitting on me after that, and he never mentioned Lars again.

That is until Lars disappeared.

151

It was about four weeks after Lars had ghosted me and a few days after Sean had talked to the hotel manager and confirmed I worked at MI6.

Sean was still angry at me about that. He refused to talk to me unless it was about work and he absolutely had to.

I was in headquarters for a briefing on an upcoming mission. I had taken over a temporary office to prepare but I couldn’t concentrate.

Instead, I found myself staring out the window towards St. James Park.

Where Lars had told me he loved me…

And where we’d fought before he disappeared.

There was a tap at the door. I looked over, startled –

And saw Alistair frowning.

Great.

Just what I need right now.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I said in a dull, very not-fine voice. “Why?”

“You look like you’re not sleeping. Or eating, for that matter.”

Again with the comments on my appearance.

“I’m fine,” I snapped.

He looked taken aback. “Alright – I was just concerned for you. If there’s anything I can do, I’m happy to help.”

Then he turned and left.

I immediately felt bad.

All of Alistair’s attempts in the past had been fairly innocent. More schoolboy than lecher.

And to be fair, Sean had told me I looked like shit just a few days ago when I went to Operations and –

Operations.

Three months before, Alistair had just been promoted from Assistant Director to Director of Operations in Europe.

If anyone could help me, it was him.

“Wait!” I called out as I jumped up from my chair.

He must have heard me because he turned back and met me at the door of the office.

“Yes?” he asked.

I hesitated.

Should I ask?

It wasn’t appropriate –

And it wasn’t kind, asking the man who had a crush on me to help me find my lover –

But I was desperate.

“…there is something…” I whispered. “But I can’t tell you here.”

Ironically enough, Alistair and I went to Nova Casa – the Portuguese restaurant where I’d blown him off – so we could talk in private. It was after the lunch crowd and before dinner, so we were two of a handful of people in the restaurant.

“First off, I’ll understand if you say no,” I said. “What I’m going to ask you is probably not entirely legal. It’s certainly not something that upper management would look on favorably.”

He smiled. “Are we talking blackmail, or smuggling heroin, or…?”

“I’m serious, Alistair. I… I don’t have any right to ask you what I’m about to ask you.”

He smiled kindly. “Let me be the judge of that.”

“I’ve been dating someone for the last year. Lars Henriksson.”

Alistair nodded. “The Swedish fellow. If I recall correctly, we met here about a year ago.”

I immediately cringed as I remembered the whole We’re late to go have sex thing.

“Yes. Well… he’s disappeared.”

Alistair frowned. “‘Disappeared’ as in he stopped calling you, or ‘disappeared’ as in you should contact the police?”

“…I don’t know.”

“Oh,” Alistair said somberly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Were you looking into him?” I asked. I tried to keep the desperation out of my voice.

“You mean, was Background looking into him to see if he was a honeypot?”

“…yes,” I said and cringed a little more.

In espionage, a honeypot was an attractive covert agent who entered into a sexual relationship with a target to compromise them – either to blackmail them for information or turn them into an asset for intel.

Usually, a female agent was the honeypot, and the male was the target.

Not in this case. Lars would have been the honeypot, and I would have been the target.

“We did,” Alistair said with an apologetic smile. “He checked out. Swedish Special Forces, excellent record.”

I ignored that Alistair’s Oh, the Swedish fellow bit had been a lie. He’d known exactly who I had been talking about.

However, I was more focused on the fact that Background – a division of Operations, which Alistair now headed up – had a file on Lars.

“Somehow, Lars got out of his military service a couple years early,” I said.

Alistair looked shocked. “…really.”

“Yes. He said he was working for a joint UK-Swedish military task force.”

“What UK-Swedish military task force?”

“He wouldn’t say.”

Alistair leaned back in his chair. “That’s… troubling.”

My desperation came out, and I tossed all dignity to the wind. “I know you’re not supposed to do this sort of thing, but could you please see if you can locate him?”

“Rachel…” Alistair said quietly.

“I know, I know – but this is wrecking me, Alistair. What you said back at headquarters was right – I can’t eat, I can’t sleep…”

Alistair looked at me for a long moment… then nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

I had to suppress a sob. “Oh god… thank you,” I said and grabbed his hand in gratitude.

He smiled gently and asked, “What else do you know about him? Anything that might help me trace his whereabouts would be helpful.”

“I know he originally came from Gothenburg, Sweden. He has a friend named Gunnar in Amsterdam – he was in Special Forces with Lars. I met him at Bagram.”

I winced as I said it… because I was admitting that I’d met Lars at Bagram, too.

But if Alistair had seen the file from Background, he already knew that.

“Do you have a last name on this Gunnar fellow?” he asked.

“No… he never told me.”

Alistair took my hand, which was already on his, and squeezed gently. “I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thank you.” I nearly broke down crying.

This was my one ray of hope since the dead end at the hotel – and it was a powerful ray of hope. If anyone could find Lars, it would be the Director of Operations of Europe’s most powerful intelligence agency.

Alistair smiled gently. “Anything I can do to help.”

152

The ray of hope didn’t last long.

Alistair came by my office later. He looked distressed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my stomach immediately sinking.

“Was Lars out of town around…” He checked a Post-It note on the manila folder he was carrying. “…March 3rd?”

My stomach, already sinking, suddenly felt downright queasy. “I don’t know the exact dates, but he was away at the beginning of March… why?”

Alistair got a pained look. He pulled several photographs out of his folder and laid them on the desk in front of me.

They were crime scene photos taken in a snowy landscape. One was of an older man who I assumed had been shot in the back; the exit wound on his chest was the size of a softball. His eyes stared up sightlessly, the corneas frozen white.

Another photograph was of a younger man in an orange jacket. He had been shot through the forehead.

The photos didn’t shock me. I’d seen plenty of dead men in my time.

In fact, I’d killed most of them.

But I was curious why the hell Alistair was showing them to me.

“Hans Solner was an MI6 assent,” he explained. “The Chinese thought they were blackmailing him, but he was actually feeding them false information he got from us. The other man is his bodyguard. They were both killed March 3rd at Solner’s vacation home near Kirkenes, Norway.”

“…so?”

Alistair laid down several more photographs. They were grainy night shots taken from some sort of surveillance cameras.

In them, a man with a blond beard walked along snowy streets in a black knit cap and a heavy jacket.

My heart froze in my chest.

It was Lars.

“This is from security cameras in Kirkenes the night before the killings. A ‘Lars Kinberg’ was registered in a local hotel from March 2nd through the 5th. He called in unexpectedly on the 3rd and canceled the rest of his reservation without going back to the hotel. Did Lars come back into town earlier than expected?”

I remembered the phone call and felt like I might vomit.

I just got back early, is all… Come over. I’ll have the champagne waiting.

I was too stunned to speak. I just nodded ‘yes.’

“We don’t know if he was working for China or a third party,” Alistair said, “but either way, he seems to be playing for the opposing team.”

When I didn’t answer, Alistair said gently, “If Lars disappeared, it’s likely he’s either still on a mission, or he got spooked and defected to whatever country is backing him. Or… something happened to him.”

Something happened to him.

So many possibilities could be covered by those four little words.

“There’s… no trace of him?” I whispered.

“None. He covered his tracks thoroughly this time.”

“What about Gunnar?” I managed to ask.

“There was a Gunnar Olafsson in the Swedish Special Forces at Bagram Air Base when Lars was there… but there’s no record of him after he left. It’s like he disappeared. I’ll keep looking.”

I just stared at the photographs of Lars on the snowy streets of Kirkenes.

“I should take these back,” Alistair said quietly as he gathered the photographs.

“…who else knows about this?” I asked.

“At the moment, no one besides you and me. And… unless Lars resurfaces… I see no need to involve anyone else.”

He didn’t need to explain why.

It appeared that I had been dating a double agent…

Which would have been disastrous for my career. It would throw every mission I had ever done for MI6 into question. The investigation would take months, and even if I was cleared – if I was cleared – no one at the agency would trust me with a mission of any importance ever again.

“By the same token,” Alistair said quietly, “I have to ask you to please never mention this to anyone. If management discovered I accessed these files without proper authorization – ”

“No – I completely understand. The secret dies with me. Thank you, Alistair.”

I forced a smile.

It’s not that I wasn’t grateful to him; I was enormously grateful. He’d risked his career to help me.

It was just…

I was dying inside.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you better news,” he said sadly.

“…it’s better to know… than not to know.”

I tried to make myself believe it.

He nodded, then said, “I’ll see myself out. If you need anything… anything at all… don’t hesitate to ask.”

After he closed the door, I sent an email that I wouldn’t be able to do the debrief because I was feeling extremely unwell.

I was able to keep it together as I walked to my car and drove back to my house.

I reached the driveway before I broke down –

And I sobbed like a baby for 20 minutes before I could finally pull myself together and go inside.

153

Iasked to take a leave of absence for a full month, effective immediately.

Ordinarily, there would have been all sorts of hurdles getting it cleared – but I emailed Alistair and asked him if he could help.

Consider it done, he emailed back.

And lo and behold, it was approved.

That’s what having the Director of Operations on your side could accomplish.

I didn’t do much. Most days, I was too depressed to get out of bed before noon.

When I did get up, I usually started drinking and didn’t stop until I passed out at night.

I cried a lot. I would go for an hour or two not crying, and then suddenly I would think of Lars – or see something that reminded me of him – and burst into tears.

It was hell.

But I got through it.

Three weeks into my self-enforced isolation, Alistair texted me.

No news, but I wanted to check up on you. Get a coffee or tea with me?

I didn’t feel like I could deny him that – not after all he had done for me – so I agreed to meet him the next day.

I had to sober up first.

I dragged myself out of bed, showered for the first time in weeks, and put on some lipstick. That was about all the preparation I could bring myself to do.

I met Alistair at a coffee shop in Vauxhall at 10 AM.

“How are you holding up?” he asked me as we sipped our drinks.

“I can’t believe I got played for a fool.”

I hadn’t meant to say that. The honesty just slipped out.

“It’s not your fault,” he said quietly.

I gave a sharp, bitter laugh. “It was my fault.”

“No,” he said firmly. “He was a bastard, and bastards are good at keeping it hidden.”

As soon as he said it, anger ripped through me. I glared at him like I wanted to kill him.

How DARE you call Lars that!

“I’m sorry,” Alistair said, both apologetic and alarmed by my expression. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Then I asked myself:

Why am I getting mad at HIM?

He’s RIGHT.

“No… no, I’m sorry,” I murmured. “It’s better if I just accept the truth.”

“Well, it was still out of line for me to say it. I apologize.”

I frowned slightly. “Why did you say he was a bastard? Because he’s working for the Chinese?”

Alistair frowned and stared at me like I was speaking gibberish.

“No, Rachel – because he left you. Because he hurt you. He had something incredibly precious, and he threw it away. He was a bastard and an idiot.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. This time, I didn’t get angry at what he said.

Alistair seemed uncomfortable with how much he’d revealed about how he felt. “Well… I should be getting back. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“…I’m getting better.”

That was closer to the truth than I’m alright.

“Good. Take all the time you need… I’ll make sure you get it.” He smiled sadly. “Take care of yourself, Rachel.”

As he stood up to go, I grabbed his hand. “Alistair?”

He looked down at me in surprise. “Yes?”

“…thank you,” I whispered.

He just smiled and squeezed my hand. “You’re very welcome.”

When he left, I felt the strangest emotion:

A little sad that Alistair had gone.

For a while, his presence had lessened my grief…

And I never forgot it.

154

Ireturned to work after a month was up.

I still felt a little shaky, but I resolved to put Lars behind me and get on with my life.

Wherever he was, whatever had happened to him, he had lied to me –

And if he’d betrayed the UK and NATO, then he’d used me as well.

Fuck him.

I threw myself back into my work. Within no time at all, I was back to doing what I did best: risking my life for Queen and Country.

But then, it was easy to go on death-defying missions when you had no life to come back to.

Not one you cared about, anyway.

The one huge change was that Alistair and I struck up a friendship. It was the only thing besides my career that meant anything to me.

I didn’t even attempt to date for two years after Lars left me. I didn’t have sex – nothing. I felt like a nun, shut away in a deserted abbey of my own making.

I was still so angry at him… and so hurt… that it was difficult to move on.

Alistair helped me move on.

Whenever I was in town, we dined together at least once a week.

He made me smile. I never laughed like I had with Lars… but it was something.

Alistair was always kind…

And more than that, he was always there.

Despite the amount of time we spent together, Alistair never made a move on me –

Until New Year’s Eve.

He’d just been promoted to Director of Global Operations. Because of his new position, he’d been invited to a hoity-toity New Year’s Eve party – and he asked me to go with him.

“Please,” he begged me. “It’s going to be aristocrats and government types. I have to go – but it will be dreadfully boring without you.”

He’d already given me so much that I felt obligated to say yes. So I agreed.

He picked me up in a chauffeured limousine. When he came to the door, he was rather dashing in his tailored tuxedo.

“You… look astounding,” he said, his eyes wide.

Maybe it was stupid, but the way he stared at me…

I felt desirable for the first time in a long while. And it felt good.

The limousine was provided by MI6, he explained as he helped me into the back. “Can’t have the Director of Global Operations driving drunk and getting arrested.”

The party was at Buckingham Palace, of all places. I felt like a fairytale princess as we walked in, arm in arm.

Even more impressive were the people who came up to congratulate him: lords and ladies, members of parliament – people who were in the news every week. The head of MI6 even introduced us to the Prime Minister.

I was used to people’s eyes being on me because of my appearance – but here, it was Alistair who was the big draw. He was the one whom everybody circled like moths to a flame.

Everyone treated him with such respect that it made me see him in a different light.

When it finally reached midnight, I was on my fourth glass of champagne. I was buzzed and happy – feeling better than I had in months. Maybe years.

The crowd chanted the countdown: three… two… one! Happy New Year!

Alistair and I smiled at each other awkwardly, knowing what was expected –

And so when he reached in to kiss me, I went with it.

His lips stayed on mine longer than necessary…

And I found I didn’t mind.

When he pulled back, he looked deeply into my eyes. “Rachel… you know I would always be here for you, don’t you? I would never leave you.”

Between the alcohol, the palace, all the famous people, and walking around on the arm of one of the most respected men in the room… the evening’s magic had worked its way past my usual defenses.

“I know,” I said quietly… and let him kiss me again.

It wasn’t passionate. It wasn’t hot. It wasn’t like kissing Lars.

But after two years alone…

It was nice.

And that was something.

When the limousine drove me home around 1 AM, I knew he wanted to come in.

“Should I…?” he asked, leaving the rest unspoken.

“I can’t,” I said as gently as I could. “Not yet.”

“It’s fine,” he said with a smile. “I’m a patient man.”

I let him kiss me again, and then I pulled away. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

When I went to bed, though, I didn’t think about how we’d kissed at midnight.

Instead, I grieved that it hadn’t been with Lars.

But I’m moving on, I reminded myself. I’m moving on.

I made a New Year’s Resolution that I would do just that: move on with my life.

And if Alistair was part of that… so be it.

You know I would always be here for you, don’t you? I would never leave you.

I fell asleep with his voice whispering in my ear.

After having my heart torn out and destroyed, his words felt safe and comforting…

And safe and comforting were enough.

Our weekly dinners became two and three nights a week, and we usually kissed on the couch afterwards.

It took me another month before I went to bed with him.

It was… nice.

It wasn’t anything like the passion and mind-blowing sex I’d had with Lars –

But I forced myself to not compare the two of them. It wasn’t fair.

Nobody could compare to Lars… and now that he was gone, I would only be miserable if I tried to recapture that feeling with someone else.

Being with Alistair was nice, safe, and comfortable.

And I convinced myself that was enough.

I never fell in love with him.

I grew to love him, though. To care about him deeply.

He was kind, attentive, and generous. He treated me like a princess and showered me with gifts.

Plus, since we both worked at MI6, we had a lot in common. He would tell me all sorts of things I knew I shouldn’t be privy to – and it was intoxicating to be close to that much power. I mean, he was on the phone with the Prime Minister every week. The numbers of the most powerful people in government were programmed into his phone.

We became a sort of power couple within MI6. The Director of Operations and the dashing female field agent. The Boss and the Badass.

I won’t lie: the power and status were seductive. I definitely enjoyed it.

Our only disagreements were about my missions. He hated that I was perpetually in danger and pleaded with me to take an administrative position within MI6.

“You can have anything you want,” he said. “Your record is sterling, and with my influence behind you, you could rise in the ranks faster than – ”

“I’m not like you,” I interrupted. “I wouldn’t survive behind a desk. I need the thrill. I need the danger.”

A mean little voice whispered, God knows I’m not getting it with YOU.

But I shut that voice up and buried it in a box so deep that I couldn’t hear it anymore.

I kept going on missions… and Alistair kept sullenly accepting it.

He proposed on a trip to Paris.

I was expecting it. One doesn’t go to Paris and stay in a 1000-euro-a-night hotel suite for a regular old vacation.

When he said he had something special planned for Friday evening, I nodded and smiled.

Then, when I went into the bathroom, I opened my phone and looked at old pictures of Lars.

I’d never allowed him to take pictures of me because of my job, but I’d cajoled him into letting me take a few snapshots of him.

In some, he was grumpy. I grinned as I remembered how he had complained about the double standard.

But in others, he was smiling… and in all of them, he was dashing, and gorgeous…

And the love of my life.

My heart ached when I saw him.

I usually didn’t look at the photos. Not unless I’d had a particularly bad fight with Alistair and gotten drunk afterwards. I knew it didn’t do any good to go and revisit the past.

But after three and a half years of waiting, I had made my peace: either Lars was dead, or he was never coming back.

Either way, it was time to move on for good.

My finger hovered over the screen for almost 30 seconds…

And then I deleted the pictures, one by one.

Each one was like a needle stabbed into my heart.

When it was over, I felt sad… but I also felt free.

Free to move on.

Free to start a completely new life.

Alistair hadn’t been kidding when he said he had something special planned.

After a late dinner at a three-star Michelin restaurant, we took a limousine to the Eiffel Tower.

He escorted me past several guards to the express elevator…

And we went all the way to the top of the Eiffel Tower.

Which was completely deserted.

As we’d entered the grounds, I’d seen signs that said tourists were allowed until 12:45 AM –

Which meant Alistair had pulled some sort of ungodly strings with his counterparts in the French government.

All around us, the lights of Paris glowed like a dream.

“Alistair – what did you do?” I gasped.

He grinned. “I did everything possible to make this moment as special as possible.”

He pulled out a small box and opened it to reveal a ring with an absolutely massive diamond.

“Rachel… would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

The moment I had been expecting had come.

I had prepared for it… and I’d already made my decision.

I’m going to move on.

“Yes,” I said, and kissed him after he slipped the ring on my finger.

To my surprise, I was actually happy.

Not nearly as ecstatically happy as I’d been in the past with another man…

But happy enough.

And that was good enough.

155

And then… everything came crashing down.

It was a week after we’d gotten back from Paris. The ring still felt odd on my finger.

