Page 21 of Diamond Don

With any luck, time and distance from him and our moment of passion will eventually allow me to think of that fateful night as just an exquisite memory of a lovely summer evening.

In the meantime, I must keep myself occupied until I overcome this struggle to move on from our one-night stand.

With the monumental task I have at hand, it shouldn’t be too difficult. Any day now, we will receive word from our blackmailer. Once he securely hides or fences the diamond, he will contact us with a new, outrageous demand, coupled with a handful of threats about the endless suffering he will put A.J. through if I go against his wishes.

We are closer than ever to securing the final key to his downfall. If I make it to our appointment with our contact in the next ten minutes, the man’s reign of terror will be over before I can tell him vai a farti fottere, figlio di puttana!

The woman we are supposed to meet at the coffee shop was extremely hard to track down. Once we managed to find her, it was almost impossible to convince her to talk to us. The poor lady was terrified, dreading doing anything that could anger the horrid man. After the ordeal he put us through the past few months, I understand how she feels.

After a lot of reassuring, cajoling, and begging, we convinced her to speak to us. Her name is Camilla, and she was the stronzo’s secretary for a period over two decades ago. I can only imagine the horrors she experienced during her time in his employ.

If anyone can help us with the last puzzle piece, it is Camilla. Her assistance will guarantee we get our hands on the almost fabled proof of the villain’s sin. With it, we will have the leverage we need to turn the tables on him.

I pull up to the block of our meeting place and miraculously spot an empty parking spot. It can only be a sign from above that our luck is about to change.

Quickly, I park my car, grab my purse from the passenger’s seat, and exit the vehicle, my hands shaking with anticipation.

The alluring scent of freshly brewed coffee beckons me to the shop around the corner, where A.J. awaits me, likely even more excited than me. As bad as I have it with the stronzo, she has it much worse.

I walk towards the cafe, glancing at my reflection in the window of a boutique. I must ensure that I look like a normal, trustworthy person to Camilla. The last thing we need is to spook her.

For a split second, I glimpse the man of my daydreams inside a dark SUV parked across the street. My heart lurches in my chest, and I spin on my heels to stare at the vehicle. Its heavily tinted windows are impenetrable, raised to the top.

Here I go again—daydreaming. Now is not the time for silly distractions. I turn around and resume walking towards our agreed-upon meeting spot. I run my hands over my skirt, nervously smoothing away a nonexistent wrinkle. The soft feel of the lush silk soothes my frazzled nerves.

As I approach the corner of the street block, I’m suddenly overcome by a deep feeling of unease. Just nerves, I’m sure. This is a huge deal for A.J. and me. Everything we have been working towards for almost a year has led to today. Anyone would be nervous.

Behind me, two sets of footsteps hit the pavement in rhythm with my heels click-clacking down the sidewalk.

Alarm bells ring in my head. My first instinct is to dismiss this perceived threat as mere paranoia, but my sense of self-preservation and professional experience warn me against doing so. There’s no harm in staying alert and making sure there’s no cause for concern. God knows the stronzo is capable of anything.

Still, it would be silly to let it rattle me. It’s probably nothing. I should keep a cool head and remain calm. This is a busy, public street, after all. Not even the stronzo would risk causing a scene by hurting me out in the open like this.

I plaster an aloof smile on my face before glancing at my reflection in the windows of the shops I am passing, pretending to fix my hair. My eyes immediately land on two freakishly tall, burly men, wholly clad in black.

Fuck. There’s no question—they are following me. Closely.

The one on the left has a long, aquiline nose on his face, framed by longish, wavy black hair. He is at least eight inches taller than me and probably a hundred pounds heavier. As he marches down the sidewalk, the unmistakable bulge of a firearm under his suit jacket is hard to miss.

Somehow, his colleague on the right is even scarier. His hair is cropped short, military-style, and he sports a long, uneven scar that crosses his face from his left eye to the corner of his mouth. He is wearing a black earpiece that matches the color of his dark attire.

He is dressed to kill. Possibly literally.

I quickly look away from the hulking, scarred man, accidentally making eye contact with his raven-haired brother-in-arms. His eyes narrow as mine widen, and I gasp. I take off running, abandoning all pretense of obliviousness.

The two men shout something unintelligible in a language I don’t recognize, chasing after me.

The physicality of my job ensures I’m very agile and quick on my feet. Under normal circumstances, I’m confident I could’ve lost two burly men dressed in restrictive suits in the crowd.

Regrettably, I didn’t expect having to run for my life this morning when choosing what to wear. I was only concerned with looking my best and staying cool in this eighty-degree weather. As a result, they shorten the distance between their terrifying hands and me as I sprint down the pathway, wobbling in my six-inch tall strappy Louboutin sandals.

The two thugs will snatch me if I fall on my face. I wish I could kick off my impractical shoes and continue my dash barefoot, but the leather straps are tightly buckled around my ankles.

So I calculate my options, yelling at people to move out of my way and shoving innocent bystanders and any loose objects I can get my hands on at my followers as I race down the sidewalk.

A little out of breath, I look over my shoulder again. My despair grows when I realize they are almost close enough to grab me.

As I round the street corner, my right ankle twists painfully, and I lose my balance for a second. I right myself immediately, but it’s too late. The black-haired man grasps my hair, violently pulling me close to him.

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