Page 58 of Scarlet Angel

I’ll never forgive my mother, my uncle, or any of the bastards. But there’s no need to dwell on it. They raised a serpent, and I struck. Now, I’ve only to wait for the poison to take hold.

“Are you sure you want me to stay here?” That’s what I came here to ask. “I have options.”

“You’re safest here. I don’t trust Interpol.”

“Why?”

“Too many countries source intel from them. If you want a secret distributed broadly, tell Interpol.”

“I don’t want to put you or Lina in danger.”

“I’d like nothing more than for Massimo to give me a reason to go after him. He sends someone to my gate, and that’s reason.”

“You’re already going after him.”

“Covertly.” He stretches his neck and scratches his throat. “Which is frustrating as fuck, given the process is achingly slow.”

“You’re not worried it won’t happen, are you?”

“No. It was always going to take time. Your smoking gun isn’t the garden-variety murder weapon and photo routine. It’s accounting. It’s numbers. It’s the Achilles’ heel of all criminal organizations. The reason billionaires back crypto and love untraceable currency flowing between countries in the EU. Anything to make catching them harder. But you handed over the keys to the deceit machine. The crimes cross borders and are bound to incriminate powerful players in the Lupi Grigi’s pockets, so the case has to be ironclad. But it will be. You’ll get your revenge.”

I stiffen at the word, accurate as it is.

“What is your business? Not shipping. What do you do exactly?”

“I’m a hotelier and real estate investor. I’m a majority owner of three different tech enterprises. Security. My businesses are quite legal.”

“Industries associated with organized crime.”

“Association doesn’t equal guilt.”

“But you’re also an arms dealer.”

“I bring together suppliers with buyers. Nice margins. It’s not a core business.”

With dark, hooded eyes, he examines me. I want to believe him, but I’m not sure I can, which is why I keep asking questions.

“Why did the plane crash upset you?”

His eyelids flutter closed, and it’s as if I’ve caused him pain. He rubs his face and sits forward. “Eighty on board.” He lifts his eyebrow for emphasis. “Eighty.”

“And you had?—”

“No, no.” He dismisses the notion with a wave. “But I suspect I know who did.” He rubs the tip of this thumb, his gaze down at his hands. “You may think of me as a bad guy, and I’ll grant that I bend laws. But a lot that I do…it’s a balancing act. It’s meant to keep things level.”

His hand cups the back of his neck, and he flinches as he stretches his head to the right.

I push off. “Is it tight? Let me.”

I come around behind him and tap his jacket. “Take this off.”

He does as I ask.

“Why do you wear business attire at home?”

“It’s a mindset.” He sounds tired, like he’s taken on too much.

I attempt to reach over the seat, but I’m too short to do so, so I have him shift and stand behind him from the side. I dig into rock-hard muscle.

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