We’d taken off early from work to fix dinner at my place. One of the perks of being engaged to the Director of Operations.

We were drinking wine and chopping vegetables when the doorbell rang.

I frowned. “Who the hell…?”

No one ever came to my house. At least, I couldn’t recall anyone in the last five years I’d lived here.

As a good little secret agent, I had installed cameras at every door and window. Never knew when one of your enemies might track you down and try to kill you at home.

I turned to look at the monitor on the wall –

And it felt like every drop of blood in my body suddenly turned to ice.

Lars was on my doorstep.

Alistair saw my expression and said, “What?”

Then he turned to look at the monitor –

And the blood completely drained from his face, too.

“What’s he doing here?” Alistair whispered.

I didn’t answer. My brain wasn’t working.

“How did he even find you?!” Alistair demanded.

“THAT’S what you’re worried about?!”

“You can’t go out there,” he said, stating it like it was an order.

I stared at him like he was absolutely insane. “It’s my HOUSE.”

“You can’t,” Alistair insisted, though he sounded more petulant this time.

Suddenly, I grew angry. “You said you couldn’t FIND him!”

“I – I couldn’t!” he whined.

I started for the door –

“What the fuck are you doing?!” he hissed.

“He’s been gone three and a half years! I want to know what the hell happened!”

Alistair’s eyes widened in terror. “You can’t tell him I’m here!”

The more he talked, the more astounded I became. “Why not?!”

The doorbell rang again.

Alistair jumped like it was a gunshot.

“The man is an assassin for the Chinese!” he hissed. “If he finds out we’re engaged, there’s no telling what he could do!”

A feeling I hated, but which nonetheless lurked beneath the surface of our relationship, reared its ugly head:

Contempt.

Contempt for Alistair. For his fear. For his weakness.

He had immense power within MI6, yes…

He was one of the most feared men in London, true…

But he had never spent any time in the field.

He had never stared down the barrel of a gun.

He gave his orders from behind a desk. He never had to put his own safety on the line…

And I secretly despised him for it.

I tried not to feel that way.

I hated it when I did, although it happened only occasionally.

I told myself I was being a bitch.

After all, most people don’t have to kill terrorists for a living. It’s unfair to him to hold him to that standard.

But…

I killed terrorists for a living.

Unconsciously, I did hold him to that standard, even though I didn’t want to. Even though it wasn’t fair.

And the fact that Alistair was clearly afraid of Lars…

It made me despise him all the more.

Lars would have never been afraid of anyone.

And he would have never backed down from a fight.

“You can’t tell him I’m here!” Alistair insisted, his voice almost an octave higher than normal. “Or that I’m your fiancé!”

The fact that he didn’t want to admit to being engaged to me disgusted me even more.

“Why does it matter that we’re – ”

“Just DON’T!” Alistair snarled, pivoting from weak to angry. “He could be unhinged!”

I’d had enough.

“FINE,” I snapped, then turned and headed for the front door.

My heart beat wildly in my chest as I walked into the foyer. I felt more panicked than on missions when my life had been in danger –

And then I opened the door.

Lars had been about to walk away –

But he turned back to me.

My breath caught in my throat.

He was impossibly gorgeous.

He mostly looked the same as when he’d disappeared… but there was something new in his eyes. A hardness… a world-weariness. An element of danger that hadn’t been there before.

However, I still felt like I was seeing a man I’d thought was dead…

The ghost of someone I’d buried long ago.

“Rachel,” he said. His voice cracked with the emotion I could see on his face.

At least he’d missed me.

“What are you doing here?!” I hissed. I didn’t want Alistair to overhear our conversation, although I had no choice. If he clicked a button on the kitchen monitor, he could hear everything we said.

Lars frowned like he was taken aback by my less-than-happy reaction.

What the fuck did he expect?

For me to do cartwheels of joy?

“I came to – ”

His gaze suddenly dropped, and a look of nausea washed over his face.

I glanced down –

And saw he was looking at the diamond ring on my finger.

Suddenly self-conscious and guilty – like he’d caught me cheating on him, as stupid and ridiculous as that was – I pulled my hand away and covered the ring with my right palm.

“What do you want?!” I asked. My tone was harsher than I meant it to be –

No it wasn’t.

He’d left me.

He’d abandoned me.

He didn’t get to show up now and pass judgment on me just because I’d moved on with my life!

“I… you’re engaged?” he asked, stunned.

I remembered Alistair’s whiny orders:

You can’t tell him I’m here! Or that I’m your fiancé!

“Not that it’s any business of yours,” I snapped, “but yes.”

“Do I know hi– ”

“Where have you BEEN?!” I cried out.

“I was in prison. In Milan.”

Prison?!

In Milan?!

My mind was reeling.

Was he not mixed up with the Chinese?!

Had all of that been a mistake?!

“I tried to find you,” he continued. “I had Gunnar looking for you for the last three and a half years, but your phone number had changed. So had your email, and I didn’t know your address.”

Gunnar?!

But Alistair looked for Gunnar and couldn’t find him!

More than that, though… Lars had tried.

He’d tried to reach me…

And he hadn’t been able to.

He hadn’t walked out on me.

He hadn’t abandoned me.

Emotions slammed into me like a tidal wave, and I was powerless to stop them.

My vision blurred as a tear rolled down my cheek.

Lars saw it, and the concern in his eyes –

The love I still saw there –

It was too much for me.

I felt like I was dying.

“Rachel – ” he said as he moved towards me –

“STOP!” I cried out as I stepped out of his reach.

My world was coming apart.

It felt like everything I ‘knew’ was crumbling beneath my feet.

If he touched me –

If I felt his skin on mine –

If he transported me back to the day before he disappeared, before he destroyed my heart –

I didn’t know what I would do.

Fall into his arms?

Forget everything else?

Just so I could feel his lips on mine again?

No.

NO.

I’d suffered too goddamn much to just let him waltz back into my life like this –

“If Gunnar couldn’t find me, then how did you find this house?” I snapped, trying to keep control over my emotions.

“I made a friend in prison. He has… connections on the outside. I told him about your mother and how she met your father, so my friend sent people to Pescara to ask around. They found some women who remembered your mother. Once we had her name, Gunnar was finally able to find you.”

Pescara…

My mother’s name…

It was like jumbled clues from a mystery that made no sense.

It made me angry.

“It took you three and a half years to do that?”

Lars looked like he felt horribly guilty. “That was my fault. I didn’t trust my friend at first. But I found you – that’s the important thing.”

Found me…

After you spent three and a half years in –

“You said you were in prison,” I said, slowly putting the pieces together. “Did they arrest you when you went on that mission?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you do?” I demanded. “Why did they put you in jail?”

He looked unhappy, but he answered. “They found me with guns. Unregistered guns that didn’t belong to me. Italy’s really strict about that, so…”

“What were you doing on that mission?” I demanded.

If he’d been working for China, I had to know.

I had to know if he’d thrown away everything – if he’d thrown away us – to betray my country.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.

“It matters to me,” I snapped. “Who were you working for?”

He stood there, looking like he was wrestling with some inner struggle… like he wanted to tell me…

But in the end, he must have decided I would hate him forever if I heard the answer.

“I can’t tell you that,” he said quietly.

Bastard.

Just like Alistair said –

BASTARD.

He’d chosen money, or ideology, or something over us.

But the main thing was, he’d thrown us away.

Thrown away everything we’d had together.

Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I had to look away from him as I said, “You need to go.”

“Rachel… please…”

The plaintiveness in his voice –

The pain –

It set me off.

You don’t GET to act all hurt.

Not after what you did to ME.

I looked at him and felt all my rage break through the surface. “I said, you need to GO. NOW.”

“Rachel, it’s been three and a half years – ”

Oh, he could fucking COUNT.

“That’s right – three and a half years I thought you were DEAD or you LEFT me!”

“There was nothing I could do!” he shouted angrily.

“Well, there’s nothing I can do now,” I said, just as angry.

“Rachel, we have to talk – ”

“No, we don’t.”

“Who are you marrying?” he demanded.

I thought about telling him –

Thought about Alistair’s whining and weakness –

But decided I owed more to Alistair than to the man who’d broken my heart.

“No one you know,” I lied. “I met him after you left.”

“Rachel, please – ”

That look on his face – like he was being tortured –

I couldn’t bear it any longer. If I kept talking to him, I would break.

So I did what I needed to do to end it right there –

No matter how cruel it was…

And no matter how it pierced my heart to say it.

“While you were gone, I moved on,” I said, suddenly unsure it was true. “You should, too – ”

And I slammed the door in his face.

I sat down on the stairs, buried my face in my hands, and began to silently sob.

I prayed for him to leave.

Because if he knocked on the door…

I wasn’t sure what I would do.

Maybe open it back up and fall into his arms.

But…

He didn’t knock on the door.

Instead, after a long pause, I heard his footsteps scuffing on the walk…

As he disappeared from my life all over again.

156

Alistair came out of the kitchen 45 seconds later. By that point, I’d wiped away my tears and gotten control of myself – even if it felt like my insides had been ripped out.

“He’s gone,” Alistair said in relief, then added almost happily, “Well, that went better than expected.”

I glared up at him like he was the most contemptible cretin I’d ever met.

I’d just had my heart torn out, and he was being fucking chipper about it.

He quickly gathered from my expression that I wasn’t quite as pleased as he was.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m just wonderful.”

Now he seemed to understand.

But rather than comfort me, it felt like he started to attack me.

“Why are you wasting a second thought on him?!” Alistair demanded. “He left you – he abandoned you!”

“He was in prison,” I snapped. “In Milan, of all places!”

He’d been in fucking Italy.

Not halfway around the world in China, or South Africa, or Argentina –

But fucking Italy.

Just 600 miles away.

Alistair scoffed. “He’s probably lying.”

“It’s easy enough to check, isn’t it?” I asked angrily. “Why the fuck couldn’t you find him if he was in Italy?”

Alistair looked uneasy. “Like I said, he’s probably lying – ”

“But what if he’s not?!”

“I’ll find out,” he said grumpily.

“And he said Gunnar was looking for me! If that was the case, why couldn’t you find him?”

“If a Chinese spy is looking for you, that doesn’t mean – ”

“STOP SAYING THAT!” I yelled. “You’ve been saying that forever, but there’s no proof!”

“Then why wouldn’t he tell you who he worked for?” Alistair shot back.

I didn’t have an answer for that.

I just turned and started up the stairs.

“Rachel,” he said angrily.

I ignored him.

“Rachel!” he yelled after me.

“I want to be alone,” I said dully, and shut the bedroom door behind me.

I didn’t go down for dinner. I’d completely lost my appetite.

I just lay there in bed and stared into space.

I thought a little about what Lars’s life must have been like over the last three years…

But mostly I was just numb. Like I was dead inside.

Alistair came up after 10 o’clock, undressed, and got into bed beside me.

He put his hand on my shoulder. “Rachel…”

My skin crawled at his touch.

“Don’t,” I said, shrugging him off.

He sighed, rolled over, and didn’t say anything else.

I heard him snoring softly a half-hour later.

I stayed awake well past three in the morning…

Unable to shake the feeling that the life I knew had crumbled beneath my feet.

157

The next day, Alistair confirmed that a ‘Lars Andersen’ had been released from San Vittore prison just a few days before.

“That was why we couldn’t find him!” my fiancé explained like it was all a harmless mix-up. “He was using an assumed name!”

“You didn’t check for aliases?!” I asked, aghast at his incompetence.

“What was I supposed to do, check every blond-haired male in the entire fucking world, dead or alive?! He was convicted under a fake name – that should tell you something!”

“What’s it supposed to tell me, exactly?”

“That he was doing something illegal, and he would rather go to prison under a fake name than let them know his real one! That’s something a spy would do – ”

“Are you going to start bleating about the Chinese again?” I asked coldly.

“If you ever find out who he was working for,” Alistair sneered, “do let me know. Oh, wait – I forgot, he won’t tell you! I wonder why?”

“Bastard,” I snarled.

“At least I’m not a fucking traitor like your former lover!”

I stormed out of the room.

I refused to talk to him for the rest of the day, even when he tried to apologize.

Things only got worse from there.

We probably wouldn’t have slept together anyways – sex with Alistair was only something I was interested in under the best of conditions, and these were far from the best of conditions – but I began to find myself physically repulsed by him. I couldn’t stand his touch, his smell, his very presence.

Every time he tried to come up behind me and kiss my neck, my body reacted as though someone had rubbed a slug across my skin.

I think it was because of the incessant little voice that kept whispering in the back of my mind:

Did he even TRY to find Lars?

Did he even LOOK?

And the most horrible of all:

Could Alistair have actually FOUND Lars if he’d tried – but instead, he took advantage of having his rival removed?

I told myself I was being paranoid. Of course Alistair had looked. He cared about me. He wanted my happiness more than anything.

…right?

At any rate, Alistair didn’t care for me rejecting his advances.

He put up with it for a week – and then he began to beg.

“Please, darling… I miss you so much… it would bring us closer together…”

After a few days of that not working, he tried to badger me.

“We’ve never gone this long without making love!”

Then guilt me.

“Are you really going to let this come between us?”

And then he turned nasty.

“What, your traitor ex-boyfriend gets out of prison, and now all you can do is think about fucking him?” he raged one night when he had a couple of drinks in him.

I had ignored most of Alistair’s passive-aggressive bullshit and incessant whining – But the last comment broke the camel’s back.

“You need to shut your fucking mouth and stay away from me,” I snarled. “In fact, get out of my house – NOW.”

“But I’ve been drinking,” he whined. “I can’t drive – I’m the Director of Operations! If I got arrested – ”

“So call a fucking Uber!”

When he wouldn’t go voluntarily, I used a little pain compliance. I twisted his arm behind him, shoved him out the front door, threw his phone out after him, and told him to fuck off.

In the moment, it was enormously satisfying. And the quiet afterwards was heavenly.

In the long term, though, it proved disastrous.

158

Iwent to work the next morning and checked in with Sean, my research point man. “Do we have any more intel on the Bangladesh mission? I’m supposed to fly out next Monday and – ”

I could tell by Sean’s look that something was wrong.

“What?” I asked.

“…you got pulled off of Bangladesh,” he said hesitantly.

Now it was my turn to frown. “Is the mission delayed?”

“…not exactly…”

“Then what the fuck’s going on?”

“…it got assigned to Burnham.”

Lionel Burnham was an idiot who made a complete cock-up of everything he touched. But he was a well-connected idiot – plus he had a penis, so all his failures tended to get chalked up to ‘bad luck’ or ‘unforeseeable circumstances.’

“What did they put me on, then?” I asked.

“…nothing.”

I stared at him. “Nothing?! You’ve got to be fucking kidding me – ”

And then I knew exactly why I’d been pulled off of Bangladesh.

Rage began pumping through my veins.

“Rachel…” Sean said, sounding unnerved. “I know that look… people wind up dead when you get that look…”

“Wait right here,” I said, then turned and walked out.

“Rachel?” he called after me. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s a BAD idea – Rachel?! DON’T DO IT!”

I stormed over to see Alistair, but the double doors of his office were closed.

His bootlicking secretary, who sat to the right of the double doors, informed me that The Director of Operations is in a meeting and can’t be disturbed.

I went ahead and disturbed him anyway.

I tried the doors. When I found them locked, I gave them a massive kick with the sole of my boot.

The doors went flying open with a CRACK –

Revealing Alistair, two members of Parliament, and another division head of MI6.

They all stared at me in stunned surprise.

Normally, the level of power assembled in that room would have given me pause –

But at the moment, I didn’t give a fuck.

I had no fucks left to give.

“Ah – my lovely fiancée,” Alistair said, plastering a sickly smile on his face as he got up and walked around his desk towards me. “Making one of her famously dramatic entrances – ”

“Why was I taken off of Bangladesh?” I snapped.

“Sir – sir,” his secretary moaned, “I had no idea she would kick open the door – ”

“It’s alright, Harris, just go back to your work,” Alistair said with a smile, but he stared daggers at him like You’ll PAY for this later, you fool!

Harris slunk away to his desk like the frightened little mouse that he was.

Alistair came up to me, took my elbow, and whispered, “We can talk about this later – ”

I shrugged him off violently. “No, we’ll talk about it now. Why was I taken off of Bangladesh?”

Alistair turned and smiled ingratiatingly at his guests, who were staring at us like they were watching the most fascinating soap opera ever. “Excuse us, gentlemen – this will take just a second – ”

“No,” I snapped, “let’s talk about it right here. They’ve got the security clearance. Why was I taken off of Bangladesh?”

“You were reassigned, darling,” he said with a fake smile. “That’s all.”

“No – I was taken off the mission and not assigned to anything else. Why?”

Alistair clenched his jaw like he was deciding whether he was going to take this all the way.

He apparently made the decision to go for it.

“Well, I was hoping to save it for an official announcement,” he said in a chipper tone of voice, “but you’re being promoted!”

I stared at him angrily. Field agents didn’t get promoted unless it was out of the field.

“Promoted to what?”

“Joint Field Command.”

Joint Field Command was the section within Operations that researched, assigned, and supervised field agents. It was a bureaucratic post for agents who’d had a few too many close calls and wanted to call it quits. Agents who had lost their inner fire – or their nerve.

“I don’t want your promotion,” I snarled. “I want to stay in the field.”

“Well, you’re not going to stay in the field,” he hissed.

“Why?”

He grimaced. “I don’t think we need to get into specifics right now – ”

“Oh, no, please get into the specifics.”

Alistair cracked his neck to the side, then stood ramrod still. “There have been certain… reports about your performance in the field – ”

“Is that so?” I asked in a tone of sardonic surprise.

“And… it’s felt, not just by me, but others in the chain of command, that you would do better in a supervisory position – ”

“Oh, really,” I said, nodding like I finally understood. “And here I thought it was because I wouldn’t fuck you for the last two weeks.”

There was a gasp from one of the other men in the room.

Alistair’s eyelid twitched, and a vein pulsed in his forehead. “I don’t think we need to bring our private life into this discussion – ”

“OR,” I said, “ maybe it was because I had to throw you out of my house last night because you got drunk and started saying bullshit you ought not have said.”

“That’s enough,” he hissed. He grabbed my arm roughly and tried to push me out of the room. “You will go back to your office and – ”

Alistair obviously didn’t know a thing about arm holds because I easily twisted out of his grasp. It required bending his wrist back a bit. Painful, but nothing that would cause any damage.

“I will not go back to my office – ” I snapped –

And that’s when Alistair slapped me.

This time, there was an audible gasp from all the men behind him.

“Really, Webb, this has gone far enough!” the other MI6 guy snapped.

None of them moved to help me, though.

I turned back to Alistair and stared at him.

I don’t know how to describe his expression.

It was a strange combination of shock…

Horror at what he’d done…

And something verging on glee.

Like he’d just shown me exactly who was boss.

The sting on my cheek wasn’t what stunned me –

It was that he’d done it at all.

The thought flashed through my head, THIS is the man you were going to spend your life with?!

And then I exploded in rage –

And hit him in the face.

