We leave the goon squad behind and charge down the stairs in record time. I can feel Carson pumping herself up for another grand entrance. “Tone it down,” I tell her. “We need to get lost in the crowd.”
The floor’s crazy packed by now. We’re surrounded in seconds. I risk a glance behind us. Belknap’s halfway down the top staircase, still escorted by security apes. He’s already scanning the mob. Looking for us? I rewind through what he said upstairs.
“He’s looking for Gianna,” I yell into Carson’s ear. “He said her name up there.”
Carson crowds into me. “So? She’s a big girl.”
“You don’t get it. He’s pissed enough to go after his sponsor for something about her. Three guesses what that is.”
“Hoskins?”
I pull out my work phone and text Gianna: L mad looking for you. Had fight with rossi. B careful. R u ok?
People are barging into us from every direction. Carson hauls on my arm. “Let’s go.”
“Hold on.” Carson stands so close that her boobs brush my chest every time she breathes deep, but every ounce of my attention (well, almost) is on my phone. Come on come on come on…
Nothing. I look back in time to see Belknap start edging around the crowd toward the Lake Plaza exit—right where we’re headed. Of course. R u there?
Still nothing. Maybe her phone’s off. Maybe the battery’s dead. Maybe she can’t hear it.
“You warned her,” Carson yells at me. “Need to go.”
“She’s not answering.” We should go. I can’t let Belknap see me yet. But I also can’t let Gianna get hurt for helping me. “We gotta find her.”
“In this? You’re nuts.”
“Look, whatever he’s pissed about, I got her into it. I gotta make sure she’s okay.”
She shakes her head. “Fucking wonderful.” After a peek over my shoulder, she grabs my hand and drags me deeper into the human whirlpool.
It’s impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. At least Gianna’s wearing bright yellow; otherwise we’d never find her. The music bashes me over the head, but not as hard as I’m beating myself. What’ll Belknap do to her? He’s got a temper. Sierra—his last L.A. assistant—turned up a couple times with mystery bruises she blamed on being a klutz, which she wasn’t.
I spot Belknap’s bald head maybe ten yards away. “He’s getting closer.”
“Following us?”
“Can’t tell.” We approach the south edge of the crowd and veer right, away from the Cardo exit, then swim our way through a logjam around another bar. Nothing from Gianna on my phone.
“Yellow!” Carson points toward the center of the dance floor. An instant later, I catch a glimpse. We wade through the drifts of party animals in our way, trying to keep that little sliver of color in sight. The swirling lights aren’t helping. Still, we manage to close in. Then an oval of white light hits her.
I grab Carson’s arm and dig in, which is like stopping a bull. “Not her! Too tall. It’s a bandage dress.”
She peers toward the retreating woman, then rolls her head back. “Fuck!” She wheels on me. “This is—” Her eyes get big.
Carson wraps her arms around my neck, drapes herself over me and starts the best kiss I’ve had since… well, since Allyson in Geneva. I’m not sure what got into her, and it doesn’t matter because this is good. Surprisingly good. There’s a lot of really healthy woman pressed against me. I don’t mind kissing back one bit. I try to find someplace safe to put my hands and come up with warm, smooth skin instead. We slowly turn in a half-circle, almost like in a movie.
She finally breaks the kiss and checks over my shoulder. I follow her look and see the back of Belknap’s head, trailing after the bandage dress.
Carson glances down, shifts her hips, then glares at me. “Really?”
“Give me a break. It’s been a long time.”
She pulls back a couple inches, though her arms stay around my neck. “Must’ve seen her too.” Deep breath. “Got an idea.”
We fight our way out of the dancers and past the stairs. Once we clear the main body of the crowd, I see a long line of women snaking around a corner up ahead and know immediately what Carson’s idea is. “Good thinking.”
“Maybe.” She lets go of my wrist. “Stay.”
I watch her charge along the line until she disappears around the corner, presumably heading for the women’s restroom. Then I look back the way we came from, watching for Belknap.
Parties like this look so fun and glamorous in movies—all the pretty people, the Champagne tsunami, the throbbing music and lights. But the longer I soak in it, the more it makes me sick. The sex-for-money deal-making is too blatant to ignore. These dudes are junior versions of the bastards who wiped out my parents, more interested in playing silly games with everyone’s money than using it to help people like Gianna get ahead. A mobster set this up to celebrate bilking the public out of millions.
The sickest thing: as Hoskins, I fit right in.
My cover’s all wrong. I shouldn’t be pretending to be a rich guy. I should be playing Belknap’s part—a scumbag art dealer looking to make money, no job too dirty. I know that part. I understand it. I’ve lived it.
My phone buzzes. It’s Carson’s number. Got her.
Yes! She’s safe! Need help?
In the toilet?
