Page 76 of Covert
I smooth out my unassuming black ball gown with sweaty hands. I'm surrounded by my brother and his three men who have recently been acting as my three bodyguards.
"You're going to blow it, Nik," my brother says quietly, and only for us.
I take a deep breath in and out, willing my muscles to relax and my face to look normal, not like I'm on the edge of a panic-attack.
My eyes dart to our father, laughing with a few of the old guard. God, I hate that man. My eyes flash back to Hannah. She's chatting happily with the man at her side, Rico. Santiago is standing behind her, and their weird lawyer-friend sits on her other side. I need to get her alone. I need to talk to her, alone. I have no idea how I'm going topull it off, but she is the last puzzle-piece in what we've been working on, and her cooperation is essential.
Finally, I see my opening. She stands and heads to the bathroom. But her enforcer Santiago trails behind her. I'm praying he doesn't follow her into the bathroom.
I jump to my feet. This is it.
The moment that everything hinges on.
I gather my gown up in my hands and rush for the bathroom. Santiago's standing just outside the door, on the opposite wall, thick arms folded across his chest. He's almost as big as Beckett. Almost.
He glares at me as I pass him and press into the bathroom. I know without a shadow of a doubt he'll be on me in seconds if he hears anything untoward happening in this small bathroom.
Inside, gorgeous marble tiles line the walls and floor. Floor-to-ceiling wooden stalls separate patrons.
I don't have to wait long before she comes out of the stall and peers at me suspiciously. I'm sure I look like a desperate woman. Definitely not the calm arrogance of the rest of the party.
"Mrs. Greenwich?" I ask quickly.
"Actually, it's Miss Calahan now," she replies coolly, washing her hands in the sink, but never taking her eyes off of me. I'm sure she thinks I'm a threat, or at the very least I can't be trusted. I would think the same if I were in her shoes.
An upper-class stay-at-home-mom, she fell in love with the head of the Colombian mafia almost a year ago. I'm sure she's still getting used to life as a mafiosa.
"Right, Miss Calahan. Can I have a word?"
She dries off her hands and turns to me fully, giving me that same hesitant look, but not objecting. So, I turn to the side and begin to wash my hands, hopefully displaying to her that I'm not a threat.
"I'm Nikki. I believe you know my father, Alessandro Ricci?"
She visibly stiffens and I wince. Shit. This isn't going well.
Controlled, she nods slowly. "I do." She's being diplomatic, and I appreciate her for it.
So, I rush to continue. "So..." Shit, I wish I had practiced this more. What the fuck do I say!? "My father...might be having some health problems..."
"Health problems?"
"He's made some... lifestyle choices that.... typically lead to an early.... end..." I can't say outright what I want to. My brown eyes plead with her green ones for understanding.
She nods slowly, as my meaning settles. "And what does this have to do with me?"
"I'd like an assurance that...should my father meet his...early end...that his territory isn't..." I stumble, unsure of how to word this. How do I say, "when my dad dies, please don't invade his territory, because then me and my brother will have to fight you, and I really don't want to?"
"I don't deal with Rico's business and dealings," she says, tossing the paper towels in the trash and reaching into her bag to reapply lipstick.
"No offense, ma'am, but it would take a blind man to miss how much influence you have over him. If you say don't invade, you know he won't."
She looks at me through the side of her eye, a small smile tugging on the corner of her lips.
"We have no interest in expansion," she says simply, and I let out a deep sigh of relief. "But if your father or brother are in the skin trade, we won't stand idly by."
I shake my head. "I think my father may be, but my brother wants to put a stop to it." Buying and selling drugs, weapons, influence, and muscle is one thing. Human beings? Fucking disgusting.
"I just want to be free," I add quietly, praying she can hear the desperation in my voice. I don't care about politics, negotiations, or back-room deals. I just want to be free.
