Page 48 of The Fighter

The thought comes from nowhere and strikes me like a bolt. When the hell did this happen? And how? For five years, I’ve been nursing my wounds, using Estela’s rejection as a shield. I don’t date; I meet women at Casanova for short-term flings. For five years, I’ve been afraid of getting close to anyone. Afraid of being vulnerable.

But somehow, Alina’s undermined my defenses. With her snark and her sass, her passion and her fire, her supposedly poisoned café bombon, she broke through.

And I didn’t even realize it. Not until it was almost too late. She was right in front of me, and I almost lost her.

I let out a long exhale, and my heartbeat slowly returns to normal. “Come on, dolcezza. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Bed?” she purrs. “I like the sound of that. You’re really hot, Tomas. I masturbate thinking of you all the time.”

And before I can process that unexpected revelation, her face turns green, and she leans forward and throws up on my shoes.

31

TOMAS

She’s seriously out of it. Her head is lolling back, and she looks like she’s slipping into unconsciousness. I pick her up and gently set her down on the nearest bench.

My first call is to our doctor, Matteo. I quickly describe Ali’s symptoms. “She’s passed out on the bench,” I say, resisting the urge to shout and rage. “I need you to look at her.”

“Where are you?”

“Castello.”

“And you said she threw up? That’s a good sign. Take her home and put her to bed. Make sure she drinks plenty of fluids. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Thanks, Matteo.”

He doesn’t sound too worried. He doesn’t insist I take her to the nearest hospital. I make myself take a calming breath and look around. Shit. The dock is a mess. The collision I caused took out a support, broke the decking, and wrecked half of the railings. The structure looks like it’s minutes from sinking into the water.

And then there’s the dead guy lying a foot away from me. Plus, the one I threw into the canal.

In situations like this, there’s a protocol to be followed. I’m supposed to call Leo and let him sort it out. Or, if he’s unavailable, Joao.

But it’s late at night, and Leo is newly engaged. I don’t want to bother him with my mess, so I call Joao instead.

“Tomas,” he booms. There’s loud music playing in the background, and he’s almost having to scream into the phone to be heard over it. “What’s up?”

“I need a cleaner.”

“One sec.” The line goes silent as he puts me on mute. When he returns, the music is much softer. “Did I hear you right?” he asks sharply. “You need a cleaner?”

Cleaner is code. “Yes,” I reply. “Book her for two hours.” Two hours equals two bodies. I seriously doubt anyone is listening to our phone calls, but it’s always a good idea to take precautions. “It’s a bit of a mess.”

“Send me your location. I’ll be there.”

I do that and turn back to Ali. She’s half-sitting, half-lying on the bench. I sit next to her in my sock-clad feet—the loafers are covered in blood and vomit and are a write-off—and put her head in my lap. The kidnappers chose this point to abduct Alina because the surrounding buildings are warehouses, abandoned at this time of the night. Had we been in a residential neighborhood… That would have been a much messier situation.

I got lucky. Really lucky.

Who would want to abduct Alina, and why? It doesn’t make any sense. It’s not Groff—Leo has a surveillance team on the man, and I know he’s in London, trying to con some Russian heiress into investing in his nightclub venture. Could it be Ciro del Barba? That seems extremely unlikely. Del Barba might not like paying out a hundred grand, but he’s not going to commit a crime in Antonio Moretti’s city for something that’s pocket change for a man as rich as he is.

So who could it be?

I’m still trying to puzzle it out when Joao shows up. He made really good time—it’s been less than fifteen minutes since I called him. He’s not alone, either. Paulina is with him, as are a couple of her cleaners. She takes one look at the scene and gets to work.

Joao surveys the carnage with expressionless eyes. “Is she okay?” he asks me, gesturing to Alina.

“I think so.” The adrenaline drains out of me. The last time I killed someone was four years ago, when Leo needed backup during a gunfight, and I was the only person available. “Matteo is going to meet me in my apartment to make sure.”

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