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SOMETIMES life was pure irony. Casimir Prakenskii was an assassin. A premier, elite assassin. He’d been an assassin since his fifteenth birthday. He’d been in training practically from birth to be anyone—anyone at all—with the exception of Casimir Prakenskii. He didn’t even know who Casimir was. He wouldn’t recognize the man if he looked in the mirror.

The role he found himself in was unexpectedly more difficult than he had anticipated. Simple enough on the surface, he’d certainly played such roles before—enough that this one was second nature to him. A bodyguard on the estate of Luigi Abbracciabene. He usually could slide into any position easily, but Luigi kept only a very few men on the Abbracciabene estate.

The house and grounds weren’t overly large, but the estate was guarded by two roving men, not a team. Still, he managed to be in the right place when one of the bodyguards “unexpectedly” came down with a “serious illness” and decided to take leave. He’d been briefed and knew his target was coming for a visit and fortunately, he had a couple of weeks to get his cover in place.

His quarry was beautiful. There was no other word for her. Beautiful. She didn’t laugh often, but when she did, every head turned toward her. It wasn’t difficult to keep an eye on her because she liked to be outside, and her hair gave her away. When the sun poured down on her, her hair looked like a living flame. Sheets of thick red hair framed her delicate oval face. Her eyes were startling blue. Not blue green, but a true deep sapphire blue framed by thick red-gold lashes she rarely bothered to darken with mascara.

She had noticed him immediately and made inquiries. She didn’t live there. She hadn’t been there in over a year, but she still noticed he wasn’t a regular in the household. For some strange reason, he found that sexy—that she seemed to notice things other women wouldn’t.

She had come right up to him to introduce herself. Close. Unafraid. He’d never been affected by a woman before, not even when he slept with one, but there was no denying the instant attraction. She felt it too. He saw it in her eyes just for the briefest of seconds. Her breathing changed. One inhale. Two. That was it, but he’d noted it. Remembered. Would always remember that moment because, for him, it was significant. He’d felt the pull of their chemistry, and so had she. She was covering it and ignoring it, just as he was.

For the first time in his life, staring down into those amazing blue eyes, he wished a woman could see Casimir Prakenskii and not the man he was portraying. He didn’t want this woman affected by a fictional character, a bodyguard who would do his job and walk away never to be seen again. He wanted her to see him—whoever the hell that was.

Her voice was soft, pitched low and melodious. The notes sank right through his skin and branded her into his bones—not a good start for a man like him. He was a master of disguise and, along with that, he was a master of his emotions, but he found himself listening for the sound of her voice wherever he was, inside or outside the house. He didn’t allow her—or anyone else—to see his reaction to her; he tucked it away to bring out later to savor. It was a gift. Feeling. Anything at all besides loneliness and despair. Feeling for a woman was a gift.

She’d been there a week. He’d accompanied her security detail into town when she went with her uncle Luigi, which was nearly every day. She liked to wander around town. He knew it wasn’t her hometown. She’d been born in Ferrara, the only child of Marcello and Elisabeta Abbracciabene. Her name then had been Giacinta and she’d been a true Celtic throwback, just like her mother with her flaming red hair and her incredible blue eyes. His information had included pictures from her childhood along with her extraordinary history.

The child had supposedly died with her parents. Luigi had managed to keep her existence from the world, and he’d sent her away when she was eighteen. She’d returned as the artist Lissa Piner. Luigi introduced her as someone important to him, like a daughter—or a niece—and she was to be treated that way. All the men seemed to accept that Luigi and Lissa had a relationship and Luigi considered her family.

He never heard her coming, she was that soft on her feet when she moved around her uncle’s home. But he felt her. He knew where she was at any given time in the house, that was how aware of her he was. He had time to drape himself casually against the wall, a pose he knew annoyed her because she always made a comment about how easy his job seemed to be. He noticed she didn’t say much to the other bodyguards as they spent their time playing pool or video games in the recreation room. Just him. And he liked that it was just him. Even if she was reprimanding him.

