Page 81 of Forging Caine

“Che cazzo, it’s about time.” I followed him out of the room, glowering at the guards standing on either side of my door.

Jason held up a hand to them. “Dr. Ferraro is our guest and he won’t try anything. Isn’t that right, Dr. Ferraro?” He rolled his head slowly toward me. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to Samantha, would we?”

“Where is she?” My voice came out a low growl, which inspired only grins from the bodyguards.

“You’ll see her soon enough. Can we trust you for now?”

An ironic question coming from Jason. I balled my sore hands into fists—slamming them into the door had not been a wise choice. “You can trust me.”

The hallway was barely wide enough for us to walk two abreast, and Jason led us through sliding doors, down a set of stairs to an area without carpets and luxury, along another hallway, and up another flight. Either the ship was far larger on the inside than I’d expected or he was intentionally delaying our progress. He slowed his pace and whispered, just loud enough to hear over the hum of the engine. “She’s fine. I checked on her ten minutes before I got you. Dr. Ivan thought she’d be awake soon. Once she’s steady enough, I’ll bring her to you.”

I scanned the side of his head. “No earpiece?”

His gaze remained fixed on the length of the hallway. “Security’s much higher on the ship since the new year. A party snuck onboard and stole something, so there are more locks and sensors. We primarily focus the cameras outward, so they don’t disturb the signore and his family.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t care. Trust me or not, but I’m the best friend you have on this ship, other than your fiancée.” His jaw clenched and he whispered, “The only reason I’m still here is because of you. So try not to piss me off too much, or I’ll just leave, like I wanted to.”

Either this was an elaborate ruse by Fiori and Jason, or he was telling the truth. My gut told me to trust him, and it was rarely wrong when I was evaluating people.

After a few more twists and turns and a narrow metal staircase, we came to the dining and lounge area where Fiori and I had enjoyed scotch and a lovely view last September. How times had changed.

One more set of stairs took us to a sun deck with seating area and hot tub, surrounded by brass railings and five teak steps up to the tub. Fiori sat at the back, arms stretched wide on the ledge, while two women and one man dressed in the light blue shirt and navy pants of his staff stood ready for any command. The water was lit from underneath, brilliant blue with tiny white lights all around the area surrounding the loungers.

The sun was approaching the horizon, maybe an hour or two before sunset. Rays of golden sunshine burst through the clouds.

How dare he have such a beautiful life?

“Antonio, my friend. Why don’t you join me?” Fiori gestured to his male staffer. “We keep spare trunks for guests. Baptiste will be up in ten or fifteen minutes.”

“I want to see Samantha.”

“Of course you do.” He stood, water streaming off of him. The evening was cool enough that steam surrounded him.

The man grabbed a plush robe and rushed over to present it to Fiori, so he didn’t have to even stutter in his stride.

He climbed out of the hot tub, wrapped the robe around himself, and walked down two of the steps to the main deck. It kept him taller than Jason and me by a few inches. “Did you know your fiancée was in the FBI?”

Oh, marone, no. “Scusi?”

“Seven and a half years ago.” Instead of continuing down the stairs or joining us, he walked the length of them, ending near the curved railing. “All I could find out was it lasted two weeks. After that, there are some inconsistencies in her files. And I can’t figure out what that means.”

“It means she’s an insurance adjuster.”

Fiori held out an absent hand, and his staff member placed a towel in it. He draped it over his head, drying off his short hair. “Special Investigations Unit, not adjuster. That’s a big difference, Antonio.”

“I know, but—”

He turned, leaving the towel around his shoulders. “Here’s where it gets even more interesting. Her mother was a state prosecutor, after several years in private practice. And I can’t find anything about her father. Who he was or what he did.”

How much power did Fiori have to figure this much out? Were FBI employment files that easy to obtain?

“That means we have one state prosecutor, one mystery man, and one daughter whose file says she resigned from the FBI after two weeks.” He smiled, a predatory look, and gripped either end of the towel. “But all the details about why are classified or off the books. I’m dreadfully curious about what this means.”

I knew about the two weeks. She’d confessed that she left after her mother’s death. But the rest of it? Why would any of her files be classified? She hadn’t been hiding more things from me, had she?Don’t be ridiculous. He’s manipulating you.It was likely something to do with her father or possibly Elliot’s instructions.

Fiori spread his arms wide, a pained look coming over him. “And then I try to have a polite brunch with the two of you, and she has a listening device in her key fob. I don’t like that. It’s not honest.”

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