A clenched fist right to the jaw.

I didn’t pull my punch.

He crumpled to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Now all the other men screamed in outrage.

One dropped to his knees to help Alistair on the floor.

Alistair petulantly pushed him away as he stared up at me.

“You – you – ” he gasped, looking up at me like he couldn’t comprehend what had just happened.

“I quit,” I hissed.

Then I pulled off my engagement ring and threw it on the floor.

“I quit EVERYTHING!” I shouted.

Then I turned and stormed out of the room –

And MI6 –

Forever.

159

Ordinarily, there would have been an entire process to leave MI6.

Exit interviews, paperwork, lots of legal agreements to sign.

But when you were sleeping with your boss – and you punch him out in front of two Members of Parliament – MI6 apparently expedites the process.

Thirty minutes after I got home, a representative from the agency came knocking on my door.

I knew him. Charlie Buckminster. Former field agent, now in Joint Field Command – the same job Alistair had wanted to ‘promote’ me to.

Not a bad guy, all things considered. He’d simply lost his edge after being shot one too many times and had started fearing dying more than craving the adrenaline rush of missions.

“Is it true?” he asked when I opened the door.

“It is.”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Fuck Alistair.”

“Not anymore,” I said drily.

He laughed, then grew somber. “They’ll never be able to replace you, Bauer.”

“They’ll find somebody else.”

“Sure, they can get somebody else to fill the job… but they can never replace you.”

I smiled sadly. “Thanks, Charlie.”

He asked for all the weapons MI6 had assigned me, and I handed them over. Two sniper rifles, five pistols, two suppressors, a shotgun, several grenades, and a boatload of ammunition.

I gave him everything MI6 had given me over the years…

But I didn’t give him everything I owned.

Not that I told Charlie that.

He carried to his car in duffel bags and opaque plastic tubs so as not to alarm the neighbors.

Once he was done, he said, “You should have two more paychecks coming, unless Alistair decides to be petty and hold them up for some bullshit reason.”

“He will. Count on it.”

“I’d like to help, but I can’t exactly fuck with the Director of Operations.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

“Well… I’ll miss you, Bauer.”

“I’ll miss you too, Charlie.”

He started towards his car, then turned back to me. “Your last name – Bauer – that’s not your real last name, right?”

“No.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Don’t know. Hadn’t considered it.” I paused. “I’ll probably keep it. Less of a hassle.”

He nodded. “Good luck.”

Then he got in his car and drove away.

I wish I could say I was as easily quit of Alistair as I was of my old job.

He came over to my house that night and rang my doorbell.

He started off apologetic. “Darling, this has all been a misunderstanding! Please, let me in so we can talk!”

Without opening the door, I informed him it was over and that I wanted him out of my life forever.

‘Apologetic’ quickly became ‘irritated.’ “Why would you do this to me?! I’ve never been anything but good to you!”

He eventually turned downright aggressive, pounding on my door with his fist and shouting, “You’re nothing without me – do you hear me?! You fucking ungrateful BITCH!”

I told him I was calling the police to have him removed for trespassing on my property.

He said I was bluffing.

When the cops showed up, he tried to bluster his way through it. “Do you know who I am?”

That was when I came out and explained to the police that he was my ex-fiancé and ex-boss, that he was harassing me, and would they please remove him from the premises.

When they forced him to leave, he was cursing me under his breath.

After that, I began to get the unnerving feeling that he was stalking me. I never saw him, but I had that ‘hairs standing up on the back of my neck’ feeling.

I wasn’t afraid of Alistair.

Not physically, anyway. I could whip his ass with both hands tied behind my back. In fact, I could probably do it hopping on one foot.

However, he was petty, vindictive, and accustomed to using the bureaucracy of MI6 to get what he wanted.

I figured he would try to fuck me over in some way.

I just had no idea how he would do it.

So I kept my eyes open.

After I quit, I spent the first several weeks going to places I’d visited with Lars.

St. James Park… some of the restaurants we’d gone to…

Occasionally, I even went to the hotel and rented the room he always stayed in.

I usually got drunk on alcohol from the mini bar, sat on the bed, stared out the window, and cried.

I considered trying to contact him but decided it was best to let it go.

No matter what else had happened, he had still refused to tell me who he’d been working for.

And as much as I hated to admit it, I feared Alistair might be right about Lars’s entanglements. The last thing I needed to do was get involved with a spy working for China.

Not only would it lead to more heartache, but Alistair was no doubt watching me… waiting for me to slip up so he could arrest me, charge me with espionage, and have me thrown in prison…

Unless I came back to him on my hands and knees.

Fuck that.

So I contented myself with getting drunk, reliving the past in a lonely hotel room…

And crying a lot.

As predicted, MI6 held my final paychecks for bullshit reasons – ‘pending the Legal Department’s review of the assault of the Director of Operations.’

Alistair was going to make me suffer as much as he could.

I had some savings, though not a tremendous amount. I was alright for a while.

However, it became clear after a month that I needed to start making money again. My mortgage wasn’t going to pay itself.

I made some discreet calls – inquiries about what position a former secret agent could aspire to –

Which is how I found out that Alistair had burned me.

As in, ‘torched my reputation.’

He’d put out the word that I was emotionally unstable, potentially mentally ill, violent, and ‘difficult.’

Fucking asshole.

It made me want to go track him down for Round Two and soundly beat him to a pulp. If I was going to be tarred and feathered, I might as well get the satisfaction of what I was being accused of.

But I decided to let that go, too, and find something else that suited me.

I just had no idea what it might be.

Since I had some free time on my hands, I went to see John Morris, my old Krav Maga instructor – the man who had changed the course of my life when he saved me as a teenager.

He was getting up there in years. He still owned the studio, but his son had taken over teaching the classes.

John and I hugged and laughed. He asked me what I had been doing the last ten years. I told him.

“Holy shit,” he said, clearly impressed.

I told him all about my inglorious exit from MI6 and how I was struggling to find work.

“Well, I’d love you to teach some classes here at the dojo – a former MI6 agent would be a hell of a draw – but I know we can’t pay you the kind of money you deserve.”

I thanked him but confirmed I needed something a lot more lucrative.

He scratched his chin. “Well… when in doubt… do what you’re good at.”

Shit.

That was rough advice when what you’re good at is killing people.

Which led me back to Sean, my old research guy in Operations.

I couldn’t very well call MI6 to ask to talk to him – they would listen in on the call – but I knew the pub where Sean hung out. He used to tell me about it all the time.

So I went there around quitting time and waited.

It took an hour, but he finally showed up.

As soon as he saw me, he groaned. “Oh no…”

“Nice to see you, too,” I said tartly.

“Just associating with you is going to be the death of me.”

“Then let me buy you a drink. Send you off to the afterlife in style.”

A couple of pints later, Sean’s tongue was finally loosened.

“You could be a mercenary,” he suggested. “There’s tons of outfits looking for mercenaries.”

“I don’t want to go into warzones with a bunch of meatheads who just want to fuck shit up.”

“You want to go into warzones by yourself and fuck shit up?” Sean asked.

“No.”

“No to which part? The warzones, by yourself, or fucking shit up?”

“I’m not partial to warzones or fucking shit up.”

“But you’d work solo,” he clarified.

“Yes. But I don’t want to do anything illegal.”

Sean raised one eyebrow.

I tried again. “I don’t want to do anything immoral.”

Now he raised both eyebrows.

“I don’t want to do anything horrible,” I hissed.

Sean burped. “Depends on your definition of ‘horrible,’ doesn’t it?”

“What’s your definition of horrible?”

“Murdering good people for money.”

“Jesus,” I said, horrified.

“But killing bad people for money… that’s completely different. I mean, that’s basically what you did for the last eight years, right?”

“What the fuck, dude?” I whispered, looking around us to see if anybody was listening.

“They don’t care,” he said with a dismissive wave.

He was right about that. Nobody was close enough to our booth to listen in, and they were only interested in their pints of beer, anyways.

Sean continued. “Answer the question: that’s basically what you used to do, right? Kill bad people for money?”

“I took out targets – ”

“In extra-judicial renditions of blah blah blah bullshit,” he said, slamming down his pint glass and staring me in the eye. “At least fucking admit to it.”

“I didn’t do it for the money.”

“No, you did it for Queen and Country – but you still got a paycheck, right?”

“Yes, but – ”

“Therefore, you got paid to kill bad people. Same fuckin’ thing.”

I smiled sarcastically. “And there’s SO many jobs out there to kill bad people for money.”

“More’n you’d think.”

“…what?” I asked, stunned.

“Well, I mean, there’s a lot more jobs to kill anybody for money, no questions asked… but there’s still plenty of jobs to take out bad guys.”

I couldn’t help but ask. I was too fascinated by the whole topic to let it go.

“What kind of bad guys?”

“Murderers who got off on technicalities… pedophiles… kiddie pornographers… rapists who got away with a slap on the wrist – ”

“And people pay for this?!”

“Well, I mean… the people who do the killing don’t do it for free.”

“Yeah, but the payment’s probably something absurd like 500 pounds, right?”

“Nah. I see shit all the time where it would be a service to humanity to take the fucker out, and they’re offering 20,000 pounds.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I whispered.

“Nope. The political jobs are even more lucrative, but those are kinda sketchy.”

“What do you mean, ‘political jobs’?”

“What – you don’t think MI6 gives everything to agents like you, do you?”

“I’d heard rumors…”

“They’re not just rumors. We farm out all sorts of shit to independent contractors. Stuff MI6 doesn’t want to be connected to in case it goes wrong. Other countries do it, too – especially countries that used to be in the Soviet Union. Hungary… Romania… Ukraine’ll pay a lot of money for certain Russian targets, and vice versa for the Russians.”

“How do you know about all this?”

“I’m a researcher,” he said, like Duuuuuh. “I research terrorists, and they ain’t exactly on Facebook. You have to go onto the Dark Web and, like, root around.”

The Dark Web was the term for a vast ocean of websites you couldn’t access with an ordinary internet browser. To enter a Dark Web site, you had to have the exact numerical address – a long string of numbers – and the password to get in. It was like an endless hallway of identical, blank, locked doors – and the only way to find the door you wanted was to be told by someone else who was in the know.

The Dark Web was built for secrecy, and behind many of those locked doors was illegal activity – some of it absolutely horrendous. There used to be a site on the Dark Web called the Silk Road where you could buy anything: drugs, rocket launchers… human beings…

I didn’t deal with the Dark Web for my job. I just went to foreign countries and took out whomever MI6 told me to.

But Sean dealt with it a lot.

And it apparently took its toll.

Sean stared out into nothingness. “I see a lot of really bad shit out on the Dark Web… but I also see some shit where I’m like, ‘Huh… I kinda hope they do hire somebody to kill that asshole cuz he deserves to get whacked.’”

“So there are jobs where you can get hired to kill murderers and rapists and child pornographers?”

“OH yeah.”

“You’d have to research them, though,” I pointed out. “To make sure you weren’t getting hired by some psychopath to kill his wife so he could avoid paying her off in a divorce.”

“Well, yeah, obviously,” Sean said and burped. “But that’s what I do. I research shit.”

“Are there jobs in the UK?”

“There’re jobs all over. I’d advise you not to do any in the UK, though. Don’t shit where you eat.”

“‘Advise me not to do any in the UK’ – that’s funny. I don’t even know how to access any of this stuff.”

“It’s easy. I can teach you.”

“Or… you could just pass along jobs you think are legitimate…”

Sean scowled. “NO.”

“…for a finder’s fee.”

Sean paused… then asked, “Hypothetically speaking… what kind of a finder’s fee?”

I shrugged. “Ten percent?”

“TEN PERCENT? Ten percent to go swimming in mental sewage every day, having to deal with the absolute dregs of humanity – ”

“You have to do it anyway.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have to do it for you. And if our bosses – sorry, MY bosses, since you fuckin’ quit – if MY bosses ever found out I was hustling jobs out to you on the side – ”

“So what do you want?” I interrupted.

“…twenty percent,” he said, unsure of himself.

“Fine.”

“Shit, I knew I should’ve asked for 25%,” he grumbled.

“Twenty percent is pretty good for not having to kill anybody. ”

“Yeah… alright, fine.”

I offered him a hand. “Partners?”

He shook my hand grumpily. “Partners. Now buy me another round to celebrate.”

160

With Sean’s help, I began weeding through various jobs he found on the Dark Web that fit our criteria of ‘killing bad people for money.’

Some fell apart once we looked closer. For instance, angry spouses who wanted to get rid of a husband or wife, but their justifications – ‘he’s a pedo,’ ‘she abuses the children’ – turned out to be extremely unlikely once we did the research.

Well… once Sean did the research.

You can learn a lot from hacking into a person’s computer… or a nanny cam.

Other jobs progressed to talking to the client over encrypted chats. I actually took a couple of those.

One was in Hungary, where a 27-year-old man had drugged and raped a dozen young women. He’d gotten away with it because his father was a powerful politician with a lot of influence.

Unfortunately for the 27-year-old, one of his victims had a father with a lot of influence, too – in the form of money.

The client was heartbroken about his daughter… and furious enough to offer 30,000 euros to anyone who would kill the rapist.

I happily obliged.

It was an easy job. I made it look like a mugging gone bad, then left town an hour later.

The multiple rapist got his just desserts…

Sean got his finder’s fee…

And I was able to pay my bills for several months.

Then there was the pedophile priest in southern France. The Vatican had been covering for him for over 30 years – we’re talking hundreds of children over three decades – and he was currently abusing a boy in his village. Several of his parishioners had pooled enough money to hire someone to remove him from his job permanently.

I took that one for a vastly reduced fee.

Best of all, no one ever learned my name or saw my face. They only knew me by the name I chose:

Diana.

The Roman goddess of the hunt.

There were a couple other jobs… then more.

Word of mouth spread. We no longer had to go look for jobs – they came to us.

And then…

I got the oddest offer of all.

“We’ve got an odd one,” Sean told me at the pub. We met regularly in a booth in the back when the place was mostly deserted.

“‘Odd,’ how?”

“They want you to whack a guy in the mafia.”

I stared at Sean. “Come again?”

“What? That’s exactly the kind of bad guy we should be taking out.”

“‘We’ should be taking out, huh?” I asked with a smirk.

“Hey – I’m a part of the team,” Sean said haughtily, like I was churlish to overlook his contribution. “Hence, ‘we.’”

“Okay, whatever. But mafioso sounds like a big step up from rapists and pedophiles.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why they’re willing to pay 200,000 euros.”

I nearly choked on my beer. “What?!”

“Yep. But… there’s a catch.”

“What, that it’s the fucking mafia?!”

“No. You have to meet the client in person.”

“Unh-unh. No way.”

“Hold on a second – here’s the interesting part: they’re willing to pay 20,000 euros just to meet you, even if you decide not to take the job.”

I stared at him. “They’ll pay 20,000 euros just to meet?”

“And discuss the job.”

“Why does this sound like the beginning of a fucking horror movie?” I muttered.

“Come on – if I’d told you five months ago that you could make a really good living knocking off rapists, pedophiles, and other assorted scum of the earth, would you have believed me?”

I sighed grumpily. “Who’s the client?”

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t say.”

“How do we know he’s not in the mafia?”

“The mafia doesn’t farm out hits,” Sean said derisively. “Especially not at 200K a pop. Whacking people is what they do. It’d be like a… I don’t know… like a male porn star paying somebody else to fuck for him.”

“That’s a delightful metaphor,” I said sarcastically. “Thank you so much.”

“Anytime. Oh – plus, they’re willing to reimburse you for travel expenses and they insist you fly first class.”

“And they’ll pay me 20,000 euros just to meet.”

“Yup.”

“Without any commitment to do the job.”

“That’s right.”

I sighed. “…fine… set it up.”

It turned out to be a hell of a meeting.

161

Two days later, I caught an early morning flight to Florence – first class.

A driver in a suit was waiting for me at the airport with ‘Diana’ written on a piece of paper. I hadn’t brought any luggage – I was flying back later that evening – so we proceeded to a black BMW sedan. I got in the back, and the driver whisked us away.

We didn’t talk. Instead, I used the opportunity to look at the beautiful hills, vineyards, and olive groves. Despite all my world travels, I had never been to Tuscany. I considered pushing my flight until the next day so I could rent a car and explore. One of the perks of not working for the Man anymore was that I could do whatever the hell I wanted.

After 45 minutes of driving through the countryside, the BMW turned down a small road and reached a guardhouse with metal gates. The man inside the booth came out and manually opened the gates for us, and we drove on through.

A minute later, we reached a two-story villa – a McMansion built within the last 30 years. Its primary goal seemed to be to flaunt the owner’s wealth rather than his taste.

The BMW stopped in the round driveway outside the front door. The driver got out and escorted me inside.

As we walked down the halls, we passed multiple men with pistols holstered underneath their suit jackets. All of them watched me with a mix of hostility and curiosity.

When we reached two large wooden doors, the driver knocked.

From the other side, a cultured voice said in English, “Come in.”

The driver gestured at the doors as though to say, You’re on your own from here and walked away.

I opened the door and quickly scanned the room.

It was a library with high ceilings and massive mahogany bookcases. Like the house, the room felt like it was primarily for show. Most of the books on the shelves were leather-bound and fairly new. I figured they had been purchased to complete the room’s ‘look’; furthermore, I would have bet good money that 95% of them had never been opened.

At the far end of the room, a middle-aged man sat behind a desk. His most prominent features were his grey-flecked mustache and goatee, which made him look a bit like the devil – if the devil were a fifty-something Italian male. He was powerfully built, but had a gut that came with age and too much good food. His piercing eyes sparkled with intelligence, and he wore an immaculately tailored three-piece suit that displayed far more taste than the rest of the house combined.

A much younger man stood off to the side amongst the bookcases. I was betting he was the older guy’s son. They had very similar features, although the younger man was clean-shaven. He was tall and wiry beneath his expensive suit. No tie or vest, though, unlike his father. He was handsome, but his face seemed frozen in a perpetual scowl.

In my job with MI6, I had run across a lot of sadistic bastards – warlords, terrorists, torturers. The younger man had the same look of cruelty they all shared.

And finally, a young, pretty woman was sitting in a chair apart from the other two. She had long brown hair and steel-rimmed glasses that made her look studious. She wore modest, neutral designer clothes, and her expression was calm but serious. Nothing about her features suggested a familial connection to the two men.

“Ah,” said the middle-aged man in a deep voice, “our guest. Welcome, Diana.”

“Thank you,” I said. I kept my distance so I could watch all three of them at the same time.

“Please, sit,” my client said, gesturing to one of several chairs across from his desk.

“I’ll stand, thank you.”

He chuckled, then turned to the younger man and woman. “Sit over here by me, you two, so she can keep an eye on you.”

The younger man looked pissed, but he went over and sat down as ordered. The woman did the same without any hint of complaint.

“Better?” my client asked, an amused smile on his face.

“Much,” I said, then pulled the third chair back far enough from the others that I would have plenty of time to react if someone pulled a gun.

Only then did I sit.

“Thank you for meeting me in person,” the devilish man said.