She always smiled at him as she came into the room, her bow of a mouth, lips full and red without adornment, curving into a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her blue eyes. He’d thought about her mouth far too much. The shape of it. The way her lips appeared satin soft, giving him one too many fantasies. Leaving him restless at night. He could sleep anywhere, any time. He’d learned it was necessary in his line of work, but nearly impossible with her haunting his dreams.

Small white teeth flashed at him, while her eyes studied him. Carefully. Taking in everything. He was tall, wide-shouldered, but lean. That was one of the many gifts he had. That leanness allowed him to gain weight overnight or shed it, depending on the role he played. His sinewy body was deceptive in that it hid the enormous strength he had. He carried not an ounce of fat on him and was athletic. He was all muscle, with long ropes of sinew below his skin.

He had scars. A lot of them. Not, strangely enough, from his profession. He wasn’t a man to get caught—most of the time. Most of the scars were from his training. It had been brutal, there in the schools he attended. He had been difficult. Defiant. He took to the weapons and hand-to-hand combat training with ease. Excelling. He was very good at his seduction training. But schooling, languages, that bored the hell out of him. Still, he learned, because if one didn’t, one died.

He had learned to torture and what it felt like to be tortured. He’d never forget the feel of knives slicing into his flesh. The burns. The electrical shocks. Sometimes, he woke in the night, sweat pouring from his body, his gun in his fist, the taste of blood in his mouth from biting down hard to keep from making a sound.

His parents had been murdered for their politics—they’d been too outspoken about the reforms that were needed in their country. His parents loved Russia and wanted to see the government work for its people. Instead, a hit squad had come calling. Casimir and his six brothers had been taken to the schools.

The man running the schools, Kostya Sorbacov, hadn’t wanted to take a chance on them being loyal to one another so had separated them. He wanted their loyalty to him, to his orders. He was the power behind the throne.

The brutality and sheer cruelty of the training methods employed had ensured that many of the students, most like him—sons or daughters of those killed for their opposition—had died during training. Others—like him—learned not to feel. Never to show emotion. He became exactly what they wanted, because if he didn’t, they would kill one of his brothers. He knew what kind of death that would be. Slow. Tortured. He’d seen—and learned—how to administer that kind of death.

Like their parents, each of the Prakenskii brothers had psychic gifts. Those gifts were strong and enabled them to survive and thrive in the brutal environment. He had survived, but sometimes, like now, he wondered at what cost. He had no home, no name, no past and no future. He moved through the world, slipping in and out of identities, and none of them were real. Not. A. Single. One.

He kept his gaze on his target while he went over the facts of his prey in his mind. The woman now called herself Lissa Piner. She’d been born Giacinta Abbracciabene and had fled Sicily nearly six years earlier and gone to the United States where she’d become Lissa Piner. She’d joined a therapy group for women who had lost a family member to murder and felt responsible for that murder. He didn’t understand why she would feel responsible—she’d been a child when her parents were murdered—but in a way he was glad she had.

During those sessions she’d met five other women she’d become fast friends with. In fact, they’d developed a family and bought a farm together. Lissa was a loner. She hadn’t allowed anyone into her life until she’d met those women. He liked that she had them. He knew what it was like to live completely alone, off the grid, living a lie. He would die that way, without friends or family. He was glad she wouldn’t.

She was coming toward him. Into the room. His body recognized the fact that she was in the vicinity, long before he actually saw her. She radiated heat. Maybe it was the hair, all that glorious hair, or the passion inside her she kept bottled up and contained. He saw it. He felt it. She could hide it from everyone else but not from him.

Lissa Piner walked right up to him. Close. So close his lungs filled with her scent. The fragrance was elusive, barely there, just enough for a man to want to get even closer so he could pull more of her natural perfume deeper. He couldn’t remember the name of the flower it reminded him of.

Her eyes, that vivid, vibrant blue, remained steady on his face. On his eyes. He wore contacts, of course, dark brown ones, to fit with his image of dark hair. She had to tilt her head up to look him in the eye. He kept the scars and his hair hidden from the world. Tomasso Dal Porto didn’t have those scars or that silver-streaked hair.

“Good morning, Tomasso,” Lissa said.

