Page 114 of Gilded Saint

“Hmm?”

“What do you say we officially begin our honeymoon?”

Chapter37

One Week after the Funeral

Sam

“According to a CIA source, Massimo De Luca’s men have been inquiring about Leo Sullivan. Two men were hanging around his apartment building, showing his photo, and asking occupants if they knew him.”

“I can’t imagine they discovered anything useful. I didn’t socialize,” I say.

I’m in Jack Sullivan’s home office. Liam Sullivan, Jack’s brother, flew to San Diego for the meeting. The original plan had been for us to meet in Houston, but given my alter ego did business in Houston, and therefore the risk of being recognized was highest in that city, our yacht docked in a small marina on the Alabama coast. We drove to a landing strip where we flew a private plane to San Diego. There are no official records of our arrival in the United States.

“We’re monitoring Massimo all the same.”

“What do you think he’s looking for?”

“Our source thinks he might be investigating his brother’s death.”

“I never denied killing him,” I say, letting my tone convey my skepticism of that theory.

“No, but we think he’s highly suspicious of the syndicate.”

“Leandro was suspicious. Massimo concurring fits.”

“Precisely. We’re uncertain what he’s hoping to find, but we’re fairly certain his goal is to understand the extent of the syndicate’s involvement in recent legal issues for the Lupi Grigi,” Jack says.

Liam bounces a stress ball on the floor, listening with blatant apathy. From what I know of Liam, that checks. His passion lies in R&D. He doesn’t have a military background and, to my knowledge, has never cared for law enforcement. He was perfect as my business contact on the Sullivan end because in all my undercover years working for the syndicate he never once mentioned anything not pertaining to the sale of arms. If anyone listened to our conversations, we never gave them a reason to doubt the legitimacy of my role in negotiating with various arms dealers.

“Do we have anyone monitoring Alessio?”

“We’re watching him from afar. An inside source shared that the reason he wanted the funeral to occur as quickly as it did is that his son, Orlando, had a ceremony scheduled, and they didn’t want to interfere with plans,” Jack says.

“Ceremony?” A fifteen-year-old mafia teen… “He’s a made man? He killed someone?"

“Sometime this weekend. I guess that means he killed recently, or he will soon.”

Damn. Willow would hate knowing that. Her brother had an innocence about him, and killing will change him.

“I know you hate you took her away from her family, but you did her a favor. You took her out of a life in organized crime. She’s better off here.”

I understand what Jack’s saying, and I appreciate why he’s saying it. But she still loved her family. They’re as much victims of the world they were born into as purveyors of it. Judgment Day awaits every person, and I am not the judge.

“What are your plans?” Jack asks.

“Well, I’m thinking once we leave here, we might drive up the coast. Let her see California. Maybe drive cross country, checking out places. See what kind of place she prefers, where she might want to settle. It’s my understanding we can live pretty much anywhere?” I ask, looking to Jack for confirmation.

“We don’t see any reason you can’t. It’s an off-the-books op. No accessible records exist tying you to it. The risk you need to resolve is your sisters. They need to keep your return quiet. They can’t run an article in the local paper or do a small-town hero welcome for the soldier who’s been suffering from amnesia in a hospital in Syria for five years.”

“I’ll be careful.” The CIA provided a carefully sculpted explanation for my whereabouts, including a story for how I met my wife. They’d wanted to paint her as the nurse, but I vetoed that, given she has no medical training. The official story is I recovered in a hospital in Syria with amnesia, took a job fishing, and stayed in Croatia working the docks. It wasn’t until after I met her in Croatia, where she was a sketch artist selling her work on the street, that I began to recover my memory, and found my way to the U.S. Embassy.

That’s the story my sisters will be told. If need-to-know arises, Knox and Max, my sisters’ husbands and Arrow team members, may be given clearance to learn the truth. Until then, they’ll be fed the cover story. Will they believe it? I doubt it. But they’ll understand the importance of playing along.

“Your sister’s baby shower is soon,” Jack says.

Liam continues bouncing the ball, creating a steadywhop, whop, whopsound.

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