Page 86 of Bloody Vows
I jump slightly, turning around to see a middle-aged man in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, the picture of a harmless tourist. But something about his eyes makes me take a step back.
"Yes, it is," I say politely, already moving away from him. I don’t look around for my security; I don’t want to give them away. But I’m sure they’re seeing this too.
"You're Simone Russo, aren't you? I mean, Simone O'Malley now."
Every alarm bell in my head goes off at once. I don't respond and start walking away, but he falls into step beside me.
"I have a message for you from a mutual friend."
I keep my voice as calm as I can. "I don't think we have any mutual friends."
"Sal Envio sends his regards."
My blood turns to ice. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the guards moving closer, their hands inside their jackets. But the man doesn't seem to notice or care.
"He wants you to know that he's thinking of you. That he's planning a reunion very soon."
"I think you have the wrong person," I reply, my voice surprisingly steady.
"Oh, I don't think so. You look just like your pictures. Very beautiful. Sal is quite looking forward to what the two of you can build together..."
Clark, the head of my security detail for today, appears at my elbow, and I can see the tension in his posture. "Simone, we need to go. Now." His address is informal, as if he’s a friend I’m hanging out with, but I know he’s just pretending in order to not alert this man to just how protected I am.
"Of course," I say, not taking my eyes off the man. I force my lips into a pleasant smile. "Have a nice day."
The man smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. "You too, Mrs. O'Malley. See you soon."
The threat is clear, and I can see several of Tristan's men moving to intercept as we walk quickly toward the cars. But the man doesn't follow. He just stands there watching us go, smiling like he's just delivered an invitation to a party.
"Gun," Clark says quietly into his earpiece. "Possible weapon in the crowd. We need to move."
Everything happens very quickly after that. I'm hustled into the car, and we're moving before I even have my seatbelt on. The other vehicles fall in around us, and I can hear tense radio chatter as the team coordinates our route home.
“Are you alright?” Clark asks, glancing back at me, and I nod.
“I’m fine. A little shaken up.” It would take more than that to make me fall apart. But I suppose they have to ask. Tristan certainly will, once he finds out about this.
“We’re going straight home,” Clark says, and I don’t argue. For once, I don’t feel like arguing about anything at all. My mind is racing, processing what just happened. It wasn't random. That man knew exactly who I was and where to find me. Which means Sal has people watching me, tracking my movements, waiting for the right opportunity.
By the time we pull through the gates of the mansion, all the relaxation of the day has vanished. Tristan is waiting in the driveway, his face dark with anger and worry. He looks at me asI step out of the car, taking a step toward me before stopping abruptly.
"Are you hurt?" he demands.
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine.”
"What happened?"
Clark fills him in while I stand there shivering despite the warm day, the possibilities of what could have happened settling over me at last. I can see the fury building in Tristan's expression, the way his jaw clenches when Clark describes the man's message.
“I’m headed to meet with Konstantin,” Tristan says tightly. “I’ll talk to him about this, give him a description of the man. Simone, you didn’t recognize him?”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t anyone who used to work with or for my father, that I know of. But I don’t know all the associates of everyone who used to work with him. I could be wrong. It wasn’t anyone from our household, though.”
Tristan nods. “Go inside and rest, Simone. I’ll be back later this afternoon.”
Normally, I would bristle and argue with him for ordering me around. But I’m too exhausted. I just nod, walking past him and the guards and into the house.
I’d planned to go upstairs to my room and take a nap, but the exhaustion that hits me when I walk inside makes even going up the stairs feel like a monumental task. Without entirely realizing where my feet are taking me, I end up back in the sitting room where Tristan and I were last night, collapsing onto the grey velvet couch.