His gut tightened. He didn’t like the little purr in her voice. She had acknowledged him every single time she saw him, just as she did every other worker on her uncle’s estate, but somehow, the way she treated him was very different. The way she watched him. So closely, as if she knew he was something other than what he appeared.

He was wary of her now. He didn’t let his unease show on his face. His cover was solid. His character was solid. His accent was perfect. He had a history, and even he believed he was Tomasso Dal Porto.

Casimir inclined his head, his dark gaze sweeping over her a little insolently. She didn’t rise to the bait as she usually did. Her eyes would get even bluer and her mouth would set in a perfectly sensual line right before she delivered some reprimand, although he was fairly certain she wasn’t aware of that. His alarms shrieked at him that he was in trouble in more ways than one. “Good morning, Signorina Piner.”

She pressed her lips together. “How many times do I have to ask you to call me Lissa?”

He shrugged. “It isn’t done.” None of the other bodyguards would dare be that familiar with her. Her uncle wouldn’t like it. He wasn’t about to get singled out. He didn’t like that she had begun, over the last two days, to insist he call her by her first name.

She leaned closer to him, her mouth near his ear. If she’d been taller, she could have touched him, but her head came up to the middle of his chest. “Coward,” she murmured softly. So softly it would be impossible for anyone else to hear had they not been alone in the room.

He didn’t reply. He kept his expression completely blank, giving nothing away. Damn, but up close she was even more potent. All that bottled-up passion in her wild, blue gaze. Her hair felt like silk where it brushed his arm. He didn’t have physical reactions to women, yet he found himself having to fight his cock. Just with the warmth of her breath and her scent surrounding him, he was growing hard. Full. Without permission. Something he hadn’t done since he was seventeen and had been lashed so many times, the lash tearing open his flesh until he learned total discipline and control over his body.

“I’d like to take a walk around the grounds, and I need you to accompany me.”

There was a slightly imperious note in her voice. She wasn’t asking. He raised an eyebrow and managed to stand straight with a fluid graceful movement that brought his body right up against hers deliberately. He felt her breath hitch. Her vivid blue eyes went wide and then deepened in color. He had the mad desire to see what happened when he thrust deep into her and made her come apart for him. He let that show. Just for a moment. A glimpse, no more.

“I like that you need me, Signorina Piner.” He kept his voice low. Sensual. Pouring meaning into his choice of words. Deliberately baiting her by using her surname.

Faint color stole up her porcelain skin. Her skin was a work of art, yet he was certain no painter would ever do it justice. He held her gaze a long moment and then he smiled and indicated she precede him. Lissa stared up at his face a heartbeat longer and then she turned abruptly and headed for the door. He didn’t walk beside her, but fell into step behind her, annoying her even more.

He liked to watch her walk. She was always silent. Graceful. He couldn’t imagine her ever stumbling. She moved like a ballet dancer, fluid and poised. Confident. She was small and even slight, but he was observant and he could see the way her muscles moved beneath her amazing skin. She had a great ass, and he liked the way she swayed when she walked, the material from her long skirt shaping and falling suggestively. She was a very sensual woman. She turned heads everywhere she went, but he hadn’t noticed her flirting with anyone. The closest she ever came was with him, and it wasn’t flirting. Just that small reaction she couldn’t always hide.

She led the way to the gardens and then stopped and waited for him. There was a definite challenge on her face. Her chin had gone up; the blue eyes narrowed. “Which one are you?” she demanded in English.

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re asking me,” he answered in fluent Italian. Perfect accent. He looked like a native. He acted like one. His movements were flawless. He never stepped out of character. Never.

“Yes, you do,” she hissed. “I’m not playing this game with you. Gavriil contacted you, didn’t he? And don’t you dare lie to me or I’ll go to my uncle and have him throw you out so fast your head will spin.”

Gavriil, of course, had initiated the contact with him and supplied him with all the information necessary to shadow Lissa Piner, but she couldn’t possibly know that. None of his brothers would ever give him up to their women, no matter how enamored with them. They were used to protecting one another, and he was on assignment.

“It had to be Gavriil. He’s so . . .” She broke off, paced away from him, all fluid energy. She turned again to face him and glared, her fingers closed into two tight fists. “Overbearing.” She spat the word at him. “Arrogant. Dominant. I refuse to have you watching over me. Babysitting me.”