I look up from my phone just as Belknap breaks out of the crowd. He’s focused on the women waiting for the restroom. No no no… I turn to face the wall and get busy with my phone. Stay put. Belknap flyby. He stops a couple times, talks to a woman, holds up his hand at Gianna-head height. Both times, the woman shakes her head. I follow him around the corner. He slows while he passes the restroom door, then roars off toward the main floor again. It takes a couple deep breaths before my hands stop shaking enough to text. Clear.
C u @ fountain.
I hate to leave them, but I follow Carson’s thinking: we’re less obvious if we split up. I tag after a couple chicks as they giggle their way under a nearby rope line and past a security ape into the outside world.
Out on the plaza—away from the music and the bodies—I claw back a little calm. My ears can clear and I can come down off my adrenaline overdose. That swamp in there was too much like the old days back home. I don’t have the stomach for it anymore.
After a long while, I hear clicking heels behind me. Carson appears on my right, Gianna a step behind her.
Gianna’s face glows as she beelines to me. “Rick! Thank you for making the warning. My phone dies after. What does Lorenzoni do?”
I tell her the very abridged version of what happened in the conference room. “Do you have someplace to stay tonight? You can’t go home.”
She looks off toward the fountains, thinking. “I have the friend in Navigli. But I am not afraid of Lorenzoni.”
“You should be.” She shrinks back a bit. Pull it in. “Sorry. I’m worried about you. Go stay with your friend tonight. Take our car.” Carson rolls her eyes then stalks off, beating on her phone. “Call in sick tomorrow. Give him time to cool off.”
“No!” Gianna puts on her indignant face. “I do nothing wrong. I do not hide anymore.”
I like the attitude, but not what it might do to her. “You may need to if you want a job on Friday. Think about it.” I brush a stray curl from her face. “I’m sorry. I had no idea he’d react this way.”
“Texted the driver,” Carson announces. “Should be waiting when you cross the bridge.” She gives me a dark look. “Ours’ll be here in fifteen.”
“Thanks.” I brush my hands over Gianna’s shoulders. Her eyes are huge and too active—she’s more rattled than she wants me to know. I’d like to gather her up in my arms and tell her it’ll be okay, but it may not be and I can’t do it with Carson watching. “Cut through there and cross the footbridge. Look for a black S-class Mercedes. Tell the driver where to go. We’ll stay here and backstop Lorenzoni if he comes this way.” I squeeze her shoulders, then let go. “See you tomorrow night. Be careful.”
Gianna gives me a quivering smile. “Mille grazie.” She pecks my lips, tries the smile on Carson—who just stands there with her arms crossed—then trots off.
I carefully step toward Carson. “Thanks for everything. I know you don’t like her—”
“Nobody deserves to have Belknap beat on them. What I don’t like? You go all gooey over her, lose focus. Your eyes just…” She makes a throwaway gesture. “This ain’t Tinder.”
No, it’s better than Tinder. Gianna’s perfectly my type. Telling Carson that isn’t going to help things, though.
We stand side-by-side, close but not touching, watching the walkway for a Belknap sighting that doesn’t come. Carson pulls out a compact—she carries a compact?—and fixes her lipstick.
“Since when do you speak Russian?” I ask Carson. Her eyebrows go up. “We had Russian clients at the gallery. I know what it sounds like.”
“Parents taught me when I was little.”
“I thought you’re Canadian.”
“I am. They’re Ukrainian. Morrone say anything?”
Nice redirect. “Nothing useful. I think we were clicking before asshole busted in. Angelo said Morrone liked talking with me. Lucca looked like he wanted to skin me. Total hostility from ‘go.’”
She frowns. “What’s his beef?”
“No idea.” I probably shouldn’t say this to her, but… “Nine days left, and I don’t have a clue what to do next.” I feel as pathetic as that sounds.
“We’ll think of something.” A drift of fountain mist blows over us. It’s cool and clean. Carson closes her eyes and tilts up her head to catch it. “By the way, you’re a good kisser.”
“Yeah?” I guess I haven’t forgotten. “You’re not bad, either.”
“Whatever.” She opens her eyes, checks her phone. “Let’s go.”
It’s well after midnight by the time I get back to the suite. The literal and metaphorical bad taste I’ve had in my mouth since seeing that meat market at the Expo hasn’t gone away yet. Since it’s Wednesday, I still have to scam my PO. Another problem up ahead: he thinks I’m coming home on Friday. As if.
My bed’s been turned down, and my nightly box of little chocolate cookies sits on the shelf next to my pillow. I sit there rocking the box in my fingers, trying to figure out how I got here. Then I bring up the hotel website on my phone and find the rack rate for this room.
Nine hundred fifty euros. A thousand fifty bucks. A night.
One night in this room costs more than either of my parents has to live on for a month.
They’ve never been in a place like this. They never will be. They worked all their lives and have nothing to show for it. No, Hoskins the bloodsucker gets all this. I get to be here—me, a fraud and a felon, playing dress-up and trying to fix a First World problem.
I hurl the box at the nearest wall.