8

PATRICE Lungren sat on the hard seat of the old bus and smiled at the little boy across from her. His mother gave her a quick grin in return. Patrice knew exactly what the woman saw, she’d assumed her role perfectly.

Patrice was short and very slender, almost a stick. She wore flattering trousers and a silk blouse with a short, flared jacket, very classy. Her black hair was glossy and hung just to her shoulders in a very sophisticated cut. Her eyebrows were dark and when she removed her very expensive dark glasses, her eyes and lashes were as well. She had a beauty mark just to the right of her lips. Her boots were expensive, soft leather, the color matching the dark red of her jacket.

“He’s beautiful,” Patrice said. When the woman shook her head, she repeated the observation in halting Italian.

The woman beamed at her. “Grazie. Thank you.” She tried her own English. Clearly she spoke it but had been afraid to try it out with an American. She indicated Patrice’s camera. “Pictures?”

Patrice nodded. “Shops. Homes. The ocean and countryside. Everything.” She smiled wide. “I love it here. I come as often as I can to visit. I took a cooking class in the village just a few miles away and it was wonderful.” Patrice Lungren, had, in fact, taken that cooking class.

“You like to travel?” The young mother now seemed determined to practice her English.

“I love it,” Patrice admitted. “Fortunately, I’m in a position to indulge my love of traveling and I do it often. Italy is my favorite, but I travel all over. I just find myself coming back here over and over. Someday, I’d like to live here permanently.”

“By the sea?” The bus traveled along the coastline, so it was a good guess.

Patrice smiled and nodded. “I’m taking pictures of homes. I want as many examples of places I could live as possible. I was in a cappuccino bar a few days ago and someone told me about the homes along this section of coast. Supposedly the homes are quite beautiful.”

The young mother nodded. “Costoso.” She floundered for a moment.

“Expensive?” Patrice guessed.

The young mother nodded vigorously. “Very expensive, but beautiful.”

The bus pulled to the side of the road, and Patrice flashed another smile. “Nice talking to you. This is my stop.” She waved at the little boy and, clutching her camera, hurried to get off. It was her experience that bus drivers started up just as fast as they pulled over.

As she snapped several pictures of the nearest home, she glanced at her watch. Luigi’s information was very detailed, as usual. Now she knew how he got that information—he was friends with those he targeted. He walked right into their homes, inserted himself into their daily lives. He knew their routines just as well as he knew his own.

Luigi had become ill a few days earlier while she was out doing recon of Cosmos Agosto’s home. Feigning embarrassment because he was walking unsteadily, Luigi had retreated, as he always did, into his wing of the house. That damned him in her eyes more than anything else. Thinking back, she realized every time she had gone after a target, he had retreated on the pretense of being ill. Before, she had accepted his chronic illness; after all, she’d known even before her parents had been killed that he was ill. Now, knowing it was a ruse, she was infuriated.

Lissa was grateful for the discipline she’d developed over the years, the practice of tamping down the fire always burning deep inside. For the first time in her life, she was glad Luigi had retreated into his wing, although she was tempted to come up with an excuse to have to crash into his empty apartment to see for herself that he was truly gone.

Patrice snapped more pictures. In fifteen minutes, Cosmos’s beautiful young wife, Carlotta, would go to her weekly beauty appointment. She was a former up-and-coming model, and Cosmos apparently dictated that she work out, stay a certain weight and always look gorgeous. She complied. According to Luigi’s information, Cosmos didn’t want children and had also insisted that his wife—not him—permanently make certain a pregnancy didn’t happen. She was young, but she had, again, complied.

Patrice continued her natural progression along the street. The manicured estates were large and set well back from the road. She took pictures of gardens, going so far as to balance on a fence to get a close-up shot of a certain flower in bloom. She took her time, out in the open, making certain she wasn’t followed, the way she always did. She didn’t deviate in the least from her norm.