He looked confused. Brought his hand up to the nape of his neck, frowning. Massaging. “It is my job to look after you. Don Luigi has insisted you have a bodyguard at all times . . .”

“Not Don Luigi, you oaf. Gavriil. Your brother. He sent you. I know that he did. Probably every last one of them is in on it. You are definitely a Prakenskii,” she accused. “I should have known he would do something like this.”

One week and she’d discovered his identity. That wasn’t good. He’d stayed alive by being a master of disguise. He rubbed at his neck muscles, shaking his head. Frowning. He could play poker with the best of them. “How many brothers do I have?” There was just the slightest hint of amusement in his voice. Amusement and confusion. It was a work of art, that tone. He could see the sudden wariness in her eyes, as if for just a moment she doubted herself.

She lifted her chin at him. The gesture was a clear challenge and it brought out something unexpected—and wicked—in him. The need to tame. To dominate. She was all fire. A living flame, so beautiful she took his breath away.

“You have six brothers, as if you didn’t know.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. Quirked his lips as if the superior male was hiding his laughter from the silly little female. “Six? I didn’t think I had any siblings, but now that I have six I think I need to know where I fall into the mix. Am I the oldest? Youngest? Please give me more information on my family.”

“You’re in the middle, which makes you the most obnoxious.”

He burst out laughing. “I see. If you wanted my attention, cara, all you had to do was say so. You didn’t have to make up an elaborate scheme.” He swept his hand down the length of her long red hair, shaping the back of her head, down her spine to the curve of her very sweet ass. He allowed his hand to linger there.

To her credit, she didn’t move away, but she went very still. Something shifted inside him, warning him. She had been just that little bit uncertain. Off-balance. Defending herself and her idea that she might know who he was. Now she was acutely aware of him again. The man. The man he didn’t see himself. The man he didn’t know. Casimir Prakenskii. That man without a real identity. Or a home. Or a family. Him.

She saw too much. Far too much. Vision like that could get a person killed.

He remained silent, his gaze on her face. He shifted closer, subtly, aware they were alone. She had deliberately ensured no one was in sight or hearing of them. He wanted to scare her into backing off. She didn’t seem to scare easily. She didn’t step away. Didn’t move a muscle. Her gaze drifted over his face and then jumped back to his eyes.

“Four of my sisters are married to Prakenskiis. Joley Drake is married to a fifth. That leaves two more. I know you’re Gavriil’s brother,” she prompted, one hand between them as if she could ward him off.

He studied her face. The blue eyes and lifted chin. There was something there. Fear, but of what, he couldn’t be certain. Of him? She had to know if Gavriil sent him, it was to watch over her, not harm her. She was family. His brothers claimed her as family, and that meant she was to be guarded at all times. They had enemies.

Kostya Sorbacov’s son, Uri, was making his bid for the presidency. As Gavriil had pointed out, in order to do that smoothly, Sorbacov had to erase all evidence of those brutal schools and the men and women who had been forced to become assets for their country. There were hits out on every Prakenskii brother. All of them. Even Ilya, the youngest, who had mostly worked Interpol for them out in the open.

Lissa would be a pawn for Uri. He would know the Prakenskiis would do whatever it took to protect her. They had protected one another by cooperating with Sorbacov, allowing them to be trained and used as weapons.

“Are you going to talk to me, or do we go talk to my uncle?” she demanded.

“Why are you upset?” He stayed with Italian. Keeping to his role. “Explain this to me.”

Her breath hissed out between her teeth. “Would you like it if someone put a babysitter on you?”

“Babysitter?” He’d never been called that before. He wasn’t in the least gentle enough to ever be deemed a babysitter. “I don’t know what you mean.” Because she was bluffing. It was a good bluff. Maybe even a great bluff, but it was still a bluff. There was no way she could possibly know who he was.

She glared at him. Her eyes were even bluer, a glittering sapphire, pure and natural just like the rest of her. He could have sworn sparks flew around her hair. He half expected any moment for the silky strands to flame.

