Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
My mission directives were clear. Get close to the Abramos and turn Giovanni by any means necessary, with the ultimate goal of gathering intel on his father, Vitale. I’d been working the case for five months, but the proof connecting the family to the Serbian terrorist cell had so far eluded me.
The situation with Constantine Abramo made it ten times worse. The youngest of Vitale’s sons had been the most pliable, and the CIA’s original target for acquisition, but I’d taken that option off the table.
My head ached with exhaustion, and every bump that rocked the vehicle aggravated the throbbing. Jesus, what I’d give to sleep for a week.
I squashed the thought. It didn’t matter how tired I was. The Abramos were too great a danger to deal with whenever it was convenient. The threat had to be handled now.
“Tell her,” Giovanni said, “that I’m going to rest before dinner. I’ll have someone let her know when to meet us at the lodge.”
Great. I translated to Olivia, and as I’d expected, there was displeasure in her green eyes at the subtle demand. Annoyance rose hot within me, but it was self-directed. Giovanni hadn’t been all that interested in his female pilot, not until the second leg of the flight down to South Africa, when I’d let it slip that I thought she was beautiful.
That was a misstep.
But when I’d pulled Giovanni and his wandering hands off her, that had been a big mistake. It lit the fuse on his interest. The evil little Italian loved to take away what other people desired.
And, shit, I wanted Olivia.
I was doing everything in my power to hide it and failing miserably. I’d almost hoped during our tense lunch conversation that she was deeply involved with the Abramos. Just as crooked and cruel and self-serving. That would have shut down the unwanted feelings in me, cold.
But she hardly knew anything about the family’s activities. Only enough to understand that walking away mid-contract was a bad idea.
I had set her in Giovanni’s sights, which was a terrible place to be. People had a habit of disappearing after spending time with Giovanni Abramo.
Especially women as beautiful as her.
3
OLIVIA
I was the last to arrive at dinner. The men were seated at the long table, and all heads turned my way when I appeared. I’d let my hair down from the braid and pushed a wavy lock behind an ear.
Both Giovanni and Nathan seemed to notice me at the same time. Giovanni’s face broke out into a smile, while Nathan clenched his jaw and tore his gaze away. Why was he acting like he was angry with me?
He sat beside Giovanni, but the rest of my flight crew were at the other end of the table, as if they weren’t allowed to mingle with our boss. He waved me over, and I chose once again not to be rude.
“Buonasera,” I said when the men were on their feet. I slipped into the empty seat beside him, the men sat, and my gaze settled on Giovanni.
“Buonasera,” he echoed back.
He turned and glanced at Nathan, uttering something. Whatever was said made his translating bodyguard choke on his drink. Discussion ensued, and occasionally the dark, intense eyes would glance my direction.
“What are you talking about? I recognized some of those words.” Words like Americano.
“It’s nothing.” Nathan didn’t even disguise the lie.
“I’m supposed to believe that?”
His gaze trapped mine. “No, but it’s better than the alternative, trust me.”
“Tell me.”
He shook his head. “I’ll tell you later.” It looked like the instant it was out, he wanted it back.
My heart fluttered and skipped. What did that mean? “Later?”
His eyes narrowed when Giovanni spat out a long sentence, and the thin Italian lips turned up in a seductive smile.
“Mr. Abramo—”
“Gio,” Giovanni corrected him, a scolding tone.
“. . . wants to know if you’re seeing someone.”
What? I kept my gaze fixed on Nathan, studying the American beside our employer. I wondered if he’d translate my words literally.
“Would it stop him if I were?” Sleeping with Giovanni Abramo would be like jumping out at fifteen thousand feet without a parachute.
Maybe the same could be said of Nathan.
His eyes were empty. “No, it won’t stop him, but it might slow him down.”
I turned to Giovanni. “Si.”
I hoped it wasn’t obvious it was a lie. I’d become quite a good liar in the last decade, but the man to his right didn’t look easily fooled.
I knew what a liar looked like, and, like the chameleon, I could spot another of my kind hidden in the bush.
Giovanni’s questions were tedious, but I had fun giving purposefully cryptic answers. And I also enjoyed Nathan’s reaction to them. Once the entrees were done and the Italian had two glasses of wine in him, he looked ready to strike.
“He says you’re the best-looking pilot his family has ever had.”