“You’re welcome.”

“As I made clear in my earlier communications, you’re under no obligation to accept the job. But here,” he said as he slid a folder across the desk, “is the target I need you to eliminate.”

I picked it up and looked inside. There were multiple photos of a man in his late 20s or early 30s with model-like looks.

His facial features looked fairly similar to my client.

I looked up and quirked one eyebrow.

The older man smiled. “Dario Rosolini is a distant cousin of mine. He’s also a mafia don who just got out of prison. I want him gone.”

There was a newspaper clipping with a photo of Rosolini outside a court building. The headline read in Italian, MAFIA HEIR PLEADS GUILTY TO BRIBERY.

“If you don’t read Italian – ” my client started.

“Parlo e leggo, basta trovarlo,” I replied.

I speak and read it just fine.

“Ah,” my client said with a smile. “Meraviglioso.”

“For the purposes of this meeting, though, we should probably stick to English,” I suggested.

“As you wish.”

“So what did this cousin of yours do that makes you want him dead?”

“Well, you see… I’m the person who sent him to jail.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really.”

“Yes. Behind the scenes, mind you. I didn’t testify at his trial – I merely gave the prosecutors evidence of his family’s corruption and let them follow the trail. Dario doesn’t know about my involvement – or at least I hope he doesn’t – but I’m worried he’ll discover it now that he’s out of jail and has taken over the family business. And once he does… I’m a dead man.”

“Won’t his death make anyone else suspect your involvement?”

“He’s a mafioso. He has a thousand enemies in the drug and sex trafficking trades. Any one of them could be the culprit.”

“A thousand enemies,” I said drily. “I’m assuming that means he’s prepared for a thousand enemies.”

“Which is why I’m offering 200,000 euros for the successful completion of the job.”

I looked at the pictures again.

Between the corruption, the drugs, and the sex trafficking, Rosolini certainly seemed like the kind of man who deserved to get his ticket punched.

But now I was curious about my client.

“And you,” I asked. “How did you make your money?”

“Why the fuck do you need to know?” the younger man sneered, the first time he’d spoken. Even his voice sounded cruel and vicious.

Before I could reply, my client cleared his throat angrily and stared at the younger man, who fell into a sullen silence.

“Please excuse my associate,” my client said. “In order to establish trust, I’m more than willing to be at least a little open. I’m partner in a company that’s one of the biggest exporters of olive oil to the United States. Which is why I’d like to keep my involvement in this matter completely anonymous.”

It was plausible enough… but something didn’t quite feel right about it.

It didn’t matter. I could have Sean look into the client’s story once I left.

“So why meet face-to-face?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it have been better to have actually remained anonymous?”

“I have a question to ask you – one that needed to be asked in person. I also wanted to assure you that before I ask it, I’m not trying to blindside you or threaten you in any way. I merely need to know if you’re the person who was recommended to me.”

My stomach tightened a little. “What’s the question?”

“Is your name Rachel Bauer?”

I had NOT been expecting THAT.

I’d thought he might ask how many people I’d killed, or the most well-guarded person I’d ever taken out.

But I never would have guessed he knew my name.

I stared at him in shock.

My client looked over at the young woman with the glasses.

If she had any reaction, I certainly didn’t see it – but my client immediately turned his eyes back to me and said, “So… are you Rachel Bauer, or not?”

“Who gave you that name?” I asked coldly.

“So you are,” he said with a smile. “I’m friends with an Englishman who is, let’s say, ‘politically connected.’ He suggested you. He also said you worked for MI6 once upon a time. Is that part true as well?”

Now I really was alarmed.

I began building a mental list of people who might have outed me, but the number grew into the double digits within seconds.

Any Member of Parliament who had dealings with MI6 – like the two guys who had been there when I punched Alistair – could have found out my name.

Although it would have been illegal – and potentially treasonous – to reveal that information to anyone who didn’t have the proper security clearance.

But amongst the incredibly wealthy, it was probably just a juicy tidbit shared amongst friends.

Stock tips… investment opportunities…

Information on assassins for hire…

“You seem to know a lot about me,” I said icily.

He held up his hands in a placating motion. “As I said, I merely wanted to make sure you were who I thought you were. My source said you were the best MI6 agent in decades and that you’d left under unfortunate circumstances to strike out on your own.”

The words were flattering – but no less alarming.

If someone knew my true identity and could connect it to my codename Diana…

Then how many fucking people out there knew who I actually was?!

“Who told you?” I demanded.

“That, I cannot say,” he replied apologetically.

“How fucking convenient.”

In an apparent bid to calm me down, my client said, “My source was also quite emphatic that if I ever told anyone else that name, you would likely kill me. So I assure you, your secret is safe with me and my associates.”

I continued glaring at him for a few seconds, then sighed in annoyance. “Alright. Let’s assume for the moment that I am Rachel Bauer and that I plan to take your job. Are there any other people I need to kill? Lieutenants or other associates of this Rosolini fellow?”

“No,” my client said with a relieved smile. “If you kill him and him alone, that will be quite satisfactory.”

“How well guarded is Rosolini, exactly?”

He pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper like an architect might use. “Why don’t we take a look?”

162

The job was a logistics nightmare.

A ten-foot wall circling 100 acres, with another thousand acres of land around it owned by Rosolini.

A three-story mansion as big as a palace, with 40 to 80 armed guards at any given moment.

“Where is this place?” I asked as I stared at the map.

Rosolini was Italian, so I was expecting somewhere in Italy –

“Just down the road,” my host said.

I wasn’t expecting that.

I looked at him in shock. “How ‘just down the road’?”

“About a 45-minute drive.”

I stared at him. “You live 45 minutes away from the man you think might KILL you?!”

He smiled. “You can understand my concern.”

“I guess so.” I looked back at the map and formed a mental checklist of basic information. “What are the surveillance systems like?”

“What do you mean?”

“How many cameras are there?”

“That I do not know,” my host said apologetically. “I know they’ve installed some recently, but that’s all I know..”

I stared at him. “You expect me to go in there without knowing how many cameras there are or where they’re pointed?”

“For 200,000 euros?” the son/nephew/associate sneered. “Yeah – we do.”

I was about to rip him a new asshole when my host intervened.

“If you can’t be helpful,” the older man snapped, “be quiet.”

The younger guy shut his mouth and stewed in silent resentment.

“Does Rosolini come out of the house much?” I asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“I want to know if I can get a clear shot at him while he’s outside. Otherwise, I’m going to have to aim through a window.”

“What about an outdoor wedding? He’d be outside for that.”

“Why, is there one coming up?” I asked.

“Yes. Very soon, in fact.”

Huh.

My client was full of surprises.

“Is it a mafia wedding?” I asked.

“Obviously,” he said drily.

“Then I’m guessing there will be triple the level of security. So, no – I don’t think the wedding’s a good idea.”

“What if I could get you into the wedding as a guest?”

I stared at him. “How would you do that?”

“I’m his cousin, remember.”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“A big part of this is getting out alive. Trying to kill the most heavily guarded man during an event when they’re preparing for trouble – the odds are terrible.”

“They do it in the movies,” the younger guy sneered.

“This isn’t the fucking movies,” I snapped.

The younger guy fixed me with a hateful stare but said nothing back.

“What about infiltrating the house?” my host suggested.

I pointed at the map. “See all this open area around the mansion? That’s a kill zone. They’ll see me coming a mile away, and I’ll be a sitting duck. Infiltration is the last thing I want to do – which leaves a sniper shot.”

“Then assume you’ll need to make the shot through a window.”

“Is the glass bulletproof?”

“I’ve heard some chatter about it being replaced recently. You should assume it is.”

“Any idea what level of protection it is?”

“Assume the very highest.”

“So what you’re telling me is, assume the worst in all situations.”

The older man smiled wryly. “More or less.”

Great.

“So… can it be done?” he asked.

I looked down at the map.

I’d gone into worse situations than this before, killed my target, and come out alive.

“…yes,” I replied. “It can be done.”

“Wonderful!”

“There are no guarantees, though,” I cautioned. “There’s a high likelihood something will go wrong.”

“Understood.”

“Alright. We – ”

“One more thing,” the client interrupted.

“What?”

“There’s one other tiny little fly in the ointment.”

“Which is…?”

“Our time window is limited, so I’ll need you to be ready at a moment’s notice.”

“‘A moment’s notice’ as in 24 hours, or 24 minutes?”

“The shorter the timeframe, the better.”

“Since the target lives down the road,” I said sarcastically, “I could just stay here while I’m waiting.”

My host beamed. “That’s an excellent suggestion.”

I stared at him. “I wasn’t being serious.”

“Nevertheless, an excellent suggestion.”

“I don’t have any clothes – ”

“We’ll get you an assortment from Florence.”

“I need very specific supplies for the mission – ”

“I can get you anything you need. Just give me a list.”

I looked at him in shock. “Are you sure about this?”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

“I don’t,” the younger asshole said.

That decided it.

I gave the younger guy a Fuck you smile. “Too bad.”

Then I turned back to the older man. “Let’s do it.”

163

My host excused himself to go wire half of the 200,000 euros – plus my 20,000 consultation fee just for appearing – into my Swiss bank account.

One of the guards drove me to a guest house within sight of the McMansion. It was basically a cottage, simple but nice.

“I’ll drop off dinner for you at 7PM,” the driver said before driving away in his BMW.

No invitation to the main house for dinner. Apparently, the client wanted to keep me close but not get too friendly.

Fine by me.

I called my bank in Switzerland. They confirmed that 120,000 euros had just been deposited into my account.

Excellent.

After inspecting the guest house, I took a walk across the property’s manicured lawns in order to call Sean. I figured the cottage was bugged.

My phone was encrypted, so I could speak freely with Sean without worrying about outside parties – like MI6 – listening in.

“So?” he asked as soon as he answered. “How’s it going?”

“I’m taking the job.”

“That’s great!”

“I’m also staying here at the property until I do it.”

“Okay… THAT’S unusual…”

“But expedient. Turns out the client lives 30 minutes from the target.”

“Whoa.”

“Yeah.”

“Anything else I should know?”

I thought about telling him that the client knew my real name – or rather, my MI6-assigned last name. But I figured that would spook Sean, so I only said, “I’m getting a mafia vibe.”

“Yeah, but isn’t the guy you’re supposed to kill in the mafia?”

“Yes, but I’m thinking the client is, too. I need you to look into him.”

“Got a name?”

“No, but I’m dropping you a pin on the property.” I pulled the phone away from my ear and tapped the screen to place a geo-locating pin. “See if you can find out who owns this place.”

“Alright.”

“He says he’s a partner in an olive oil exporter, but I kind of doubt that. He also says he’s a distant cousin of the target, whose name is Dario Rosolini. The target went to prison a while back for a bribery scandal. Look into any family connections, specifically a fifty-something guy.”

“Let’s say your client IS in the mafia… what then?”

“I don’t know. It probably doesn’t matter in the slightest. Kill a scumbag for another scumbag, and the world has one less scumbag. But I’d like to know more about the scumbag paying me.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Okay. Talk to you later.”

Things quickly fell into place.

That evening, the driver delivered a large box to my cottage. Inside was an assortment of stylish clothes in my size with the store tags still on.

There was also a camouflaged bodysuit that approximated the colors of Tuscany’s foliage… a bulletproof vest… brown hiking boots… and a tan, bulletproof, full-face helmet for the mission.

Whoever my client was, he didn’t fuck around.

The next morning, the driver delivered the gun I’d asked for: a suppressed Heckler & Koch M110A1.

The M110A1 is a semi-automatic sniper rifle. Unlike a bolt-action rifle, where you have to work a bolt lever to eject the spent shell casing, a semi-automatic will fire every time you pull the trigger and eject the shell on its own.

Bolt-actions were generally a tad more accurate… but if I was going to punch through bulletproof glass before Rosolini could react, I would need to fire in rapid succession. I could do that a lot faster with a semi-auto than a bolt-action.

The client also got me explosive-tipped bullets – highly illegal in Europe. I didn’t ask where they came from, and my host didn’t offer any information.

Also included were a digital range finder, some bulletproof glass panes for practice, and a rope ladder with grappling hoods on the end – for scaling the 10-foot-tall stone wall surrounding the property.

I’d also asked for a Glock, just in case I needed a pistol for close-quarters fighting. They gave me one with a suppressor.

I looked at my weapons and thought, This guy is SO in the mafia.

I went out after lunch to practice with the rifle and the bulletproof glass panes.

The plan was to use an explosive-tipped bullet to weaken the glass, followed by a regular bullet to punch through and hit the target.

The combination worked spectacularly. In all three test runs, the one-two combo allowed me to blast through the glass with only a second between shots.

I was ready to go.

After showering, I texted Sean, Anything?

He replied, Working on it.

I watched some Italian TV until I heard a knock at the door. I opened it to see the guy who had driven me to the cottage.

“I need you to come with me to the house,” he said in Italian.

“Anything wrong?” I asked, a little concerned.

The driver just shrugged.

On the drive to the house, I worried a little about whether Sean had tripped any alarms in trying to figure out who the client was.

Turns out that wasn’t the case.

My client was waiting for me in the foyer. He was wearing a tuxedo – which I took as a sign he’d attended the wedding.

The younger man and woman were nowhere to be seen. I had no idea if they had gone to the wedding, too.

“The timeline has moved up,” my client said. “I need you to do it tomorrow morning.”

“Alright.”

“Good. We’ll provide you with a car with fake plates. If you like, you can practice driving the roads tonight so you can get used to the handling… just in case.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Once the job is done, you cannot come back here. It’s also a bad idea to go to Florence. I suggest you drive to Rome and book a flight from there. We’ll provide you with cash to make the purchase.”

Suddenly, the woman in the glasses walked into the foyer. She wore a beautiful pale pink dress; she must have gone to the wedding, too.

She glanced at me distrustfully, then said to the older man, “I just confirmed it – the bride recognized him from Florence.”

‘Him’ was most likely the younger man – the asshole.

And the bride at the wedding had recognized him.

But what had happened in Florence?

And why was the bride recognizing him enough to order an assassination?

“Thank you,” the older man told her, then turned back to me. “Tomorrow morning it is.”

“Does it have to be completed by a specific time?” I asked.

“No,” he said with a sinister smile. “Just as long as it gets done.”

164

Ifollowed the plan to a ‘T.’

The next morning at 10 AM, I parked at the southernmost section of the ten-foot wall surrounding the property. I accessed it via a dirt road running through a bunch of vineyards.

Once I picked my spot, I turned the car around so it faced the right direction for a quick escape.

Before I got out, I texted my client one last time: Last chance to call it off.

We’d discussed this in the planning stage. There was no way I was going to risk infiltrating the property and then suddenly have my phone start buzzing with a text to abort the mission.

I sent the text and waited.

Ten seconds, later I got a one-word reply:

Proceed.

After that, I texted Sean: Going dark.

He immediately texted back, Good luck.

I put my phone into airplane mode and stowed it inside my vest.

Once I got out of the car, I threw the rope ladder up onto the stone wall several times until the sharp grappling hooks snagged hold. Then I climbed up, my sniper rifle strapped to my back.

I hoped that Rosolini hadn’t placed surveillance cameras nearby, or it was going to be a very short mission.

I took the grappling hook ladder with me as I jumped to the ground on the other side, rolling to absorb the shock of my fall.

Then I waited.

If a camera had seen me, someone would show up fairly soon.

No one did.

After 30 minutes, I started to move… very carefully.

I was looking for cameras.

I spotted two. I avoided the areas they covered and waited again.

No one showed up.

I started to move again.

The slow pace would have been maddening to the average person… but I knew it was far better to take my time and avoid a gunfight.

The morning was hot enough to make me sweat under my bodysuit and bulletproof helmet, but I ignored it. I’d endured discomfort a hundred times worse on previous missions for MI6.

By noon, I reached the olive groves –

When I heard voices.

I immediately found cover in a thicket of bushes and drew my suppressed Glock.

As my heart pounded in my chest, I listened carefully –

A man and a woman.

They were laughing and carrying a picnic basket.

They passed by me 30 feet away.

Through the foliage, I caught sight of the man.

Not Dario Rosolini…

But he definitely looked like he was related. Maybe a brother.

It would have been incredibly easy to take them both out.

The man first, just in case he had a gun –

Then the woman.

But if anything went wrong – if the man got off a shot or the woman screamed – it might alert security.

Neither of them was the target. It wasn’t worth the risk.

So I waited until they were gone.

I held my position for another 15 minutes just to be sure, then started moving again –

And then froze in my tracks when I heard a feminine wail in the distance.

Not of alarm –

But of passion.

I heard her voice cry out, short and high-pitched – “Ah – ah – Ah – AH – ”

And I immediately thought of fucking Lars and got seriously turned on.

Goddamn it, Rachel, keep your mind on the fucking mission!

Instead of on fucking missionary, a naughty little voice whispered in my brain.

Keeping my mind on the mission was difficult, though, as the woman reached a screaming climax.

I continued on my way. I figured I had at least ten minutes post-coitus where they wouldn’t stumble across my path.

As I moved, though, I could feel the wetness of my underwear… and not just from sweating under the noonday sun.

I found a spot at the edge of the olive orchards with an unobstructed view of the entire back of the house.

I used my range finder to measure the distance.

It was 1200 feet away –

Piece o’ cake.

Between me and the mansion were massive green lawns and a swimming pool off to the left.

Nice place, I thought. Organized crime must pay extremely well.

I lay on the ground in the underbrush, arranged my rifle, and started looking through the scope.

I went window by window, trying to find Rosolini.

The noonday sun loomed high overhead, which meant no direct light shining on the windows.

Which meant minimal reflections on the glass panes…

And thus better visibility.

Not only that, I had requested and received a polarized lens for my scope, which cut out even more glare –

Which meant I could see inside the mansion’s rooms.

…sort of.

Some were easier to see inside than others –

Like the French windows that lined the kitchen.

Inside, a couple of servants were preparing food… but no sign of Rosolini.

I scanned the other windows but returned to the kitchen every 30 seconds. It had the best visibility – and I figured there was at least an outside chance the target might go in there.

About 500 feet to my right, the couple from earlier – the outdoor exhibitionists – walked out of an olive grove and towards the house.

If they only knew how close they’d come to dying today.

How close they were to dying now.

I could have dropped them in seconds if they’d been the targets.

But they weren’t the targets… so they lived to fuck another day.

Lucky bastards.

Once they were gone, I focused on the kitchen.

And then something happened.

The servants looked up like they’d heard someone’s voice, then scurried out.

My pulse quickened with excitement.

Two men walked into the kitchen.

One looked like he was related to the guy who’d fucked the screamer in the orchard…

But the other man was definitely Rosolini.

A third person was off to the side, but I couldn’t see him. The mystery man was concealed by an inconvenient reflection on the glass windows; I could only tell he was there when he moved, which I could see through the reflections.

Didn’t matter. I was here for Rosolini.

I had a pretty good shot overall –

Except reflections on the glass partially obscured my view.