He stepped closer to her. So close her breasts brushed his ribs. “If you are looking for a man, bella, I am more than happy to oblige you.” He made the offer a second time, nothing subtle about it.

Her lashes fluttered. She didn’t look away from him. She had courage, he had to admit that much, and that made him admire and respect her all the more. “Fine. Be that way. But I know. I want to go into town. I’m meeting someone,” she snapped. “You will not be coming with me.”

He slid his fingers through her hair, his palm shaping her face. He told himself it was to throw her off-balance, but he knew it was because touching her was a compulsion he couldn’t resist. “I will be coming with you, Lissa. I am assigned as your bodyguard. Where you go, I will go. Don’t try to run off, because that will only make both your uncle and me angry.”

There was no way she was slipping out from under his guard. No possible way. Especially if she had a date. Why the thought of her with another man angered him, he had no idea, but it did and she damn well wasn’t going anywhere without him.

She froze when he touched her. He felt her tremble. The reaction so slight it was almost undetectable, but he was too tuned to her to miss it.

Lissa stared up into that handsome, masculine face with the too-old eyes. It was his eyes that captured her. Not his wide shoulders or the way he moved, so silent, like a predator. So fluid like a dangerous jungle cat. Not his narrow hips or the muscles rippling beneath the shirt that was stretched so tightly across his chest. Not the strong columns of his thighs either. It was definitely his eyes.

When he looked at her, he wholly focused on her, yet at the same time, she knew he was aware of everything and everyone around him. When she looked at him so closely, she knew he was wearing tinted contacts. Colored contacts. There was no way of knowing what color his eyes really were, but they weren’t that deep brown. Still, his eyes captivated her.

His face was all angles and planes. Hard. Masculine. Strong jaw. His nose was almost aristocratic when one looked closely, and she was looking. Dangerous. There was an aura of danger surrounding him. It was in the stamp of his mouth. His jaw. Mostly, it was there in his stillness. And in his eyes.

Loneliness. He was so alone. She knew, because she was. She had to hide who she was. What she was. If, as she suspected, this man was a Prakenskii, he’d been born in Russia. He’d watched his parents die . . . For a moment her mind shut down to block memories from flooding in, from taking her someplace she couldn’t go.

Tomasso, or Prakenskii, took her breath away, and no man had ever succeeded in doing that. Her entire body reacted when he was near. She’d never had that happen to her either. She hadn’t lived a life conducive to inviting seduction with a man. Truthfully, she’d sacrificed that side of living willingly for her purpose. She hid on a farm, one that had unexpectedly become a home to her, surrounded by women and their men she’d eventually come to love. That had been a gift. Finding out she could respond to a man was a gift as well, but one not so welcome.

“I don’t like to be touched.” She whispered the words to him. Breathing him in. Lying, because maybe that assertion had been the truth, but it no longer was, not with him. Her heart pounded and butterflies took wing in her stomach.

Lissa didn’t move away from him even as she whispered the admission. For one moment Casimir saw behind her incredible blue eyes to the woman she hid from the world. She was every bit as alone as he was. Every bit playing a role for others. And every bit as attracted to him, but trying to hide it.

The pad of his thumb slid along her jaw of its own volition. There was no stopping it because he didn’t think about it. He needed to touch her in the way he needed to breathe. He didn’t understand it, because he was a hunter. Others were his prey. He didn’t touch them unless that got him close enough to kill. He used expert seduction to further his goals, or for relief, but it was never like this. Never a compulsion. Never a hunger. A need. This woman was under his protection. He shouldn’t need this, but he did, and that need was stronger than any compulsion he’d ever experienced.

“Who is it you’re going to meet in town? I’ll arrange your protection. And I will be there, Lissa.”

He stepped away from her because if he didn’t, he would kiss her. The idea that he could come so close to making such a huge mistake appalled him. He should contact his brother and tell him the assignment was off, to send someone else, but he knew he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t trust her life to anyone else. Not now. Not ever.

His gaze drifted over her face. His palm itched. Really itched. He used his finger to scratch at the center in hopes of alleviating the annoyance, but it didn’t work. He pressed his palm hard against his thigh. Rubbed it up and down against his jeans. Her gaze followed the motion of his hand as he rubbed, trying to make that itch go away. She inhaled sharply. Audibly. One hand flew to her throat in defense.

