Page 60 of The Eagle's Vault

Declan

Giovanni,theretiredsmugglerwhose grin hadn’t faltered since our entry, waved us toward the imposing dark oak table. Nodding, I steered Leigh toward a chair, my hand a protective presence at the small of her back.

Her lips had found my cheek in the car. A moment. No more. But damned if it didn’t keep replaying in my brain. It was just her way of saying thanks. Right? It wasn’t as if she’d draped herself over me. It was a peck on the cheek, for Christ’s sake. We were in Italy. That’s what you did in Italy.

But the way she’d leaned into my touch, like she was absorbing it, soaking it in. The way Scarlett’s blouse fell low enough on Leigh to reveal the swell of her breasts, the way she walked with increasing confidence when she wasn’t swallowed up by her formless clothes.

Shit.

Once we were all seated, my fingers itched for something more familiar. A lock, a key, a pick. Anything to fiddle with and get my brain off the kiss.

After we got out of this snake pit, I’d ask Leigh out. A real date. No stolen notebooks or retired Italian smugglers looming over us. Maybe it wouldn’t go anywhere. Maybe it would be the night I needed to close the door on Daphne for good. Or maybe she’d laugh and call me a joker. But hell, we could have one evening to remember.

“Shall we begin?” Giovanni’s rhetorical question sliced through me, his eyes sparkling like they held secrets I was better off not knowing.

A woman sidled in then, a tray of pastries in hand. I eyed the array of sweet treats as she placed them on the table. Jayce was going to be pissed she missed this part of the trip. She would have sold her soul to be in this room right now. But as Scarlett had said, Giovanni knew exactly who was in the vault, and it wasn’t Jayce.

With a polite nod, the woman exited the room.

Scarlett slid a thumb drive across the table to Giovanni. But before it reached him, Cristian’s hand swooped down, snapping up the device.

“Those are photographs Declan took of the notebook,” Scarlett said matter-of-factly. “Before we passed it over.”

The dangerous glint in Cristian’s eyes was unmistakable. Like father, like son, although Cristian lacked his father’s quiet menace.

“I want to apologize, formally.” Scarlett nodded at me.

“So do I,” I said.

As I braced myself for an argument, Giovanni flicked his wrist dismissively.

“How did you get into my box?” His question was simple, but the weight behind it was immense. What consequences did my reply hold for Edoardo?

Scarlett’s lips parted, her brain surely firing up a strategic response.

But a sharp rap from Giovanni’s knuckles on the table stopped her short. He pointed at Leigh. “I want to hear from her.”

My blood turned to ice. Leigh, out of all of us, was the least prepared to speak up here.

“I was lead on the vault job,” I said, trying to deflect his attention.

Giovanni’s genial smile warped into something far more predatory.

“Leigh was only there for training.” I maintained a steady voice, despite the adrenaline coursing inside.

“That’s exactly why I want to hear from her.” He was an old lion, hungry for young, weak prey. Was that all it was? Or could Edoardo have given him the surveillance tapes? Did Giovanni Ferraro know Leigh was the one who’d worked the key?

Leigh turned to me, her eyes wide and questioning.

I gave her an encouraging nod, wanting to hold her hand again. Move my chair closer. “Tell him about the chain key, Leigh.”

It was the safest ground. Something she could discuss in detail, while it would steer us clear of discussing the state-of-the-art tech we’d used on the vault. The less Giovanni knew about that, the better.

Nodding, Leigh turned to Giovanni, a polite apology spilling from her lips. She explained the existence of the two unique chain keys for each safe deposit box and her technique of hand-filing them. She presented a calm exterior, but I’d spent enough time with her to spot her discomfort.

Desperate to rescue her, I cut in. “Leigh’s an innovative safe designer. She’s into the historical, the artistic. Her vaults are works of art, literally.”

Giovanni pointed at the thumb drive Cristian held. “And the notebook?”

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