Arturo remained behind in the house, supposedly to take care of Luigi. He slipped in and out of the wing, the only one permitted. She knew it was to help preserve her uncle’s subterfuge. That hurt as well. She’d come to love Arturo. She worried about him almost as much as she did her uncle. He was part of the entire betrayal. He’d been with Luigi long before the death of her parents. She’d known him all of her life.

He had never followed her on a job, but always, just in case, she made certain she was entirely alone. Luigi had taught her that. He had said to make certain there were no witnesses, not even someone she trusted. Arturo hadn’t followed her. None of Luigi’s men had.

She moved farther down the street, ambling slowly, snapping pictures as she went. There was little activity in the quiet neighborhood—few cars and no foot traffic, exactly the way she liked it. Since most of the larger homes were set back so far, she doubted if too many people witnessed her camera-happy persona, but if they did, it was Patrice they saw, no one else.

The Agosto estate was one of the largest along that particular road. The grounds were covered with flowers and shrubs. Wrought-iron gates stood at the entrance to the long, winding drive, a drive that snaked through the property to come up on the three-story mansion, swung around to the guest home and then farther back, to the cliffs lining the property above the sea.

The estate was the crowning jewel of the area. A low wrought-iron fence surrounded the gardens on three sides. There was no fence along the cliffs, and the ornamental fencing was just that—for looks. It was known that Cosmos Agosto kept dogs and guns. No one entered his property without permission, not even children—and he spread it far and wide that he didn’t like children. His reasoning for no fence along the cliffs was that he wanted an unobstructed view and he had no children to protect.

The gates opened while Patrice snapped several pictures of the gardens on the adjoining estate. A chauffeur-driven town car swept by, Cosmos’s wife in the backseat. The woman stared straight ahead, not even glancing Patrice’s way as she diligently took pictures of the flowers close to the wrought-iron fence at the corner of the Agosto property.

Patrice continued to ramble along the road, now peering into the beautifully kept gardens with their marble fountains as she trailed her hand along the black wrought iron. She always was careful to have liquid fingerprints, prints that would match Patrice Lungren’s passport and identification papers.

A car moved slowly up the street, passed Patrice and the double gates to pull to the side of the road several yards ahead of her. The car was an older model and dusty, the windows clouded. A tall, well-built man got out. He wore a casual T-shirt under a sports jacket, dark trousers and nice shoes. His hair was silver, as was the stubble on his jaw.

The man looked around slowly and then reached into the car to pull a camera bag off the seat. He fiddled with the strap for a moment before closing the door and finally looking at Patrice. She sent him a friendly, sunny smile and a small wave, holding up her camera to indicate they were fellow travelers and quickening her steps to hurry to get to his side.

“Hi, I’m Patrice,” she greeted with her happiest smile and an outstretched hand. “I’m from the United States, here on vacation.”

The man hesitated a moment, leaning back against his car, his gaze drifting over her appraisingly. It took a moment for him to smile back and take her outstretched hand. “Friedrich Bauer. From Germany. Also on vacation.”

The moment “Friedrich’s” fingers touched her skin, an electrical charge skipped over Lissa’s skin. Patrice might not be affected by just that skin-to-skin contact, but to her, it was almost as intimate as when he touched her in the bedroom. A little shiver went through her entire body.

It was important to stay in character at all times. This was the first time she’d ever worked with anyone on a job and just that was foreign to her, but Casimir had insisted. He didn’t look at all like her Casimir, but she would recognize his touch anywhere.

When he let go of her hand after a firm shake, the pads of his fingers brushed gently along her inner wrist. She hadn’t known she could be so sensitive, but that barely there touch felt like four firebrands sinking deep.

“All clear,” she said softly. She glanced toward the house and then her watch. “He should be on the move any minute. Apparently he really enjoys walking to the cliffs when he’s alone and staring out over the sea.”

“I wonder why.” Casimir’s voice was strictly neutral.