“Oh. My. God. You really are a Prakenskii. I was taking a guess, but you are. That’s why we’re . . .” She broke off and backed away from him. “It isn’t going to happen. I mean it. Whatever your brothers have done to my sisters isn’t going to happen between us.” She curled her fingers tightly into a fist and held both hands tight against her thighs. “I have to think.” She kept backing away. “This can’t happen to me. I don’t accept it. I won’t ever let it happen.”

“Now what are you going on about?” he demanded. But he knew. He knew because all Prakenskiis had psychic gifts. The one considered the most important gift of all was when they found the right woman, the perfect mate, the one who fit with them; they could seal that woman to them. He felt the power rising in him. Felt it in his hand. Knew that power was close and wanted to come pouring out of him. Because Lissa Piner, or Giacinta Abbracciabene, was that one woman. His woman. He kept his palm pressed tightly against his thigh, refusing to give in to the compulsion.

The problem was simple. He had no idea how to have a relationship. He wasn’t looking for one. He refused to claim a woman when he knew he didn’t have long to live. He wouldn’t do that to her. What he would do was make certain that while she was in Europe, she was safe and then he would ensure she returned to her farm in Sea Haven, back where Gavriil and the rest of his brothers could watch over her.

He didn’t confirm or deny her accusation. She shook her head again and turned away from him, heading back to the house. She didn’t look over her shoulder once to see if he was there. Obviously, she didn’t want to know if he was a Prakenskii anymore. That irritated him on a primal level. Why, he didn’t know, only that her complete dismissal of him was unacceptable.

Her uncle stood in the doorway watching their return, clearly waiting for her. Luigi’s face didn’t hold the customary smile. His eyes weren’t lit. He looked as expressionless as a man like him could look. Again, Casimir watched her so closely that he saw the little tell in her fingers when she curled them into a fist in reaction to her uncle standing there. Something was wrong and she knew it.

She hurried up the last few stairs to the house. Luigi stepped back to allow her inside, and they walked in the direction of her uncle’s private study. Casimir hurried toward the room that was on the other side of that wall—Luigi’s library. The man hadn’t read a book in ages, probably not since he was in school, but he had a huge, well-stocked library that Lissa spent a lot of time in. Casimir did as well, going through the books that Lissa read.

Most were maps and books on architecture. Buildings. Cities. Guides to cities. While in the library, he had discovered one very important feature. There was a common vent between the two rooms. He had removed the grate, placed a small wireless amplifier inside the vent in order to allow him to hear the conversations taking place in the study. When he was finished, he always carefully removed the bug and replaced the grate. No one was ever the wiser. He locked the library door, although it wasn’t strictly necessary. Since he’d been there, only Lissa and he had gone into the room. Not even the maid went regularly.

“You found him, Tio Luigi? You’re certain it’s really him?” Lissa sounded matter-of-fact, all business, but there was an underlying excitement in her tone. Excitement, but grim as well.

“Yes. It has taken a number of years and a lot of money, but it is Cosmos Agosto. There is no doubt. I have made absolutely certain that it is the same man. He took the money from the Porcelli famiglia to betray my brother. Your father.” Luigi spat the names at her.

“There can be no mistake, Tio.”

“I have never made a mistake. Not in all these years of hunting them. It has taken years because we are careful. Very, very careful. We are not murderers, spilling the blood of innocents. This man ate at the table di mio fratello. He broke bread with your beautiful mother. With you, Giacinta. He was given the status of la famiglia. He was treated as one of you for years. He was trusted. He betrayed all of you. This man is living in wealth. His big house. His wife so much younger. He has grown lazy, thinking his betrayal has been forgotten.”

There was a small silence. “Do you see the value of waiting, Tio? When they die, no one suspects it is payment for a debt from so long ago.”

“You were right, I can concede that. Your restraint and wisdom has kept us safe all these years.”

“Thank you for finding him.” Lissa’s voice was soft. Loving.

“I wanted him more than any other,” Luigi admitted.

