Page 38 of Wild Card (The Trident Trilogy 3)

Millie, Rome, Italy, 2020

When we land in Rome, one of our agents meets us at a private airport. He has a Mercedes Sprinter waiting for us. As we walk over to him, his eyes light up as he looks at Raine and me. I don’t think I’ve seen him before, but his large grin indicates he thinks he knows us.

“Welcome to Rome,” he says, laughing. “Damn, you get to fly over on the director’s plane? Which one of you is fucking him?”

Mason, Butch, and Hawk take quick steps toward him. Hawk gets there first and grabs him by the collar. “What did you say to them?”

“Hawk, it’s fine,” Raine says, getting in between them. “This is Brad Simmons. He’s our ground contact here. And he’s been an asshole since the first day I met him.”

“Nice to see you again, too, Raine,” he says, smiling and opening his arms for a hug. Raine declines. “And Millie Marsh, I haven’t seen you since our training days back at Langley.”

“Yeah,” I say very unconvincingly. “That long ago, huh?”

“You don’t remember me, do you?” he says, shaking his head. “I guess it’s true what they say: The hotter the girl, the bigger the bitch.”

Hawk has barely released Brad when Mason throws him against the van. I knew it was coming, but I didn’t even try to stop him. Honestly, I think it might do Brad some good.

“How about—for the rest of this trip—you shut the fuck up and just do your job?” Mason says, leaning his forearm into Brad’s neck. He pushes him one more time before he releases him.

Brad coughs a few times, trying to recover. “Well, I’m guessing that one’s your boyfriend,” he says, under his breath.

“Nope, this one is,” I say, putting my arm around Butch.

“Mills, you keep saying stuff like that,” Butch says, winking at me, “I’m going to start to take you seriously.”

“It’s about time,” I say, kissing the side of his head before I look back at Brad. “Where are we headed?”

Brad looks from Mason to Butch and then back at me. “The director has you staying at one of our houses over in Aventino—not too far from the Colosseum, but we’re going to the Petrovic’s house first. The wife, Amina, has been waiting to talk to you. I don’t think she’s much of a threat, but these guys should probably be strapped just in case.”

Brad opens the back of the van and unlocks a cabinet to reveal a stash of guns and ammo. The guys walk over quickly and start gearing up.

“You like me better now, don’t you?” Brad says, looking from Mason to the weapons.

“No,” Mason says, glaring at him. Brad takes a quick step back when Mason grabs a rifle.

“Mase, c’mon,” I say, walking over next to him. “We’re in Rome, not Jalalabad. Don’t you think your sidearms will be enough? We don’t want to scare the poor woman.”

He looks at me sternly but puts the rifle back in the cabinet before grabbing a few more mags for his pistol. Hawk and Butch do the same.

“Let’s get going,” Mason growls. “This entire op is giving me bad vibes for some reason.”

As we start loading into the back of the van, Brad holds out his hand to help Raine.

“You’re in the front with the driver,” Mason says, blocking Brad’s hand and helping Raine in himself. “And if you try to touch either of them again, we’re going to have a problem.”

Brad turns around quickly and heads to the front. We drive through the busy streets of Rome for about thirty minutes before we pull up at a luxury apartment building near the Piazza di Spagna—by the Spanish Steps. It seems like a pretty high-rent neighborhood for a dentist.

“She asked to talk to you alone,” Brad says to me as we get out. He eyes Mason nervously. “Elevator to the penthouse. They have the entire floor.”

“Hawk, stay down here with Raine—and him,” Mason says, motioning toward Brad. “Butch, on me. Mills, we’re coming into the apartment with you, but we’ll give you some space.”

“That’s fine,” I say, nodding. I seriously don’t care that much. I’m not sure why Amina wants to talk to me, but I can’t imagine it’s going to be that enlightening.

When the elevator opens, Amina Petrovic is waiting for us. I vaguely remember meeting her in Sarajevo. That night, she looked disheveled and scared as we prepared to move them quickly to Portugal to get them off Sayid’s radar. Today, she’s the picture of luxury. She’s wearing a neatly pressed white linen dress—perfect for the hot summer day. Her dark hair is pulled off her face in a loose chignon. She has on full makeup and as I step toward her, I can smell her light, citrusy perfume. Frankly, she seems a little too put together for a woman with a missing husband.

She extends her hand out to me—several diamond tennis bracelets glittering from her wrist. “Millie, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“It’s my pleasure,” I say, smiling as I shake her hand. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”

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