Page 83 of Captured Fantasy

I watched him go, mulling over what he’d said. The fact that I understood his reasoning didn’t make me any less angry or determined. Our conversation had opened my eyes to one glaring fact. This situation was going to have to get a lot uglier before Lucien was willing to step up and handle it.

As of today, I was fine with that.

Lucien’s plan to force Federico and I to reconcile backfired horribly in Cairo. I got a room at a hotel instead of staying at Ahmed’s compound and ignored Federico as much as possible. Ahmed, the head of our international imports, spent most of the trip confused until I sat him down and explained the situation.

He was an incredibly focused and intelligent man, so I’d hoped for a solution from him. Instead, I got his reckless side.

“You should get her pregnant,” he announced, draining his Turkish coffee.

We were sitting on the balcony of my hotel in the early morning. I glanced over and released a heavy sigh.

“My woman was a spoiled beauty pageant girl from a perfect family who had a traditional life all planned out for her,” he said. “Understandably, a man involved in the Italian-American mafia wasn’t at the top of their list. So I just took her and it worked out well for me.”

“Have you married her?”

“Between you and me, I probably will before the week’s out,” he said. “I might have put a baby in her on accident. We’ll see, it’s a little too early to test.”

“Congratulations. And I’ve fucked Enza and it hasn’t helped,” I said. “In fact, it’s made it worse because now I know how she fucks and I can’t stop thinking about her on top of Rico.”

“That’s a difficult spot to be in,” said Ahmed.

“So no words of wisdom?”

He squinted as he looked out over the river winding below us against the pale, desert backdrop. “Toss her birth control. Put your baby in her and put a ring on her finger.”

I stood up. “Yeah, okay, thanks for that advice. Let me file that with things I’ll never fucking do.”

The rest of the trip was filled with endless hours of work. Rico spent most of his time generally overseeing things, but I needed to know everything was exactly as Lucien wanted it. I had the men unpack every crate so we could personally inspect each gun. On our last day there, we visited the transport vehicles and I spent almost twelve hours digging in the engines to make sure they were sound.

By the time I got off the plane in the middle of the night in October, I was suntanned and thoroughly exhausted, but confident in a job well done. I left Rico at the airport and went directly to my condo and collapsed in bed. It was a rude awakening when my phone rang a few hours later just before sunrise.

I rolled over and hit the speaker button.

“Who is this?” I mumbled.

“Lucien,” came his smooth voice. “Meet me at the club stables in a half hour, I want a recap of everything.”

My God, he had to be trying to kill me. I stumbled into the bathroom and stood beneath the shower, my stomach roiling from lack of sleep. I had a cigarette on the balcony, bolted two scorching espressos, and dragged myself down to the garage to pull my Triumph out onto the street. The air was cold and it bit my face, finally waking me up.

The stables were a good mile behind the clubhouse. Probably to keep the smell and the unsavory parts away from the patrons trying to enjoy champagne on clubhouse balconies before they went for a ride.

I pulled my Triumph up and cut the engine, walking it the rest of the way up to the stables so it wouldn’t scare the horses. Lucien was already out front, holding the bridle of a dusky gray gelding and running his hand in slow strokes down its neck. I approached, my boots crunching the faint layer of ice across the mud, and he looked up.

“There’s a new mare they’re bringing out for you,” he said. “Let’s have a ride and talk.”

“I can saddle her myself,” I said.

“As can I. Wealthy men have useless skills in a day and age where everything is motors and computers. They do everything for you here,” said Lucien, mounting the gelding.

He shifted his weight, backing his horse up to make way as one of the club attendants brought a bay mare out.

I accepted the reins and swung astride the mare. “The age of gentlemen is over then?”

Lucien shifted again and his mount began moving toward the gate to the south field. I followed, falling into step beside him as we headed out into the open. The hills around us were gray and tilled, ready to be put to bed for the winter.

“How is the money, Barone?”

“Secured,” I said.

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