Page 65 of Black Widow's Kiss

Whether it was product or people, she could get it through U.S. customs. She wasn’t the only person in her position that we had access to, but she was the best. Not only could she clear the path through checkpoints for anything we needed, she had access to the national database of everything and everyone entering or leaving the country.

“Vincent Ricci,” I told her sitting across from her in her office at the airport.

I liked dealing with her. Unlike so many others, she had no fear. I was told that she grew up in the abandoned subway lines under New York City. She was a mole person.

I could only guess what she saw as a child. But it was enough motivation to claw her way out and never have to live that way again. As far as my father can tell, she doesn’t even spend what we pay her. She probably just sleeps on it for security.

That’s fine with us. Large purchases were how people in her position got caught. Make a security blanket out of the cash for all we care. We just needed results and she gave it to us.

“Leaving or arriving?” she asked staring at me with her vacant mole person eyes.

“Arriving. We think he’s already here.”

“For how long?”

“We don’t know. Maybe a few days.”

She nodded her head and lost herself in the data flashing on the screen.

“The search will take a while.”

“Should I wait for it?”

“I would rather you didn’t. I’m surprised your father authorized you being here. Your presence could raise questions.”

“Just do the search,” I demanded knowing she was right.

I drew attention by design. I was also easy to remember. The last thing my father needed was for someone to recognize me as his son and to wonder why I was here talking to who I was.

An hour later, she asked, “Vincent Ricci arriving from Rome, Italy two days ago?”

“That sounds right. Does it say where he’ll be staying while in New York?”

With a few more strokes, she had an answer.

“Can you write it down for me?” I asked her eventually receiving it on a slip of paper. “Thank you.”

As I got up she stopped me.

“My brother didn’t deserve what he got.”

Pausing, I looked at her confused. “Your brother?”

“Ricci,” she said referring to the name she had written down. “Matteo Ricci killed my brother. He didn’t deserve that.”

I hadn’t made the connection. Her brother was the one Matteo had killed by dragging behind his car in Yakuza territory.

“He didn’t,” I agreed.

“They say he went crazy on that Italian girl, but it wasn’t his idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone told him to do it. Or, at least they put the idea in his head.”

“How do you know that?” I asked suddenly intrigued.

“He told me before…” she drifted off unable to acknowledge her brother was gone. “He didn’t say who, but someone told him that she liked it rough.”

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