“I need a favor, Tio,” she continued. “I need to go into the village to meet someone. I do not wish to have a bodyguard accompany me. I’ll slip out alone . . .”

“No.” Luigi’s voice was firm. “I will not have you go unescorted. We think the Porcellis have forgotten us, but we don’t know. You are not safe here. That’s why I had you relocate to the United States when you were just eighteen. That’s why you have become Lissa Piner. Your wonderful chandeliers hang in several rooms, so we have become good friends to the outside world. You and your work are famous throughout Europe, and many estates and hotels vie for the chance to have one of your creations. As each is handblown, they are prized for their beauty and rarity.”

Lissa laughed softly. “Tio, you should do all my marketing for me.”

“It is the truth, yes?”

“Perhaps. But I doubt if I’m famous. Well, my chandeliers are becoming popular in hotels, and I’ve been written up in a few magazines. That’s helped to get my name out there. I like that I can contribute to the farm. Everyone works hard to make it a success and the last couple of years, I’ve been able to help out.”

“You can travel easily into any country with no suspicion,” Luigi pointed out.

“It is a help.” She sighed. “If your heart is set on making me take a bodyguard, I will take Arturo. I’ve known him the longest.”

Casimir knew Arturo had slowed down considerably. He’d been with Luigi for years and Luigi didn’t have the heart to retire him. Arturo always accompanied Luigi when he went out, but Luigi always took two bodyguards.

“Giacinta . . .”

“Lissa,” she insisted. “You have to call me Lissa, even when we’re alone. You have to think of me as Lissa Piner. I can get away with calling you Tio, because of your age. It makes it more proper for me to spend time in your home, but you have to remember I am Lissa.”

Luigi sighed. “I’ll do better. I’m not so young anymore. Where are you going? Arturo has to be able to prepare.”

“I’ll be going to Salvadore’s. Arturo doesn’t have to do a thing. There is no danger to me if I go out tonight. No one knows of my plans. Arturo won’t attract undue attention. You know if anyone else goes with me, someone will notice. I’m not going out as Lissa.”

What the hell did that mean? Not Lissa? Then who? Casimir didn’t wait to hear any more. He had to escape to his room. Lissa would think she’d won this round. She’d guess he was sulking. Deep inside, where no one could see, he grinned. There was a ring of truth in her voice when she’d told her uncle where she would be meeting her contact. Casimir simply had to ensure he was close to her table and could overhear everything she said. If possible, he would even be bold enough to plant a listening device.

All the better to hear, my living flame, he whispered to the empty room. He made his way to the vent where he had secured his suitcase filled with his tricks of the trade. He could be anyone. Anywhere. Any time. He was a master of disguise. She might have guessed he was a Prakenskii, but then, she was family. She was around five of his brothers all the time. Few people knew them, but she was observant and she probably suspected Gavriil and the others would never allow her to go to Europe where their mortal enemy resided without some kind of backup.

It took less than an hour to decide on his next role, receive the word he was off duty for the evening and make a show of retiring to his room early. It took much longer to become the man he hoped Lissa wouldn’t see through. This time there would be no identifying marks of any kind and he would be older. Nothing she might associate with Tomasso.

Casimir slipped out the window, made his way over the roof to the other side of the house, away from the courtyard and garage where the cars were stashed. He had a bicycle in the potting shed. The shed was overgrown with vines and had long since fallen into a state of disrepair.

The bike was a good one and he practically flew down the narrow track that ran alongside the drive. The dirt pathway was used by the gardeners to drag bags of weeds, cut grasses and branches out of sight of the main house. He turned onto the road and put on another burst of speed. It wouldn’t do to be caught by Lissa and Arturo anywhere near the estate. His new role was rather distinctive and they wouldn’t fail to remember him. Never a good thing when she was already so suspicious.

He switched to the small car he had stashed in a garage just a few miles from the estate. He paid a nominal fee to house the vehicle, and no one had bothered it. Still, he was careful as he approached, looking for signs of disturbance. He never took chances. That had been drilled into him in the schools he’d attended and now, when there was a hit out on him, placed there by the very men he’d served faithfully for years, those lessons had come in handy.