Not only that, but Rosolini was leaning over a kitchen counter, and the second man stood between us. It looked like they were hovering over a cell phone and talking into it on speakerphone.

I could have shot through the other man –

But that would’ve significantly decreased my odds of killing Rosolini.

So I just waited and hoped for a better shot.

Suddenly, two more figures entered the kitchen –

The man and the woman from the orchard.

As soon as they walked in, Rosolini stopped leaning over the counter and stood up to face them.

Dead in my sights.

This was it.

I breathed out…

And in the space between my heartbeats…

I pulled the trigger.

POW!

In the close-up view of my scope, the bulletproof glass over Rosolini’s face turned white as snow with a thousand tiny cracks. Around the weakened area, though, the glass was still transparent.

The first bullet had been explosive-tipped; the second was a regular bullet that would punch through the weakened glass and paste Rosolini’s brains all over the wall.

I was just about to pull the trigger for the second time when I saw the mystery man dash out of the shadows towards Rosolini –

And my blood turned to ice.

I would have recognized that profile – that blond hair and golden beard – anywhere.

LARS?!

I was already pulling the trigger – my brain had already sent the message to my finger –

But seeing Lars made me twitch the tiniest bit and hesitate a fraction of a second.

A fraction of a second was enough.

Lars was already tackling Rosolini to the ground when the bullet punched a hole through the weakened glass.

FUCK!

I’d missed the target –

But all I could think was, WHAT THE FUCK IS LARS DOING HERE?!

But now they knew I was here –

Which meant I had to get out of there ASAP.

I stood up, slung the rifle across my back, and ran.

At this point, I didn’t give a fuck whether the cameras saw me.

All I wanted to do was GET OUT.

As I sprinted through the olive groves, all I could think was, What the fuck?!

What the FUCK?!

WHAT THE FUCK?!

How the hell could such a coincidence have happened?!

And then I realized:

There’s no WAY this was a fucking coincidence.

None.

Zero.

But WHY?!

Why put me in a situation where I might see Lars and fuck up – like I just did?!

Unless –

Unless the client thought I would turn down the job if I knew Lars worked for Rosolini.

FUCK.

I reached the stone wall and grabbed the rope ladder, which I’d hidden in the underbrush.

I threw the grappling hooks. By the grace of God, they caught on the first try.

As I climbed, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled –

Like I was being watched.

The feeling of being the prey instead of the predator.

I could just bet I was in somebody’s sights right about now –

Maybe Lars’s.

That frightened me more than anything.

I wanted to rip off my helmet and scream, Don’t shoot! It’s me, don’t shoot –

But part of me wondered if that might make him even more liable to pull the trigger.

I just moved as fast as I could, pulling the rope ladder along with me as I rolled over the top of the wall.

As soon as I landed on the other side, sweet relief coursed through me despite the pain of impact.

If somebody could have shot me, they hadn’t done it –

And the wall was perfect cover.

I pulled off the bulletproof face helmet and felt the sweat pour down my face.

I still looked around frantically, like the boogeyman might appear out of thin air –

But the vineyards were deserted.

I threw my helmet, rifle, and rope ladder in the trunk of the BMW…

Got behind the wheel…

And hauled ass out of there as fast as I could.

165

Iroared down the winding roads of Tuscany, figuring it was better to deal with a cop than to be chased by the mafia.

I wanted to pull out my phone and scream at the client, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!

But I had to focus on driving so I could get out of there.

When I was safe… then I would call the client.

And probably not scream at him unless I wanted to be next on his hit list.

I kept checking my rearview mirror.

I didn’t see anything at first –

Until I did.

Miles behind me, back on the ridge overlooking the valley I was in, a beautiful blue sports car stopped along the side of the road. Someone got out, a tiny speck in the distance.

It was Lars.

I couldn’t see him – it was too far away – but I knew it was him. I could feel it in my bones.

Don’t follow me…

PLEASE don’t follow me…

Unfortunately, my prayers were not granted.

The blue sports car took off in my direction a few seconds later.

FUCK.

The one card I had up my sleeve was courtesy of MI6.

Part of being an agent is training for almost everything that could get thrown at you over the course of a mission.

I could fly a plane or helicopter well enough to take off and land without crashing…

But I could drive a car like a Formula 1 racer.

I flew down the road and took the corners at breakneck speeds, occasionally glancing in my rearview mirror to see if the blue sports car was gaining on me.

Every few minutes, I caught a glimpse in the distance –

But it seemed to grow smaller and smaller every time I saw it.

A few minutes later, I reached the first major exit for the road I was on.

I could either continue on to Florence –

Or take another highway and go south.

I decided to go south.

I slowed down to a crawl so my tires wouldn’t leave skid marks on the road – which Lars would be able to see – and took the exit.

Once on the new highway, I sped up again – although I kept my speed reasonable so the cops wouldn’t stop me.

After 30 minutes, I was reasonably sure Lars was no longer following me.

After an hour, I was certain.

I stopped on a deserted country road, stripped off my camouflage, and switched into jeans and a blouse.

I was just about to contact the client when Sean called me first.

“Did you do it?” he asked nervously.

“No, I missed,” I said in a calm voice.

I didn’t tell him why I missed. Maybe I would tell him at some point, but not now. I was still processing the fact that Lars had been there.

“…oh…”

I could hear the fear in his voice.

“What? Did you find out who the client is?”

“Yeah. His name is Fausto Rosolini, he’s the UNCLE of the target… and he’s ALSO in the mafia.”

Great.

“Well,” I said, trying to keep my composure, “it’s not like I didn’t anticipate the mafia part.”

“What’s Fausto’s reaction going to be when he finds out you missed?”

“I told him several times that things would likely end in failure.”

“Yeah, but… considering he’s mafia…?”

He didn’t have to finish the thought.

Our other clients would have been irritated at my failure, but they wouldn’t have pushed back too hard.

A mafia thug wouldn’t be intimidated at all.

“I’m not sure how he’ll react,” I answered truthfully. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find out.”

“Alright… watch your back.”

“Thanks, Sean.”

Then I hung up.

I hesitated for almost a full minute… then told myself it had to be done.

I dialed the number Fausto had given me. He answered on the second ring.

“Well?” he snapped.

He sounded completely unlike the times I had talked to him before. The charm was gone, replaced with irritability.

“I missed.”

“I see,” he said gruffly. “Was there a reason why?”

I asked myself, Do I tell him?

I reasoned that he already knew. If I didn’t mention it, he would know I was lying.

“Yes. My ex-boyfriend was Rosolini’s private bodyguard. He’s former Special Forces, and he tackled Rosolini before my second shot.”

There was a long silence.

When he didn’t answer, I grew angry.

Okay, fucker – if that’s the way you want to play it –

“Why didn’t you tell me Lars was on his security detail?” I asked in a cool voice.

There was no hesitation in Fausto’s voice: “Because you wouldn’t have taken the job.”

“But you knew.”

His answer was angry and contemptuous. “Of course I knew.”

I looked out into the distance. I wanted to scream at him –

Actually, I wanted to go back and kill him.

But he was in the mafia.

And I didn’t want to fuck with someone who killed people for a living… especially one who knew my name.

As one of those people myself, I knew they weren’t to be trifled with.

Plus, Fausto had been willing to assassinate his own nephew.

What would he be willing to do to me?

“I didn’t complete the job successfully, so you can keep the second half of the payment,” I said.

“What about a second attempt?”

“I don’t think that’s advisable,” I said coldly.

As though I’d try again, knowing that Lars was out there waiting for me.

Fausto’s reply was curt. “Fine.”

Something was wrong. The mafia boss sounded preoccupied – like something had happened over the last couple of hours, something I didn’t know about – and he didn’t really give a damn that my assassination attempt had failed.

Either that, or he was pissed off at me and planned to tie up loose ends later on.

“I want to make sure you and I are good,” I said.

“Aren’t we?” he asked coolly.

“All good from this end.”

“Then I’m fine, too. Consider our business concluded. When you leave the car, text me the location. I’ll have someone retrieve it.”

Then he hung up.

I wanted to scream – to rage – to stab the asshole’s eyes out with a knife –

But I had more important matters to attend to. Like getting out of Italy alive.

So I got back in the car and drove away.

I did as Fausto had suggested and drove to a city other than Florence.

However, I chose one he hadn’t mentioned – just in case he had friends waiting for me in Rome.

I drove to Bologna, which was about 70 miles northeast of Florence. It was big enough that I could catch a direct flight to London.

In one of the small towns I passed through, I wiped the helmet clean of prints, then stuffed it and the camouflage in a dumpster. Then I wiped down the rifle and Glock to remove any prints and put them back in the car trunk.

When I reached the airport in Bologna, I purchased a British Airways ticket to London leaving at 6:35 PM.

I ate dinner and boarded the plane at 6PM.

Only as we were taxiing down the runway did I text Fausto.

The car is at the airport in Bologna. Top level of the main parking garage.

He never texted back, so I assumed our business really was concluded.

As the plane climbed into the sky, I wondered if there would be any blowback from botching the job and how bad it might be.

A week later, I found out:

Pretty fucking bad.

PART VIII

166

Lars

Istood there naked in the hotel suite, staring at Rachel in horror.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I said hoarsely.

She shook her head.

I stood there, trying not to drown in the tidal wave of emotions rushing through me –

But I snapped.

“MOTHER FUCKER!” I screamed as I tore the flat-screen TV off the wall and hurled it to the floor.

Rachel flinched and backed away.

I dropped to my knees and slammed my fist into the TV screen over and over, shattering the screen.

“GOD – DAMN IT – TO FUCKING – HELL!” I roared with each punch.

When I saw the blood dripping down my sliced-up knuckles, I finally stopped.

“He set me up,” I whispered as I stared at myself in the shattered black mirror of the TV. “He told me never to tell you because you’d lose your job… and then he framed me. Had me sent to prison. So he could get you all for himself.”

“…no…” Rachel whispered in horror. “No, that’s impossible…”

I looked over at her. “When you asked Alistair to look for me, did he act like he barely remembered me or didn’t know who I was?”

Her face looked like she might burst into tears. “…yes.”

I laughed ruefully. “He fucking recruited me himself and then met me in person to give me my assignments. I have to hand it to him – he’s a devious motherfucker.”

“So… you weren’t working for China when you killed that man in Norway?”

I looked at her in surprise. “He told you that?!”

She nodded.

“No,” I said, gritting my teeth. “I was working for Alistair.”

She looked like she might be sick again.

“And now I’m going to kill him,” I snarled as I got up from the floor.

“You can’t,” she said in a panicked voice.

I stared at her in fury. “Why?! Because you love him?!”

“No, you idiot,” she seethed. “If you kill the Director of Operations of MI6, you’ll be shot on sight. Even if you escape, you’ll be classified as a terrorist. Your life will be worth nothing. They’ll hunt you down like a dog and kill you in the street.”

Her face softened, and her voice hitched as she tried to hold back her tears.

“…and I just got you back… I can’t lose you again…”

All the rage inside me suddenly melted when I saw her pain.

I moved towards her. “Rachel…”

That’s when the bullet shattered the hotel room window, ripped a hole through the curtain, and punched a hole in the wall just inches from my head.

167

“GET DOWN!” I screamed as I dashed towards Rachel –

But she dove off the bed before I could reach her.

I rolled onto the ground next to her and we hid behind the bed.

“Again?!” she snarled, sounding more put out than frightened.

“Thermal scope?” I said like I was asking for her professional opinion.

There were heat-imaging scopes that could ‘see’ body heat and allow the shooter to target people in otherwise total darkness. That would’ve been the only way the sniper could aim at me through the curtains.

But thermal scopes had their issues – like ‘seeing’ through glass. It played havoc with their accuracy.

Rachel was undoubtedly thinking of that because she said, “It would explain how bad a shot he is.”

“Well, at least he’s persistent,” I muttered with dark humor.

“What if there’s more than one?”

“Then we’re in luck – we got a whole team of bad shooters.”

“Probably just the one guy, then,” she mused.

“Probably. I guess we should’ve gone hunting after the restaurant.”

She smirked. “I don’t know about you, but I preferred having sex.”

I laughed. “I agree.”

“No reason we can’t go hunting now,” she purred.

I gave her a wry grin. “Let’s.”

We had shed our clothes as soon as we walked into the room, so it was fairly easy to retrieve them; they were all by the door.

We rolled and dove quickly behind cover, which didn’t give the sniper a chance to aim at us – if he was even still out there.

As we hurriedly dressed, I talked through the problem to get her read on things.

“If there’s a team, there’s probably a guy watching each exit,” I said. “But if there’s only one… what would you do if you were him?”

She scoffed. “Assuming he’s competent? Pull back and get an unobstructed view of anyone approaching.”

“Wanna split up and come in from each side?” I asked. “You take east, I take west, and we regroup behind the hotel if things go to shit?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“One more thing.”

“What?”

“I want your phone number,” I said with a smile. “The last time I didn’t have it, things went very badly.”

She gave me some side-eye but smiled. “Let me take it off airplane mode first.”

She reached into her purse, turned on her cell, and rattled off her phone number. I called her immediately and heard a low vibration.

“Got it,” she confirmed.

“Call me if you get in trouble – or get the shooter.”

Rachel slipped on her black rubber shoes again, and we hid our guns – mine under my jacket, hers under her purse and shoes.

“Why don’t you just leave your high heels behind?” I asked.

She looked at me like I was insane. “These are $3000 Louboutins. No fucking way.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Alright…”

Once we were ready, I moved the dresser away from the door. We cautiously checked the hallway and then exited our room.

“Rachel.”

As soon as she turned to me, I kissed her hard. “Good luck.”

She grinned. “See you soon.”

And we ran in opposite directions down the hallway towards different stairwells.

168

Iburst out of the hotel exit and ran away from where the shooter had been.

Once I reached the street behind the hotel, I jogged west and doubled back around.

Now I was on the same block as the shooter – or at least where he’d been ten minutes ago.

I found a fire escape, climbed it, and slowly made my way across the rooftop. The buildings were close enough that I could easily jump from one to the next.

Two minutes later, I found him.

Rather, I saw the barrel of his gun poking over the edge of a rooftop enclosure – one of those little hutches where a stairwell exits onto the roof.

His rifle was aimed at the hotel.

I pulled out my phone and texted Rachel.

Found one. Rooftop across from hotel. About to engage. Come when you can.

I looked around, found an air conditioning unit about 20 feet away, and stood up on it as quietly as I could.

I was fully aware that I was making myself a target for any other snipers, so I had to be quick.

With the extra three feet of height, I could see the shooter’s prone body dressed all in black.

I raised my suppressed Glock and fired twice: once at his left arm and again at his left leg.

He screamed bloody murder and scrambled to pull a pistol –

“DON’T,” I shouted, “or I’ll kill you. Roll over NOW or I shoot you. Three, two – ”

He rolled off the opposite side of the enclosure, away from me.

At the same time, I jumped off the air conditioning unit and ran towards him.

I heard him SLAM into the rooftop and stifle a scream.

I whipped around the corner, my gun pointed at the ground –

But Rachel was already standing there, her gun pointed at the shooter’s head. “I got him.”

I quickly bent over and took the pistol from the man’s holster.

Rachel pointed at the stairwell. “Question him inside in case there are more?”

“Good idea,” I said –

And stomped my heel into the guy’s face, breaking his nose.

“FUUUUCK!” he screamed as he clutched at his face.

Now that he was stunned and less capable of being devious, I grabbed his vest and dragged him to the stairwell.

Once the door shut behind us, it was pitch black inside. Rachel used the flashlight function on her cell phone and shined it into the guy’s face. He blinked up at the light as blood streamed down the lower half of his face.

“How many more shooters are out there?” I asked.

The guy didn’t answer – he just glared at me –

So I kicked the bullet wound on his leg.

“FUCK!” he howled as he clutched it in agony.

“I’ll ask again – ”

“NOBODY! There’s nobody fuckin’ else!”

Nobody! Thar’s nobody fookin’ else!

I frowned. He sounded like he had a Scottish accent. “You don’t sound Italian – or Russian, for that matter.”

“That’s because I’m not, genius!” he snarled.

Thas because I’m nawt, jane-yus!

“That was you at the restaurant?” Rachel asked.

“Yes!”

“Did Fausto or Aurelio hire you?” I asked.

The guy squinted up at me. “Who the fuck’s Fausto and Aurelio?”

“Did an Italian hire you?”

“No!”

Rachel and I looked at each other in surprise.

“Maybe it was a middleman,” she suggested.

“Who hired you, then?” I asked the guy.

“I don’t know!”

I brought up my foot as though to stomp him again –

“I DON’T KNOW HIS NAME!” he screamed. “He’s just some guy I do jobs for!”

“What – assassinations?” I asked sarcastically.

“Yeah – hit jobs ‘n shite like that!”

Suddenly, I felt queasy. “Where’s he based?”

“Here in London!”

“Have you ever met him or seen his face?”

“No!”

“This work you do for him – is it connected to MI6 or British Intelligence?”

He peered up at me in confusion. “…how’d you know that?”

Holy SHIT.

Rachel audibly gasped – and then she asked, “Have you ever heard his voice?”

“Yeah. He calls me.”

She flicked her thumb across her cell phone and tapped the screen.

“Is this him?” she asked angrily as a voicemail from Alistair began to play.

“Darling, I’m stopping off at the wine store to see if they have that cabernet you like – let me know if you want me to – ”

“That’s him!” the shooter cried out. “That’s him, that’s him!”

“Mother FUCKER!” Rachel roared.

The guy looked shocked, like he’d been expecting her approval for verifying the truth.

“I’m just a day player!” he blubbered. “Don’t kill me!”

“She wasn’t angry at you,” I said to the shooter.

The guy looked the tiniest bit relieved, though he kept glancing back and forth between us like he was hoping one of us would tell the other to let him go.

“What do you want to do?” I asked her.

Rachel looked at me – and a devious smile crept onto her face.

“I have an idea,” she said, then looked down at the Scotsman. “Do you want to live?”

“Fuck yes!”

“Then do exactly as I say.”

169

Alistair

Istared at the television in my office. It was wall-to-wall coverage of the shooting at the Mandarin Oriental two hours ago –

But no word about any fatalities. Not even any injuries.

GODDAMN IT!

Callum was my best independent contractor in the UK. He wasn’t nearly as good as British Special Forces or my field agents in MI6, but he usually got the job done.

How the fuck could he have missed?!

If Lars had still been working for me, I thought with gallows humor, he would have made the shot.

Too bad I couldn’t hire him to kill himself.

Then another thought crossed my mind:

Rachel would have made the shot, too… if the target had been anybody but Lars.

Pain stabbed my heart at the thought of her.

I wasn’t sure whether it came from grief or hatred.

It was dark outside my office. The day staff had gone home, and the much smaller night shift was settling into their watch.

I thought about what I should do now that Callum had fucked up.

I was a bundle of nerves –

I needed a drink –

Suddenly, my burner phone rang – the one I’d gotten specifically for tonight.

I answered and snapped, “What the fuck happened?!”

“He’s dead,” the Scotsman said.

The news nearly bowled me over with shock.

