In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(75)

“I want to go to this ice-cream shop. Could we get there by four?”

He thought about it. “Maybe, but it’s two hours from there to San Anselmo. We can’t drive there, do whatever we end up doing, and make it back in time to check in, find you formal wear, and get cleaned up for the gala. So, ice cream in Castellana Padulli or the Solkin Prize?”

Sveti’s gaze slid away. “Shit,” she whispered. “But what if this window of time is only a one-day thing?”

“Then he should have communicated better. Sasha’s waited this long. He can wait a little longer. If this is Sasha, of course.”

“Okay. The gala. But I’m going to Castellana Padulli tomorrow.”

They were quiet as Sam wended his way through the thick traffic. Then Sveti spoke up again. “Misha must feel guilty,” she said.

“Why?”

“Sasha said that Zhoglo made his dad choose which son to sacrifice to the organ traffickers. He put it like a favor. Your choice, go ahead, discuss it with your wife. The two-year-old or the ten-year-old, either one is fine with me. Sasha told me he was glad he was picked. It would’ve been worse, having his little baby brother condemned.”

“Oh, God, Sveti. That is so f*cking horrible,” Sam said sharply. “Did you have to tell me that?”

She was silent for a moment. “I guess I didn’t,” she said, her voice small. “I just . . . Sasha is special. I wanted you to understand that.”

Goddamn. He didn’t have time to indulge in compassion for the problematic mafiya spawn. His systems would go into conflict.

He had to stay streamlined and simple. Thing one, keep Sveti alive. Thing two, seduce her at every opportunity. Thing three, don’t think about the future. These iron-clad imperatives would keep him sane, and on top of this crazy mess. Nothing else could intrude.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “And I thought my family was f*cked up.”

She choked on a giggle. Out of nowhere, they were both snorting nervously under their breath. It felt perverse, to laugh under these circumstances. As if by doing so, they were letting down their guard.

“Stop it, Sam,” she choked. “Not funny. At all.”

“You started it.”

But the furtive chortling lightened the atmosphere, just a little.

It occurred to him as he pulled onto the Autostrada that he was living out one of his fondest Sveti fantasies. In a hot sports car speeding through the Italian countryside. The plan: Buy her a sexy evening gown, take her to a party. Sunset over the Mediterranean. Good food, good wine. Blow-your-mind sex. What wasn’t to like about that scenario?

Just his girlfriend’s complicated death wish. But if he wanted her attention, he had to dance to her tune.

And oh, what a weird melody it was.





CHAPTER 15

The hotel Sam took her to in San Anselmo was very luxurious. She followed Sam into the baroque palazzo, where a graceful atrium opened right out of the lobby, and palm fronds waved over people seated at wrought-iron tables, sipping drinks in the late-afternoon sun. It was not, of course, the hotel where she had a room paid for by Illuxit, but she was too exhausted and preoccupied to make a fuss.

Sam dealt with check-in, and Sveti listened with half an ear to his sexy, perfect Italian while staring into a display case that showcased a local jewelry artisan. The pieces reminded her of museum displays of Byzantine jewelry that Erin, Connor’s wife, had curated. Spirals of beaten gold, round cut stones. It reminded her of Deadly Beauty, though Tam’s style was more edgy and modern. The similarity lay in the pieces’ savage sensuality. They were beautiful, fierce, menacing. An emerald ring and matching pendant earrings were particularly gorgeous.

Sam slid a possessive hand around her waist from behind. She wanted to melt into him. And she fought the impulse, on pure principle.

“You like those earrings?” he murmured into her ear.

“They’re beautiful,” she said. “The ring, too. Stunning. The jeweler is very talented.”

“Do you want them?” he asked, his voice elaborately casual.

She jerked, as if shocked with electricity. “Get out! They’re emeralds, Sam! They cost eighteen thousand euros! I can think of a hundred things I’d rather do with eighteen thousand euros!”

He snorted. “Of course you can.”

His attitude bothered her. “You think I’m being sanctimonious and humorless because I don’t value fine jewelry?”

“Fine jewelry has its place in the grand scheme of life.”

“Not in my scheme,” she said vehemently.

Their room was a fresh shock to her sensibilities. It wasn’t a room at all. It was a freaking ducal apartment. A huge baroque sitting room with complicated molding, stunning mosaic tilework, and French doors that opened onto a private terrace overlooking the sapphire sea. The bedroom had a massive carved teak four-poster swathed in dreamy folds of mosquito netting. The bathroom had a sunken marble tub, a two-person shower. Antique frescoes of shepherds and chubby angels.

“What the hell?” She turned on him. “I can’t afford this place!”

“I never asked you to,” he said.

“Yes, and that’s why it pisses me off! Where are we?”

“The Hotel Aurelio. I thought of it right away when you said this thing was in San Anselmo. I stayed here with my sister and mom when I was a kid. In this very suite.” He looked around, his eyes faraway. “I have good memories of this hotel. I wanted to be here with you.”