Page 84 of Gilded Saint

“Well, he’s not The Beatles.” I stretch out my arm, checking the time. Is it time to call it? If I jump ship now, what will happen to Willow?

Chances are Massimo and Nick will sort their shit. But it’s risky. If Massimo’s knocked out, it could get bloody fast. And if I split now, Massimo might demand Willow back. Especially if my extraction leaves any doubts. If they harbor any suspicions I’m a narc, Willow would be tortured to death by whichever fucker got her first.

“I can get plans rolling,” Nomad says.

“I thought you always have plans in place.” I narrow my eyes.

Jack once said they have a dozen plans, but of course, that statement rings of CIA bullshit, unless one counts self-reliant techniques like swimming across the Atlantic.

“All plans were actionable for the first year. Like fine wine, they’ve aged. Won’t hurt to dust them off, right?”

“Dust away.” I consider those ships. It doesn’t feel like this is just Russia’s war of aggression. And there’s Willow. “I’ll stay in place. Let’s review the plans next time.”

“When do you think that’ll be?”

“A month, maybe? I’m in the desert for the next week.” I’ll need a new flat now that Massimo possesses my London address. “Might stay with the Falcon for a bit.” It’s harder to get away when I’m staying with Nick.

“I’ll plan accordingly.” He lifts a folder from a black leather attaché case. I open it.

The first photograph is of Sloane, my younger sister, and for much of my childhood, my best friend. She’s holding a vanilla ice cream cone and smiling, genuinely happy. The guy walking beside her is a fellow SEAL, Max Hawkins. He’s her husband and, I suspect, the reason Arrow has been able to capture happy moments. For years, I’d get photos of her entering or exiting buildings with a muted expression.

Sloane and Sage both found good men, and if the photos tell the truth, they have good marriages. I missed their weddings. I’ve missed everything. Like always, the thought has me shoving down anything clogging my thought processes. Missing family events is part of the job.

The second photograph is of Sage and Knox in a parking lot. There’s nothing little about my littlest sister anymore. Knox’s hand falls protectively to her back, and her stomach is swollen with pregnancy.

“When is she due?” I flip the photo for him to see.

“Mid-November. Can’t recall the exact date.”

The next photo is of Sage in a carpool line at school, waving at a student, then one of Sloane and Sage at what appears to be the sidelines of a marathon, probably cheering on their husbands. I flip through a half-dozen photos, checking for smiles, and close the folder, breathing deeply. Sentimentality is not my friend.

Six Days Later

It’s nearly midnight when the gate lifts and the gravel crunches over the winding road that leads to Nick’s mansion, or as he likes to call it, his country house. I stop the car in front, before the massive fountain. There’s a separate parking garage in the rear, but this late, I’ll leave my car out front and deal with it in the morning.

It’s been a long few days of product testing, negotiating prices, and wining and dining. The meetings in Saudi Arabia had been scheduled six months earlier, and after the Leandro incident, it was tempting to bail, but with tensions high between the syndicate and part of the Italian mafia, and a sense that an unknown player is in the mix, rescheduling didn’t feel like an option. It helped that Willow was at Nick’s estate. No one would dare to come after her here. If they tried, they wouldn’t succeed.

Over the last week, I couldn’t shake her from my thoughts. During the day, I’d watch a bazooka explode in the sand, and I’d wonder what she would think if she saw it. Someone would introduce their wife, and I’d compare the wife to Willow. After dinner, escorts mingled, and I wished for Willow. She’s the only woman I want. I’m not an idiot. I know she’s gotten under my skin. But there’s no winning here. The day will come when I leave, and I’ll leave her in this world.

One night I dreamed we were in Asheville. I think we might’ve been in the front yard of Knox and Sage’s home, a place I’ve only seen in photographs, but I have a good idea of what’s around it, because I visited Sage in the original house, before it burnt down. The dream was disjointed, and people appeared and disappeared.

When I woke, I had to go for a run to shake the sensations rattling through me. She could never come to Asheville as Willow Gagliano. To do so would open my sisters, my family, to revenge attacks. And I’ve put them through too much with my staged death to turn around and put them at risk now. On the flip side, if Willow assumed a new identity, she’d leave her family behind, never to see them again. And I’ve lived that scenario, and it’s one I could never put her through.

The front door clicks, and my pulse picks up a notch. Nick steps out, and there’s no denying the disappointment. I hoped for Willow. Ridiculous of me. Soon enough, I’ll be dead to her.

I haul the suitcase out of the trunk and slam it down. But where is Willow? Why didn’t she greet me?

“Miss me, did you?” I call, making light of Nick greeting me at midnight, as he’d expect no less.

“How else would you enter? Blast your way through the door?” There’s a gravity to his tone that I recognize. He’s pissed. But why?

I step past him, into the foyer. One lamp lights a corner, and the house is silent.

“Lonely without me?” I ask, maintaining the light facade.

“It’s been something.” His dress shoe clicks against the floor. “Leave your bag. Follow me to the office.”

I do as he says, following like a lapdog, but listening intently for sounds.

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