“…he is?”

“Yup.”

“But the BBC says no one was shot at the Mandarin – ”

“‘Cause I missed him at the Mandarin, but I got ‘im at a hotel down the road. Another little hidey-hole he went to as backup. Had to use a thermal scope ‘cause of the curtains.”

“You’re absolutely sure you got him?”

“Well, the fucker didn’t get back up after I shot him in the head, so, yeah, I’d say I got him.”

My heart leapt with joy.

The Swedish asshole was dead.

Four years ago – right after he’d been arrested in Lake Como – I’d had an agent break into his London hotel room, crack the safe, and take everything. His original ID, his personal phone… everything.

Then I’d destroyed it all.

The agent hadn’t known what he was stealing –

And nothing remained that tied me to Lars.

Now that he was dead, it was over.

“What about the girl?” I asked cautiously.

“She’s fine. She ran over to the body and crouched over him for a minute, then she left the room – but by that point I was packed up and ready to go. Now I’m gettin’ the fuck outta town.”

I felt that familiar stabbing pain in my heart.

Did you cry over him, Rachel?

Did you shed tears for Lars that you SHOULD have shed for us?

I composed myself and said, “Good job. I’ll wire you the rest of the money by tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks. Any other jobs in the pipeline?”

“I’ll call if I need you.”

“Sounds good.”

When I hung up, I felt the strangest mix of giddiness, anger, and relief.

The hardest part was taken care of.

All I had to do now was convince Rachel that it was the mafia who had killed Lars –

And that she was to blame for it.

Suddenly, my regular cell phone rang.

I looked at the number and felt my stomach twist.

Rachel.

Had she somehow figured out I had hired the shooter?

If so, I might have another job for Callum before he returned to Glasgow.

I steeled myself for the worst-case scenario before I answered.

“Rachel?”

Instead, I got the best-case scenario.

“Alistair!” she sobbed. “They k-killed Lars and now they’re after ME!”

My heart soared again.

I was off the hook…

And she had no idea who had really killed her Swedish fuckboy.

Still, I played my part to a ‘T.’

“Slow down, slow down – what are you talking about?”

“I… after I left MI6, I did a j-job for the mafia – ”

Which I already knew. I’d kept tabs on her, after all.

But I acted shocked nonetheless.

“Rachel!”

“I needed the money! But I missed the target, and now they’ve sent someone after me!”

“But how is Lars involved?”

His name was like vomit on my tongue. At least the bastard was dead.

“He’s in the mafia – WAS in the mafia – oh God!”

She broke down crying again.

“Was he the one who tried to kill you?!” I asked, doing my best to sound outraged.

I thought it was a nice touch.

“No, he – it’s complicated – PLEASE, Alistair, I need your help! I know I don’t have any right to ask, but they’re going to KILL me!”

She was in no danger whatsoever…

But she didn’t need to know that.

“Of course, darling, of course,” I said soothingly. “I’ll meet you at your house in – ”

“No – we need to meet at MI6.”

I froze. “Why?”

“These people are animals – if they track me to my house, they’ll kill us both! But we’ll be safe at MI6 – they wouldn’t DARE come after me there!”

If the mafia were actually after her, she might have a point.

However…

“Rachel,” I said gently, “you’re persona non grata around here.”

“PLEASE, Alistair, I’m BEGGING you! MI6 is the only place we’ll be safe!”

I sighed.

I couldn’t let there be any surveillance footage of her. After her dramatic exit seven months ago, it would raise all sorts of questions about why I was letting her inside the building.

Getting her inside without anyone knowing was dangerous… but I figured I could pull it off.

And she would owe me even more because of it.

“Alright… come to the stairwell on the southernmost point of the building, the spot where everyone smokes by the gardens – you know the one?”

“Of course – but if I try to get over the wall, they’ll see me!”

A large wall surrounded the property, with surveillance cameras watching every inch of it.

“Text me as soon as you get here, and I’ll shut off the exterior cameras. I’ll text you back as soon as it’s done. You’ll have 60 seconds to get over the wall and reach the stairwell. Alright?”

“What about once I’m inside? We should go up to the roof where we can talk.”

Clever girl. The roof had the fewest number of surveillance cameras in all of MI6. It would be far easier to take her up there than try to smuggle her to my office.

“Alright, I’ll cut the cameras to the stairwell and roof, as well. Then we’ll figure out what to do. Where are you?”

“Near the Mandarin Oriental.”

About 15 to 25 minutes away.

“Can you get a taxi?”

“Yes. Thank you so much, Alistair… I hate to put you in this position, but – ”

“Think nothing of it, darling,” I said tenderly.

She sobbed. “I’m SO sorry for everything I did to you…”

Those words alone made it all worthwhile.

Righteous justification filled me, and I smiled. That’s RIGHT, bitch. And you’ll pay for it on your knees.

But I kept my voice kind. “Water under the bridge, darling. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes… see you soon.”

Then she hung up.

As soon as she did, I hurried out of my office.

I could only count on 15 minutes before she arrived.

I immediately went to Security and found the night shift manager.

“When I tell you to,” I said, “I need you to cut out all cameras on the southern wall and the exterior building for 60 seconds. In addition, I need you to cut all security cameras in the south stairwell and the roof until I tell you otherwise.”

The manager stared at me like a dumbstruck cow. “Sir?”

“I said – ”

“I know what you said, sir, but – that’s highly irregular.”

I drew myself up to my full height. “Not that I need to justify myself to you, seeing as I am the Director of Operations and you’re the night shift manager for security, but I have an operative coming in from the cold, and – ”

I lowered my voice to a dramatic whisper.

“ – we believe we may have a mole inside MI6.”

The manager’s eyes grew wide. “…really?”

“Yes, really, and I can’t risk the agent’s identity being discovered by the wrong party. So – when I tell you – I need all exterior cameras on the southern wall and building cut for 60 seconds, and I need the stairwell and roof cameras to be deactivated until further notice. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Very good, sir.”

Excellent.

The manager led me to one of his techs sitting in front of a bank of monitors. When the manager informed the tech what was about to happen, the moron pushed back a tiny bit, but I shut him down by informing him who I was. He looked at me warily, then waited for my command.

Fifteen minutes later, I got a text from Rachel.

Here.

“Do it,” I said.

The tech cut the feeds on all the cameras – south wall, south stairwell, and roof.

Go, I texted back.

“Count to 60 and enable the exterior cameras again,” I said as I turned away.

“You’re not staying, sir?” the night manager asked in alarm.

“Of course not – I have to go meet the person I mentioned,” I said, giving him a blast of my full contempt.

Then I turned and walked quickly towards the stairwell.

I was absolutely giddy with anticipation.

I imagined our tearful reunion – how grateful Rachel would be –

And how she would repay me.

All the things I wanted her to do in bed that she had refused –

She would never be able to say ‘no’ now.

Not after everything I’d done for her.

How I’d forgiven her and taken her back!

I laughed out loud as I contemplated a future where the bitch never talked back to me again.

And best of all, I had removed my only competition from the face of the earth…

And she would never have any idea.

I got another text – Here – as I reached the stairwell.

I flew down the steps and flung open the door, expecting her to rush into my arms –

But she was standing there with a grim expression.

“Rachel!” I said, wary but trying to sound happy to see her. “What – ”

Before I could finish, my worst nightmare came true as Lars stepped in front of her.

“Surprise, motherfucker,” he snarled –

And then my world exploded with pain as he punched me in the face.

170

Ishrieked and fell to the floor –

At which point they began kicking me. Both of them.

I opened my mouth to scream –

When something metallic jammed between my teeth.

I looked up to see Rachel glowering down at me, her arm extended.

The barrel of her pistol filled my mouth. I could taste burnt gunpowder and gun oil.

“It would be a shame if I had to blow your brains out in this stairwell,” she snarled.

I panicked.

“What do you want?” I blurted out, although it sounded more like Wah dah yah wah? with the gun in my mouth.

“To talk,” Lars snarled as he hauled me to my feet.

My stomach twisted with fear as he marched me up nine stories to the roof.

I cursed myself the entire way: You fool – believing that fucking BITCH –

My only hope was for the incompetence of my underlings, that they might have left some of the cameras on.

Otherwise, I would die.

I was sure of it.

When we reached the top of the stairs, Lars kicked open the door and forced me onto the roof. Rachel shut the door behind us.

“Please,” I begged, “we can discuss this like civilized people – ”

“That time has passed,” the Swede said as he grabbed my jacket, tie, and shirt in his giant hand –

Forced me backwards to the edge of the building –

And held me out at an angle over empty space.

My feet were still on the retaining wall, but the rest of me was suspended over a nine-story drop.

“STOP!” I screamed.

“You sent assassins after us!” Rachel raged, her face twisted like a harpy.

“Only him!” I shrieked. “Not you!”

Lars looked at me coldly. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?!”

“Everything we both know you did.”

I attempted to hang on to the last shred of my self-respect. “Why? You’re just going to kill me anyway.”

That was when Rachel pressed her gun into my crotch.

“You can die,” she said, “or you can die a few minutes after I shoot your cock off.”

“ALRIGHT! W-what do you want to know?!”

“You had me kill Solner,” Lars said, “but you told Rachel I was working for the Chinese.”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“Out of curiosity, was he really working for the Chinese – or did you actually have me kill somebody who was helping MI6?”

“He was a Chinese asset! He wasn’t working for us, I swear!”

“So you lied to me,” Rachel snarled.

I turned my face to her and tried appealing to whatever tender feelings she might still harbor for me. “Darling, please – ”

I guess she didn’t harbor any because she punched me in the nose.

“GOD DAMMIT!” I howled.

“Then you had me arrested in Lake Como,” Lars said.

“Yes,” I said, wincing against the pain. I could feel blood trickling down the lower half of my face.

“What I don’t get is when I tried to call her, it said her number had changed – ”

“But I didn’t change my number,” Rachel finished.

My situation was hopeless.

These two psychopaths were going to kill me – that much was clear –

Why bother trying to appease them?

So I laughed. Laughed with all the contempt and hatred I felt for both of them.

“All I did was reroute any calls from Italy to her mobile number. I included the Netherlands – your friend in Amsterdam – just to be safe. You think that was difficult? It was fucking child’s play.”

Rachel frowned. “You couldn’t do it – you have no idea how to do something like that!”

“I had one of the techs do it for me!” I said, then laughed. “I told him I was trying to intercept a terrorist’s phone calls!”

“All so you could have her,” Lars said contemptuously, like I was the world’s biggest fool.

“What was the alternative?” I snarled. “Watch some Neanderthal fuck her?”

Maybe it was the pain –

Maybe it was the humiliation –

Maybe it was that I still loved her, deep down, despite her treachery –

But I snapped.

“She’s MINE!” I screamed. “I deserve her, not some fucking cretin like you!”

“A fucking cretin who has your life in his hands,” Lars said coldly.

I was ready.

To hell with these two –

I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of begging.

“Go ahead,” I sneered. “Kill me, then.”

Lars looked at me for a long moment…

Then said, “No… I don’t think so.”

A tiny bit of hope bloomed inside me –

But before I could say anything, Rachel spoke out loud. “That all you need, boys?”

The door to the stairwell burst open, and a dozen men in black tactical equipment rushed out, their assault rifles pointed at me.

Among them was a man in a sweatshirt and jeans – one of the research techs that Rachel had worked with when she was a field agent. Sean something-or-other.

That was when I realized:

They tricked me!

They tricked me into confessing!

My shock was matched only by my relief when Lars hauled me back from the abyss and flung me at the agents’ feet.

“Hands behind your back!” one of them shouted.

“I’m innocent!” I shrieked. “I didn’t do anything – ”

One of the thugs planted a boot on my neck, and another roughly handcuffed me behind my back.

My last image as they dragged me down the stairs was of the Neanderthal and the bitch smiling smugly.

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” I screamed. “I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!”

And then the door slammed shut behind me.

171

Lars

Iwatched them haul Alistair away, sniveling and screaming to the last.

It was cold consolation for everything he’d taken from me.

I’d wanted to let go of him – to watch him fall nine stories and splatter on the ground –

But Rachel’s words had reined me in.

If you kill the Director of Operations of MI6, you’ll be shot on sight. Even if you escape, you’ll be classified as a terrorist. Your life will be worth nothing. They’ll hunt you down like a dog and kill you in the street.

…and I just got you back… I CAN’T lose you again…

I had just gotten her back, as well… and there was no way I would lose her over a worthless pissant like Alistair.

So I contented myself with knowing he would spend the rest of his life in jail.

I hoped, anyway.

Rachel pulled her phone out from under her dress, where she’d taped it to her body. “Did you record all that?”

“We did,” her former colleague said. He was about 30 with close-cropped hair. “Where’s the sniper Alistair sent after you?”

“Tied up in a stairwell across from the Gore Hotel on Queen’s Gate,” she replied. “Might want to take a medic – he’s been shot a couple of times.”

“By you?” he asked, then glanced at me. “Or you?”

“By somebody,” Rachel said mischievously. “Cheer up, Sean – you just exposed one of the worst corruption cases in the agency’s history. I’m sure there’s a big promotion in your future.”

“Yeah, well… until we figure out exactly what’s going on… I’m sorry.”

At that exact second, I felt the barrel of an assault rifle jab into my back, and another agent grabbed my gun arm. My pistol wasn’t even up – I had it pointed at the rooftop.

“Don’t,” the agent warned me as he took my Glock.

“Uh… Rachel?” I asked in surprise as they cuffed my hands behind my back.

“Sean, what the fuck are you doing?!” she cried out as other agents took her gun.

“It’s only temporary,” he assured her. “Just cooperate, and this’ll go a lot easier on both of you.”

“You fucking asshole!” she yelled at Sean, then looked at me in panic.

“It’s okay,” I reassured her. “Just do what he says.”

The MI6 agents forced me down the stairwell at gunpoint. The last image I saw of her was the door closing on her frightened face.

172

Ihad no idea where they took me. All I know is that they put a hood over my head at the bottom of the stairwell, pulled me out of the building, and shoved me into a van.

Then they drove for half an hour, at which point I was taken out of the van and marched into another building.

When they removed the hood, I was standing in a small concrete room with a cot, a sink, and a toilet.

They frisked me, took all my possessions, and uncuffed me.

“Don’t go anywhere,” one of the agents said drily as they slammed the metal door shut on me.

I was pretty sure I was in a ‘black site’ – one of the ‘off the books’ facilities for questioning suspects during the War on Terror.

Which made me a little nervous.

I figured they wouldn’t hurt Rachel – but I wasn’t so sure what they’d do to me.

And I wasn’t too eager to find out.

Turns out, there wasn’t anything to be worried about. No torture – just a lot of boredom. Plus the fact that they had me prisoner.

That was okay. I’d been a prisoner before – and under much worse circumstances.

I wasn’t allowed to see Rachel, but I’d expected that.

I wasn’t allowed any phone calls, either, or access to a lawyer.

I expected that, too. After all, I was dealing with a spy agency. They didn’t have to play by the rules everybody else did.

On the plus side, I got three meals a day served to my room on a tray. The food wasn’t terrible.

Actually, I was used to gourmet Italian food at Dario’s house, and now I was eating British food – so it was kind of terrible by comparison. But at least it was better than the chow hall at San Vittore.

I was given a prison-like jumpsuit to wear when they took my suit. They even allowed me to shower in a separate bathroom, albeit under armed guard.

Every day, a new person came in to grill me about my connection to Alistair.

I was just happy they didn’t use any ‘enhanced interrogation techniques.’ I mean, I was at a black site. However, they treated me well.

They always asked the same questions, just phrased slightly differently. And they kept circling back to minor details I’d already told them. They were trying to trip me up to see if I was ever inconsistent.

I was honest about everything… although when they asked about Dario and his brothers, I said I was ‘head of security for a wealthy Italian family.’

They didn’t ask too much about that, though. They stuck almost exclusively to Alistair.

The ordeal went on for roughly 14 days. Since I had no clock and no window to see any outside light, I wasn’t sure if I was exactly right about the days – but the meals seemed to come at regular intervals, so I used them to gauge time.

I daydreamed a lot about Rachel. About how thankful I was that the truth had come out and that we were back together again.

I also spent a lot of time thinking about how to handle things with her once I got out of the black site.

I thought about Dario and his brothers, too. I worried about them – especially about what Fausto and Aurelio were up to. I wondered what was happening with Massimo and the woman he’d saved in Venice. Last I’d heard, they were going into hiding – but that had been almost three weeks ago.

I did calisthenics and bodyweight exercises to keep me occupied since there wasn’t anything else to do. Nobody gave me so much as a magazine or a book – much less a television – so I slept when I got bored.

I slept a lot.

That was my life for two weeks: wake up… breakfast… exercise… lunch… get interrogated… nap… exercise… dinner… go to sleep.

I felt like I was back in a much quieter, much cleaner, much lonelier version of San Vittore.

If only I’d had Dario around to talk to. That would have made the time pass much faster.

And then… on the 14th day… something changed.

173

Rachel

They put me in a detention room in the MI6 building. At least they didn’t move me off-site like they did Lars.

I felt like shit about what they’d done to him, and I was furious with Sean for betraying me. As soon as I saw my old coworker, I resolved to rip him a new asshole – and let him know that if he didn’t get Lars released, there were going to be some extremely inconvenient facts revealed about his and my business partnership.

However, the next people I saw were the Director of MI6 and three other department heads. Sean wasn’t among them.

They questioned me for hours until I was nodding off from exhaustion. They left and let me go to sleep – and then the whole ordeal started over again the next morning.

They questioned me about my connection to Lars…

My relationship with Alistair…

What he had done before we were engaged…

What he’d done while we were engaged…

Why I’d assaulted him…

And what I’d done in the months since I’d quit.

I was open and honest about everything, even what I’d done in the intervening months. MI6 was used to dealing with assassins. It’s not like they were going to clutch their pearls about my killing a few rapists and child pornographers.

The priest in southern France gave them pause… until they saw his record. Then they never asked me about him again.

The only thing I was vague about was how I booked the jobs. I just told them I had someone who got me clients off the dark web, and I wasn’t going to reveal their identity, so MI6 could go suck on it.

Overall, they handled me with kid gloves. Maybe it was due to my sterling record as a field agent… or the fact that what I knew about Alistair would be disastrous if it leaked to the press.

Either way, they offered me the option of signing a mountain of NDAs in exchange for my freedom.

“What about Lars?” I demanded.

“If everything you say checks out, he’ll be released.”

So I signed the papers, and they let me go home.

I texted Sean to find out what was happening with Lars, but he stonewalled me.

And avoided me.

And ghosted me.

After 10 days of the runaround, I couldn’t take it anymore – so I marched over to MI6 and told the front desk, “Tell Sean Cooper that I want to see him now. And if he doesn’t have time for me, my next stop is the Director’s office.”

He came down within five minutes.

“This is SO not cool,” he muttered angrily as we walked outside, away from prying ears and listening devices.

“You’re right. Whatever they’re doing with Lars, it’s fucked UP.”

He shot me a look. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know. I also know it really should be your #1 priority to get him released.”

“It’s not up to me!”

“Sean, you have a bright and shining future ahead of you at MI6 – but if you don’t get Lars out immediately, I think I might see some dark clouds on the horizon.”

He knew what I was threatening: to reveal his part in acquiring my recent jobs.

I was a free agent. MI6 dealt with free agents all the time, so they would probably let my activities slide.

Not so with Sean.

An employee using agency time and resources to research murders for hire? And getting a percentage of the payments?!

They would crucify him, and he knew it.

“NOT cool!” he hissed.

“So not cool,” I agreed. “So do what you can… as quickly as you can.”

“FINE.” He looked at me quizzically. “Aren’t you curious about Alistair?”

“Is he going to get away with it?”

“OH no. No no no no no.”

“Then I don’t give a shit about him at all.”

I saw Sean on the 10th day.

On the 11th day, I texted him a question mark.

?

He replied, Working on it.

On the 12th day, I texted him a string of question marks.

?????????

He replied, WORKING ON IT.

On the 13th day, I was deciding on the wording of my next text – something like I guess I’m going to have to go see the Director – when he beat me to the punch.

He gets out tomorrow. Be at the East Ham facility at 0900.

‘0900’ was the time – 9:00 AM.

‘East Ham’ was a neighborhood in London.

The ‘facility’ was a former black site used for interrogation after 9/11.

I immediately feared the worst, then forced myself to calm down. They hadn’t waterboarded anyone for years.

…that I knew of.

174

Lars

An hour after breakfast on the 14th day, there was a knock at my cell door.

“Come in,” I said in a bored voice.

What else could I say? They always knocked, and they always came in. Me saying ‘no’ wouldn’t have affected that one way or the other.

But it wasn’t one of the agents who’d been interrogating me the past two weeks.

It was a guard, and he was carrying my suit – the one they’d taken from me the night they’d brought me here. It was on a hanger and looked cleaned and freshly pressed.

“Put it on,” the guy said. “You’re getting out.”

After I changed clothes, the guard escorted me down a concrete hallway with a dozen other metal doors like the one I’d been trapped behind.

There were no windows in them, so I had no idea if anyone was in them –

But I had my suspicions.

We were buzzed through another door, at which point we entered a lobby with a small wooden desk and peeling paint –

Where Rachel stood with Sean, her colleague who had arrested me.

“Lars!” she cried out as she ran into my arms.

I kissed her and hugged her tight.

“Are you okay?” she whispered as she held me.

“I’ve stayed in worse places,” I said blandly.

She laughed, then kissed me again.

“I hate to break up the reunion,” Sean said, “but I really need you two to get off the property ASAP.”

“You keep me here for two weeks, and now you have to boot me out after two minutes?” I asked coldly.

“You’re lucky you’re getting out at all,” he snapped.

“That’s interesting, seeing as I didn’t do anything without direct orders from Alistair,” I retorted.

“Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Rachel interpreted. “What he means is, you’re the only witness to one of the worst abuses of power by an MI6 employee in the agency’s history. It would have been much easier to just stick you in some gulag for the next 30 years and make the problem disappear.”

Sean glared at her but didn’t contradict her.

“So much for being the good guys,” I muttered.

Sean gave a nasty laugh. “If you’re still thinking in terms of ‘good guys’ and ‘bad guys,’ mate, you should probably stick to the fuckin’ playground.”

“Then why are you letting me out?”

“I’ll let her explain why,” he said, gesturing to Rachel. “After you sign a bunch of paperwork and you’re far, far away.”

I spent the next 30 minutes signing a shit-ton of NDAs and legal agreements. Basically, if I ever breathed a word of Alistair or what I did for him, MI6 would be legally within their rights to put my head on a silver platter.

That wasn’t how they phrased it, but that was the general idea.

Whenever Sean gave me a new form to sign, I looked at Rachel for confirmation on whether I should.

She always nodded ‘yes,’ so I always signed.

Finally, once it was all over, Sean packed the papers into a briefcase. Then he handed me my wallet, passport, and phone.

“Wherever you got your gun, forget you ever had it,” he advised me.

Once I pocketed my belongings, Sean said, “Alright – I was never here, and neither were you. We never met, and none of this ever happened.”

“It was all just a dream,” I said sarcastically.

Sean gave me a pissed-off look but ignored my comment. “You two have used up all your UK privileges. My recommendation is to leave the country and never come back.”

“I’m a citizen,” Rachel protested.

“My recommendation still stands.”

“What about my house?”

“Sell it through a third party.”

“What about my mother?”

“You don’t even like your mother,” Sean said. “You haven’t talked to her in years.”

“True, but she’s still my mother.”

“Leave her here… move her in with you… I don’t care. Just don’t come back unless you’re summoned.” Sean glared at me. “That goes double for you.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. What’s going to happen to Alistair?”

“He’ll be dealt with in a manner befitting his crimes.”

Rachel interpreted again. “They’re looking into gulags.”

“Are there any other assassins Alistair might have hired to take us out?” I asked. “As a contingency plan?”

Sean smiled grimly. “We’re looking into it.”

That didn’t make me feel any better.

Sean pointed to a door at the far end of the room lobby. “There’s the exit. Good luck to both of you – and don’t let the door hit your arse on the way out.”

Rachel and I exited the door into a dingy side alley filled with garbage. The door locked behind us.

To our right was a major street filled with traffic. We started walking towards it, our arms around each other’s waists.

“So… why did they let me go?” I asked Rachel.

“Blackmail,” she said lightly.

“What?!”

“Sean was my go-between on all the jobs I did after I left MI6. Let’s just say he was motivated to make sure certain facts never got out.”

“Motherfucker…” I muttered.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “If I’d known he was going to turn on us like that, I never would have suggested we involve him – ”

“No, it actually worked out for the best. Now we’re free and clear with MI6. Just… thank God you had something you could hold over his head.”

“Thank God,” she agreed.

I stopped her once we reached the street and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me back.

When I finally pulled away, I said, “Well… before we follow his advice and leave the country, there’s something I need to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Make a phone call.”

175

Ifigured Sean and MI6 had probably tried to crack my phone after they took it from me. Whether they’d succeeded or not, it still had half a charge when I powered it on.

I found a semi-quiet shop to step into and immediately called Niccolo.

The way he answered was classic Niccolo.

“Where have you BEEN?!”

“Locked inside an MI6 black site for the last two weeks,” I said drily.

“…WHAT?!”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when I see you. Is Dario okay?”

“Yes, he’s fine – although…”

Niccolo paused.

My throat tightened in fear as I waited for his next words.

“…we’re afraid we might have lost Massimo.”

I felt sick to my stomach. “What happened?”

“We haven’t heard from him in three weeks since he escaped with the Widow’s granddaughter. We’re afraid that – ”

“No,” I interrupted, refusing to entertain the possibility. “Massimo’s a tough motherfucker – he’s fine.”

“…let’s hope,” Niccolo said in a melancholy tone of voice. “Did you get her?

The question threw me. “Who?”

“Your ex, the assassin?!” Niccolo said in exasperation. “The woman who took a shot at Dario?!”

Oh.

Yeah.

That.

“…that’s a long story, too.”

“Well, I’d like to hear it NOW.”

“I’ll tell you all about it when I get there. But I can’t really talk right now, if you get my drift.”

I could have told him about Rachel; it wouldn’t have been a problem.

I just wanted to kick the can down the road a bit further and not deal with it until I absolutely had to.

“Is the situation handled?”

“Yes.”

“Good. That’s all I need to know.”

I was relieved he dropped it.

“Is it safe to come back home?”

“Yes, although Roberto’s still in Hong Kong and Valentino’s in Sicily – ”

“What?!” I exclaimed.

Go away for two weeks, and the whole world changes.

“You know what, never mind,” I said. “Tell me when I get there.”

“When CAN you get here?”

“When do you need me?”

“As soon as humanly possible.”

“Hold on.” I looked at an app on my phone. “There’s a flight out of Heathrow at 9 PM, but I’ll have to catch a connecting flight to Florence. If I get a taxi, I might be able to get to you by 2 in the morning.”

“I’ll have Giorgio waiting for you with a car. Just text me the arrival time of the flight.”

“Okay.”

“Good. Sorry to rush you, but we need you back here with us BADLY.”

“I understand.”

“I’m glad you’re alright. It’s good to hear from you – we were afraid something had happened.”

“Thanks. And don’t worry about Massimo – he’s going to come through. I know it.”

“Let’s hope so. I’ll see you soon.”

Then he hung up.

I walked out of the shop and rejoined Rachel on the street.

“What was the phone call?” she asked.

“I need to go back to Florence. And I want you to go with me.”

I saw the panic in her eyes as she realized what I was talking about.

“Are you insane?! I can’t do that!”

“It’s going to be fine,” I said as I took her hands.

“Lars, they’ll KILL me – ”

“No they won’t.” I paused. “Niccolo probably would… but not Dario. And Dario’s the boss.”

“How do you know he won’t shoot me himself?!”

“Because of something he told me years ago.”

I remembered his words in the cell in San Vittore: If this girl IS the One… once you get out of here, you go after her. Go find her. Let nothing stand in your way. You go to her and lay your heart on the line, and you do everything in your power to get her back… and if she is the One, she’ll say yes. If she is the One, she won’t have been able to move on without you. The day you come back to her is the day she can finally breathe again. You two will start your life over together, and it will be like nothing ever changed.

There had been some bumps along the way, but what he’d said was true.

And I knew he had believed it fervently when he’d said it.

I guess we’ll find out if he still does, I thought.

“You’re going to risk my fucking life on something a mafia don said years ago?!” Rachel exclaimed, her voice on the edge of hysteria.

“He owes me,” I said soothingly, “and I’m going to call in every single favor he owes. It’ll be okay.”

She shook her head frantically. “You’re asking me to go and get murdered – ”

“I’m asking you to trust me.”

“Let’s go somewhere else and start all over – ”

“I can’t,” I said regretfully.

“Why not?!”

“Because they’re my family.”

She looked at me in shock –

But it was the truth.

Dario and his brothers were my family. And although I didn’t really know Bianca that well, Alessandra already felt like a sister.

“A mafia family,” Rachel said angrily.

I held her hands in mine. “Will you trust me?”

She looked so incredibly frightened. “…don’t ask me to do this…”

I touched my forehead gently to hers. “Please… will you trust me?”

She closed her eyes as pain twisted her features.

It took her a long time to answer, but she finally whispered, “…alright.”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

She opened her eyes and cocked one eyebrow. “If they kill me, I’m going to fucking kill you first.”

I laughed. “Deal. There’s a flight out of Heathrow at 9 PM… but we’ve got five or six hours before we have to be at the airport.”

“And what do you suggest?”

“Want to get a hotel room and have lots and lots of sex?”

“Oh, I want to,” she purred. Then she said with fake seriousness, “Especially since it might be the last chance we ever have.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, then grinned impishly. “The flight will go fine.”

“Yeah, it’s not the flight I’m worried about.”

176

Ibought the tickets on my phone during the taxi ride to the hotel. I chose one near Heathrow so we could dash out the door and get to our gate as soon as possible.

Just as we were checking in, I got a text from Niccolo.

You were right! Massimo is fine.

He has the Widow’s granddaughter and they’re both safe.

We’ll need you to go pick them up tomorrow.

Will give you the details when you get here.

“Why the big smile?” Rachel asked me when I looked up from my phone.

“I just got some amazing news.”

“I’ve got some amazing news, too,” she said as she took my hand and led me towards the elevator. No one else was inside.

“What’s that?”

“We’ve got six hours before we have to catch our flight,” she said as she pressed the ‘Close Door’ button.

“Well, let’s make good use of them,” I murmured as we began to kiss.

The sex was fantastic. Two weeks locked away in a cell had given me an almost insatiable appetite, and Rachel and I put it to good use.

After our second time around, we were lying in each other’s arms when she hesitantly asked, “This Rosolini guy – can you trust him?”

“Dario,” I said quietly. “And yes – with my life.”

“He’s mafia, though.”

“Cosa Nostra, yes. But he’s different. So are his brothers.”

“Lars – ”

“I know, I know. I thought exactly the same way as you for the longest time. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t take him up on his offer to find you earlier.”

She sat up on her elbow and looked at me in alarm. “Wait – Dario’s the one who found me?!”

“The family sent some men to Pescara, and they asked around until they found out your mother’s maiden name.”

“‘Asked around’?” she repeated in alarm.

“In a friendly way,” I said in amusement. “Once they found out, Gunnar tracked you down. Your mother’s name was on the shell company that owns your house.”

Rachel stared at me. “I don’t know whether to be frightened or impressed.”

“If it was anybody else, I’d say you were smart to be frightened. But with Dario and Niccolo, just be impressed.”

“How’s Gunnar?”

“He’s great.”

“I asked Alistair to try to find him – I figured he could tell me what happened to you – but Alistair said there wasn’t any trace of him.”

“Yeah, well, Alistair lied about a lot of shit. He must have lied about that, too.”

“Yeah…” Rachel said, lying back down against my body. “Tell me again, though: why’s this Dario guy any different from all the other organized crime bosses out there?”

“For one, he completely banned all human trafficking in his territory. He didn’t want anyone bringing in women from other countries and exploiting them.”

“Why, so he could use his stable of local girls?” she asked bitterly.

“No. He also banned all pimps in the areas he controlled. He told the women they could remain sex workers, but if they quit and went into something else, he’d give them 5000 euros apiece to start a new life.”

I could feel Rachel’s head move against my shoulder as she looked at me in surprise. “…really?”

“Really. And he completely got his family out of the drug business.”

“So what does he do, then?”

“He’s big into political corruption. The family also apparently controls some ports. I’m sure there’s a bunch of other unsavory stuff, but he doesn’t victimize women, and he refuses to have anything to do with drugs.”

“…huh…”

I could almost hear the wheels turning in her head.

“Just meet him,” I said. “You’ll see.”

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice suddenly sultry. “I think I’m going to need some more convincing.”

As she said it, her hand gently brushed my cock.

It immediately went from mostly soft to halfway stiff – and kept getting harder as she caressed me.

“Yeah?” I murmured.

“Yeah,” she whispered with a grin.

“Alright,” I said as I rolled over and began kissing her neck. “More convincing, coming right up.”

177

After another hour in bed, we ordered room service for an early dinner. Then we showered and caught our flight at 9.

There was an hour-and-a-half layover in Paris, then we got to Florence just after one in the morning.

Giorgio was waiting for us. He took one glance at Rachel and gave me a look like, WOW.

“Bella signorina,” he said approvingly.

Beautiful lady.

“Parla italiano,” I replied. “Ed è la mia fidanzata.”

She speaks Italian. And she’s my fiancée.

“…oh,” he said, blushing bright red.

He was probably thanking his lucky stars he hadn’t said anything coarse or off-color.

“Ma grazie,” Rachel said with a partially suppressed smile.

But thank you.

Giorgio kept his mouth shut after that. He didn’t say anything else until we were in the car, and I started prodding him – in Italian – for news about what had been going on.

“All I know is that Massimo called again around midnight,” he said. “Things had been going good – then shit went south.”

“What happened?” I asked in alarm.

“Some fucker nearly killed him and kidnapped the Widow’s granddaughter.”

My stomach lurched. “…Jesus…”

“Yeah,” he said, then warned me, “Just know you’re walking into a real shitshow, boss.”

“Great,” Rachel muttered behind clenched teeth. She asked me in English, “Are you sure we can’t just take off?”

“He knows English,” I told her.

“…great,” Rachel said, a sickly look on her face.

Giorgio smiled in the rearview mirror – glad that he wasn’t the one in the hot seat for once. “Take off where?”

“Nowhere,” I told him, then whispered to her, “It’s going to be alright. Do you trust me?”

“…yes,” she whispered back, and lay her head on my shoulder.

We rode the rest of the way in silence.

We arrived at the property just after 2 AM.

When we reached the house and got out of the car, six of my foot soldiers were standing guard under the portico. As soon as they saw me, they yelled joyfully and slapped my back in greeting.

I said hello back, then asked where Dario and Niccolo were.

“In the parlor.”

I thanked Giorgio and escorted Rachel inside – fully aware that the guys were all staring after her, wondering who the hell the knockout was.

We walked over to the parlor, and I rapped on the door.

“Come in,” Niccolo’s muffled voice said.

Rachel looked up at me. I don’t think I’d ever seen her that terrified before.

I put my arm around her and pulled her close to my side.

Both to comfort her…

And to make sure nobody inside the parlor did anything rash.

I reasoned that they wouldn’t fire at Rachel if they thought they might hit me.

At least, I hoped that was the case.

“Trust me,” I whispered, then opened the door.

Dario was standing behind his desk, with Niccolo and Adriano on the opposite side. They seemed to be examining blueprints.

I noticed that the curtains were drawn on all of the windows, and tall pieces of furniture were blocking them as well.

I approved of the extra caution.

Six foot soldiers were in the room, three on each wall. Their faces all lit up as soon as they saw me. I nodded and smiled in greeting.

Dario looked up from his desk, and a huge smile spread across his face.

Then he saw Rachel, and he glanced back at me with a quizzical look. Who’s this?

Niccolo turned towards us, too.

“Thank God you’re here! Massimo’s in trouble and – ”

He paused as he saw Rachel.

“…who’s this?” Niccolo asked, definitely not pleased at being surprised.

“Everyone,” I said, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice, “this is Rachel. My – ”

Before I could get out ‘fiancée,’ Niccolo’s face contorted in rage.

“BAUER?!” he shouted. “The woman who tried to KILL DARIO?!”

Adriano’s face went blank with shock –

And then he pulled his gun and pointed it at Rachel’s head.

The foot soldiers just froze.

I felt Rachel tense –

And I stepped in front of her, shielding her from Adriano.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I snapped. “Hold on – ”

“GUARDS!” Niccolo screamed at the top of his lungs.

That jarred the foot soldiers out of their stupor, and they all pulled their guns and pointed them at Rachel.

“Niccolo!” I yelled angrily. “It’s not what you – ”

“STOP!” Dario suddenly roared.

The entire room went silent.

“False alarm, everyone,” Dario said calmly to the foot soldiers. “Please go to the foyer so we can talk in private.”

“DARIO!” Niccolo yelled in indignation. “She’s – ”

“I said,” Dario seethed, locking eyes with his consigliere, “false… alarm. Gentlemen… please go to the foyer.”

Niccolo looked outraged.

The foot soldiers glanced at each other in confusion, then holstered their pistols and shuffled out.

“Adriano,” Dario said quietly. “Put the gun away.”

Adriano looked confused, but he slipped the pistol back in his shoulder harness.

I noticed he kept his jacket open for easy access, though.

Dario smiled the tiniest bit. “Well. Lucky my wife is in bed already, or that would have nearly frightened her to death.”

Then he gestured at Rachel as though to ask, What’s going on?

I swallowed hard.

This was the moment I had been rehearsing on the plane.

I remembered what Adriano had told me:

Dario’s the don now. It’s different than it was before. I know you two were tight back in San Vittore – but this is like you and your buddy were both sergeants, and then suddenly your buddy got promoted to five-star general overnight.

I also remembered what Dario had said to me when I’d asked where the line was between our friendship and our business relationship.

It’s true, there’s a certain level of… decorum that has to be observed now that I’m head of the family. And I would appreciate it if you observe that decorum when others are present… but you are my friend. I might not be able to act as casually as I once did when we’re around others… not with the trappings that come with my new position… but you can always come to me privately and speak your mind. Always.

This wasn’t one of those private moments…

And so I erred on the side of caution.

I took Rachel’s hand behind my back… gave it a gentle squeeze… and began to talk.

“Don Rosolini, it’s true… this is the woman who tried to kill you. But I beg of you, hear me out before you decide.”

I felt Rachel’s hand clamp down on mine.

I’m sure at that moment she was thinking, THIS ISN’T WHAT I HAD IN MIND!

But I ignored the panicked message she was sending me and continued.

“Fausto hired her. She didn’t know who you were, and she had no idea I worked for you. There was no personal animus on her part. She was just doing a job.

“Please… consider everything I ever did for you during our time at San Vittore. If you will only forgive her, the slate will be wiped clean. I will release you from our previous agreement and will do anything you ask in the future, without question. Your word will be my command.

“Please, Don Rosolini,” I whispered. “I beg you… spare the life of the woman I love.”

Behind me, I could feel Rachel holding onto me in a death grip of fear.

Niccolo and Adriano looked at each other in shock. They’d never heard me address Dario this way before.

Dario stood there, still as a statue…

Then he circled around the desk.

He didn’t walk up to me, though.

He walked over to Rachel.

Niccolo and Adriano both tensed, about to say something –

But Dario raised a hand to them, and they remained quiet.

Dario looked deeply into Rachel’s eyes. “You didn’t know who I was?”

“No,” she said respectfully.

“And Fausto hired you?” Dario asked.

“I didn’t know his name or his relation to you… but one of my contacts back at MI6 figured out who he was.”

Dario looked at her for a moment more…

Then he turned to me and asked, “Il solo e unico?”

The one and only?

The One?

“Yes,” I said.

He grinned, then turned back to Rachel. “All is forgiven.”

A breath like a sob escaped her, and her shoulders drooped as all the tension in her body was released.

“…really?” she asked timidly.

Dario nodded and smiled. “Really.”

Niccolo had a slightly different reaction.

“WHAT… THE ACTUAL… FUCK?!” he roared.

Dario glanced over at him with a chiding look. “Niccolo…”

“Why the fuck are you giving her a pass on this?!”

“Because Lars trusts her,” Dario said, “and I trust Lars.”

I was almost overcome with emotion when he said that.

I don’t think I’d ever received a higher compliment in my entire life.

“Oh – so people can try to KILL you now, and it’s FINE!” Niccolo shouted.

Suddenly, Dario’s voice became ice-cold. “Calm yourself, consigliere.”

Niccolo clenched his jaw so hard I thought his teeth might shatter, but he kept quiet.

Then Dario turned to me.

“Thank you, Don Rosolini,” I said quietly.

The smile he gave me was almost wistful. “You have honored me, my friend.”

And then he reached out and hugged me.

I hugged him back fiercely.

When he pulled away, he was still smiling. “Our agreement still stands. As long as you are here with me, you will always be able to say ‘no.’”

My eyes misted up.

I had been willing to trade away everything I had to save Rachel’s life…

But in the end, Dario had given his forgiveness for free.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Not at all,” he said. Then he turned to Rachel. “So – I assume you will be staying here with us?”

“I – ” Rachel said, her mouth dropping open in shock. She looked at me, then back at Dario. “…I can do that?”

“NO!” Niccolo shouted.

“Yes,” Dario told Rachel, then looked at Niccolo with a mischievous smile. “You know what they say, consigliere: keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

“And your attempted assassins closest of all, apparently!” Niccolo fumed.

Dario turned back to me and Rachel and shook his head. “You’ll have to excuse my brother, he – ”

He stopped talking as he looked down and caught sight of something.

“Wait – are you two engaged?!”

Dario took Rachel’s hand and held it up to see the ring.

“Yes,” Rachel said shyly.

Dario turned to me and laughed joyfully. “I fucking TOLD you! Remember?! I said, ‘If it was meant to be, it would work out – ’”

Niccolo had reached the end of his rope.

“We don’t have TIME for this!” he roared. “Massimo is in danger, and you’re discussing engagement rings!”

Dario glanced back at Niccolo in irritation but then immediately became serious.

“He’s right. We need to act quickly,” Dario said, then looked at me. “And we’ll need your help.”

“Of course,” I replied. “Anything for Massimo.”

Dario walked over to the desk. “Niccolo talked to him about two hours ago. He believes Aurelio and a mercenary named Zollner – ”

“Friedrich Zollner?” Rachel exclaimed.

Dario, Niccolo, Adriano, and I stared at her.

“You know him?” Dario asked in surprise.

“I know of him,” she said. “Code name der Jäger – the Hunter. He’s worked for the Russians and Chinese before. He’s a world-renowned tracker and an excellent sniper.”

“Great,” I muttered under my breath.

“Well,” Dario continued, “Aurelio and this Zollner fellow are most likely holding the Widow’s granddaughter hostage on this island.”

He tapped a computer printout of a map on his desk.

“Would you… mind if I take a look?” Rachel asked deferentially.

“Please,” Dario said.

“By all means,” Niccolo said sarcastically.

She ignored Niccolo, walked up to the desk next to me, and began peering at the map.

Dario continued. “We know the island is being guarded by Wagner mercenaries. What we don’t know is how many. It could be dozens.”

I looked closer at the map. “Is this a graveyard?”

“Yes. The Isle of San Michele. It’s a cemetery off the coast of Venice.”

“Where, exactly, are they holding her on the island?” Rachel asked.

“This church is the likeliest location,” Dario said.

“Do you have any pictures of it?” I asked.

Dario showed me a couple of color photos printed out from the internet.

“Jesus Christ,” I swore, “that thing’s a fucking fortress. How many men will I have to storm this thing?”

“I’m thinking 20,” Dario asked. “We can’t spare much more than that.”

“Then I’ll make do with 20.”

“I’m going,” Adriano said. “With you, me, and Mass, that’s 23.”

“You’re still recovering from Florence,” I pointed out.

“I’m fine,” he snapped.

“And you just got married – ”

“And that’s my fucking brother,” he snarled, stabbing his finger at the map.

“…alright,” I said, then turned to Dario. “So there’ll be 23 of us.”

“You should split into three landing teams,” Rachel told me.

“That’s probably a good idea,” I agreed. “Divide their focus.”

“Exactly. I’d recommend here… here… and here,” she said, pointing at three separate points on opposite sides of the island.

The northernmost landing spot was only 800 feet from the church.

“Isn’t that too close?” I asked.

She shook her head without taking her eyes off the map. “No – it’s a harbor, and there’s a ton of buildings between it and the church. See?”

“Yeah…”

“Zollner’s going to be in the bell tower because it’s the highest elevation. You need to take him out as quickly as possible, or he’ll wipe out the landing party one by one. And you need to make the first shot count, or he’ll take cover, and you won’t get a second. You have only one advantage: he has no idea how good you are. Which means,” she said, tracing her finger from the harbor across the map, “you need to use these buildings as cover… find the best vantage point you can… and kill him.”

“…yeah,” I agreed gloomily.

Her analysis was dead-on. It was just going to be a fucking nightmare trying to accomplish it.

Then Rachel surprised me.

She looked up at Dario. “Let me go with them. I can help.”

Dario looked taken aback. He turned to me with a questioning look.

“Babe,” I said, concerned –

“I know you can do this alone,” she said softly. “But the point is, you don’t have to. There’s somebody who loves you who’s got your back.”

I looked at her and smiled.

It was a variation of what I’d said to her on the rooftop in Afghanistan years before.

She smiled back, then gestured towards Dario. “And Don Rosolini let me off the hook. The least I can do is repay the favor.”

She had a point.

I turned to Dario. “She’s as good as I am. Probably better.”

“Really,” Dario said, surprised.

Rachel smiled modestly. “We’re about the same.”

That’s when Niccolo lost it again.

“NO!” he shouted. “I swear to GOD, Dario, if you put the woman who tried to KILL you on the team to save Massimo, I will resign right here and now as your consigliere and never speak to you again!”

“Niccolo – ” Dario said.

“NO! The rest I can abide, but don’t test me!”

Daria sighed heavily, then looked at me and Rachel. “I’m afraid I have to defer to him on this one.”

“FINALLY!” Niccolo shouted.

“I understand,” Rachel said respectfully.

“While Lars and Adriano are off on the mission,” Dario said to Rachel, “you’ll stay here with me and my wife.”

Niccolo would have done a spit take if he had been drinking something.

“Wait – WHAT?!” he shrieked. “NO, that’s even WORSE!”

Dario gave him a mischievous smile. “Be careful what you wish for, consigliere.”

178

After we talked Niccolo down off a ledge, we continued planning –

And then Massimo called at 4:15 AM.

I got him on the speaker phone. “I looked at a map of the island on the internet, and it’s not good. They’re going to be in the church – which means not only do we have to invade a fortress, but they’re going to have the high ground with the bell tower. If they have a good sniper, they can pick us off as we approach.”

“If Zollner stays after he delivers Lucia, they’re probably going to have an excellent sniper.”

“Great,” I said with a sigh. “This is going to be like storming the beaches at Normandy.”

“Yeah, but the Allies won on D-Day.”

“Yes… at the cost of 4400 men.”

“Cheer up,” Massimo said, his tone darkly humorous. “We don’t HAVE 4400 men, so it won’t be nearly that bad.”

I laughed darkly, then took down the address of where we would meet him. Then we said our goodbyes and hung up.

Rachel looked at Dario pleadingly. “Are you sure I can’t go?”

I could almost see the steam coming out of Niccolo’s ears as she asked it.

Dario repressed a smile as he answered Rachel. “It might start a civil war in my household. But thank you for the offer.”

Suddenly, the phone rang again – the same number Massimo had called from just moments before.

I answered the phone in alarm. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah, I got an idea. What do you think about me pulling a bulletproof door off one of our Mercedes and carrying it around like a shield? I could use duct tape to fasten it to my arm. That way, I can advance and not worry about getting shot by Zollner.”

I frowned. “That’s insane.”

But if there was going to be a world-class sniper on a bell tower shooting at him…

“Which is exactly why it might work,” I finished.

Rachel grinned as she stared at the map. “This is so much cooler than MI6.”

179

As soon as I hung up the second time, I leapt into action.

I chose 20 of my best foot soldiers and had them load six of the Mercedes with guns, bulletproof vests, and a sniper rifle for me, plus the tools Massimo would need to detach one of the doors. I told my men to double-time it and be ready to go in 20 minutes.

It was a four-and-a-half-hour drive to Treporti, the little town outside Venice where we would meet Massimo. But without any traffic this early in the morning, I figured we could drive faster and get there in less time.

“You’ll have the speed boats ready when we arrive?” I asked Niccolo.

“Yes, of course,” he snapped. “You focus on everything else and leave the boats to me.”

He still hadn’t forgiven me for bringing a would-be assassin into the house… but I figured he’d get over it. Eventually.

Adriano had woken up Bianca to say goodbye. They stood apart from the rest of us, holding each other in the pre-dawn darkness.

No one wanted to admit it, but this might be their last goodbye.

All of our last goodbyes.

“Thank you,” Dario said to me gratefully.

I kept my eyes on his as I tilted my head towards Rachel. “Thank you.”

We hugged, and then I turned to my fiancée.

Her face was worried. “You haven’t slept.”

“I spent the last two weeks sleeping, courtesy of MI6,” I reminded her. “And I’ll nap on the way.”

She put a hand on my cheek. “I wish I were going with you…”

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

I kissed her deeply, then pulled away.

“Be safe,” she whispered.

“I will. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered, and we kissed again.

Adriano left Bianca, who did her best to stifle her tears…

And we all got into the cars.

I kept my eyes on Rachel the entire time.

She was the last thing I saw as we drove away.

180

Rachel

Iknew that Lars’s mission wasn’t that different from the ones he’d gone on in Afghanistan when we first started dating.

And it wasn’t that different from the ones I’d gone on for MI6, either.

There was always danger. That was the life he and I had lived for years.

But still, I’d just gotten him back –

And it terrified me to think I might lose him all over again.

So I did whatever I could to keep my mind off what was happening in Venice…

Which Niccolo helped with immensely, in spite of himself. He was quite diverting without even realizing it.

First, he demanded I be kept separate from Dario, Dario’s wife Alessandra, and Adriano’s wife Bianca.

Then Niccolo insisted I be handcuffed to a chair in the parlor, and he would guard me personally.

Which I found hilarious, although I was obviously smart enough not to show it.

After a short argument between the two brothers, Dario gave in. He told me it would all be over shortly and that I should ask Niccolo for anything I needed.

Lars was right. I liked Dario immensely.

He was vastly different from the organized crime bosses I’d crossed paths with during my career. There was something almost… noble about him.

And – overlooking that one moment when I thought I was going to die in a hail of bullets – I was still shocked that Dario had let me off the hook for the assassination attempt.

Nobody I knew would have ever done that. Especially not MI6.

Whatever the bond between Dario and Lars, it was incredibly strong.

Lars had told me to trust him about his friend, and he’d been right. I would be sure to tell him that when he got back.

I stressed that to myself repeatedly:

I would tell him when he got back.

Not if.

When.

While ten armed guards kept their pistols pointed at me, I let Niccolo handcuff me to a wooden chair. Then he dismissed the men and kept watch over me with a Glock in his hand.

I decided Niccolo was actually pretty admirable. He was obviously devoted to his family. Plus, he was the only one in the group thinking straight.

I decided to tell him that.

“You can trust me,” I said, “but I want you to know that I understand and even approve of your suspicion.”

“Is that so,” he said sarcastically.

“Yes. If I’d walked into MI6 with an assassin who’d tried to kill someone in the agency, and asked for all to be forgiven just because I vouched for him, MI6 would have shot the assassin and questioned my sanity. So I think you’re behaving rationally.”

“By that standard, should I go ahead and shoot you?” he asked with faux sweetness.

“That wasn’t what I’d hoped you’d take away from that example.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

An hour after Lars left, Niccolo had a servant deliver two breakfast trays. Niccolo placed one of the trays on a coffee table for him and warily put the other on my lap.

Though both my hands were cuffed to the arms of the chair, I could still reach everything on the tray. I had to hunch over, but I could eat without a problem.

The food was amazing: prosciutto, smoked trout, fresh bread, sweet butter, three types of pastries, a cup of espresso, and a mimosa with freshly squeezed orange juice and champagne.

“This is delicious,” I said.

“I’m glad you approve,” he said archly. Then, coming down a bit from his grumpiness, he said, “Your Italian is excellent.”

“Thank my mother,” I muttered.

“Ah – Camilla from Pescara.”

I looked at him in surprise. “You know about that?”

He snorted.

“Know about it? When Dario said we needed to find her, I was the one who supervised the men we sent there.” He looked at me as though deciding how carefully to tread. “They said your mother was a very… colorful character. Her coworkers still remembered her quite vividly after all these years.”

I grimaced. “‘Colorful’ is a very diplomatic way of putting it.”

“I take it you’re not a big fan of your mother’s… ‘colorfulness’?”

“No. We’ve been estranged for years.”

“…I’m sorry to hear that.”

He sounded sincere.

I shrugged. “We all have family issues.”

Niccolo gave a short, bitter laugh. “Don’t I know it.”

“Your uncle,” I suggested.

“Yes,” he said, then added with a smirk, “My uncle – and your former employer.”

“Former,” I stressed. “And a one-time deal only.”

He looked thoughtful. “You know, I was curious about something – ”

His cell phone rang.

“Excuse me,” he said, then got up to take the call. He walked to the other side of the parlor and talked quietly with whomever was on the other end.

However, he took his eyes off of me.

Mistake.

I pulled a pin out of my hair and quickly picked the locks on both my handcuffs.

But rather than do anything else, I sat in my chair and continued eating breakfast.

Once he was finished with the call, Niccolo sat back down. “As I was saying – ”

“I’d like to make a point,” I interrupted.

“Which is?”

I held up both of my hands – now free of the handcuffs.

Niccolo’s eyes bugged out, and he frantically pointed his pistol at my head.

“Calm down,” I said gently as I cuffed my left wrist back to the arm of the chair. “I wanted to demonstrate that I could have killed you just now… but I didn’t. Because I truly appreciate Dario forgiving me, and because I bear no ill will towards him or any of you. Lars obviously cares a great deal for you, your brother, and your entire family… and by extension, that means I’ll never hurt any of you.”

Niccolo regarded me with new interest as I clicked the other handcuff onto my right wrist and began eating again.

“Impressive,” he finally said.

“Thank you.”

Niccolo put the gun down on the coffee table – the first time he’d let go of it – and sipped his cup of espresso. “Back to my original question. I’d like to know something.”

“Ask away.”

I expected him to quiz me on MI6 –

But that wasn’t even close.

“Did you meet with my uncle in person?”

“I did.”

“What about my cousin Aurelio?”

“Tall guy, perpetually pissed off?”

“That’s the one.”

“Yes, he was there, too.”

“By any chance… was there a woman present?”

“Mid to late twenties, very pretty, glasses, studious looking?”

Niccolo’s eyes shone as he leaned forward. “So you did see her.”

“She didn’t say much – hardly anything at all.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said excitedly. “Tell me everything.”

Pre-order MAFIA KINGS: ROBERTO now for the special price of $2.99!

I like to think of Roberto’s story as 50 Shades of Grey ‘Mafia Style.’ (In other words, it’s gonna get kinky.)

ROBERTO will cover the three weeks while Massimo was with Lucia and Lars was dealing with Rachel and MI6.

(Don’t mind the release date on the Amazon book page – I’ll publish the book as soon as I finish writing it, probably in Summer 2024.)

After that will be VALENTINO, where we find out about his arranged marriage in Sicily…

Followed by NICCOLO, which will wrap up the series (or at least this current storyline).

EPILOGUE FOR LARS

If you’re already on my email list, you can download the Epilogue for Lars here! You’ll be prompted to enter your email address to make sure you’re on the list.

You can also download the Epilogue for Massimo here…

And the Epilogue for Adriano here.

If you’re not on the mailing list yet, join here and you’ll immediately get the Epilogue for Dario. Then come back here, click the previous links, and you can get the other Epilogues.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Check out my website to get on my mailing list and receive the Epilogue to MAFIA KINGS: DARIO!

www.oliviathorn.com

You can find me on Facebook at…

https://www.facebook.com/oliviathornbooks

And feel free to drop me a line at

olivia@oliviathorn.com

ALSO BY OLIVIA THORN

Mafia Kings: Dario

Mafia Kings: Adriano

Mafia Kings: Massimo

Mafia Kings: Lars

Mafia Kings: Roberto (Pre-order now)

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