His gaze did a long, slow sweep of the surrounding terrain, taking in the street as well as the vast estate across from the Agosto property. There was no one around, no one working on either of the grounds—something rarely done on a weekday. Both had suspected Cosmos wanted it that way. He liked a day to himself to do whatever he wanted away from prying eyes.

Luigi’s report had been so thorough he had even had the information that Cosmos forced his wife to go to the beauty parlor for her facials and manicures even when she was ill. Never once had Lissa questioned Luigi’s reports, but when Casimir pointed the remark out as odd, she just looked at him, understanding in her gaze. She knew Luigi had personal knowledge of what Cosmos did or didn’t do with his wife.

Casimir reached out and, for just one moment, allowed himself the luxury of touching her again. Reassuring her. He couldn’t take this away from her, she wouldn’t let him, but he could let her know he was always at her back. He brushed his fingers along the side of her neck, trailing slowly until he reached the edge of her perfect little suit shirt.

“Pervert. I just met you.” But she smiled. It was brief, and it didn’t light her eyes, but he saw what he wanted in her eyes. She was clear. Ready. “Let’s do this,” Lissa said. She didn’t ask him if he’d brought everything. It was in his camera case. She’d packed that herself.

*   *   *

COSMOS Agosto was in the prime of his life. At thirty-six he was one of the youngest men in the Porcelli family to be as wealthy as he was without all the hassle of being a soldier. He had a beautiful wife, a former model. Carlotta did whatever he told her to do and she did it immediately. It hadn’t taken him very long to train her. He had two mistresses, one who lived close and another one town over. His life was fairly easy.

He went to work, training others to handle the dogs. He enjoyed the power of that, being in a position to snap orders at others and belittle them until they were nearly at the breaking point. He was a master at it. He practiced enough on his wife. Every once in a while he had to show his loyalty to Luigi Abbracciabene by doing some dirty job for him, but the pay was well worth it.

Luigi’s wife, Angeline, didn’t have a brain in her head. When they came over for dinner, Cosmos wanted to shoot himself just listening to her. He couldn’t understand why Luigi, an intelligent man, had tied himself to such a moron. Of course, Luigi fucked everything that walked in skirts in a two-hundred-mile radius. He’d even bragged to Cosmos that he often brought a woman into his study, fucked her right there or had her blow him while Angeline knocked on the door. Luigi took great pleasure in roaring at his wife to leave him alone, and she would slink away in tears.

Cosmos wasn’t a man to allow another to one-up him, so he’d done the same, but found the pleasure was even greater when he forced his wife to watch—or participate. Life was good. So good. When he was in a bad mood, he could take out his frustration on his beautiful trophy, reveling in her tears and her promises of doing better. When he was happy, he could do whatever the hell he wanted when he wanted—and that was often.

Luigi paid him well and always would. He would have that money coming in for the rest of Luigi’s life. That had been the deal, and Cosmos wasn’t a trusting man. If Luigi ever thought to get rid of him to save that money, he had insurance to prevent that. Recordings. Times. Dates. Even at nineteen he’d been smart. All that, along with recordings, was locked up tight in his safe. When he died, his lawyer would find the information. He often taunted Luigi with the fact that he’d better not die of some illness.

Luigi had picked him up off the street and groomed him for the position of his brother’s dog handler. Cosmos had taken that job knowing he would eventually betray them all. Honestly, that had thrilled him. Every time he sat down at the table with the Abbracciabenes he had secretly laughed inside.

Luigi had to put up with a moron with the face of a horse while he had a young model, her face and body beautiful. He knew someday Luigi would kill his wife, and he wanted to be there when it was done. Cosmos figured his own wife had a few good years left until her looks went. He’d replace her then. Until that day, he forced her to please him in every way possible. He had to admit, he missed the exhilaration of knowing death was coming to those close to him and sometimes, he couldn’t help himself, he had to repeat that experience. He would know who was going to die, but they wouldn’t. It made him feel a little like a god.

Cosmos sauntered out of his house, the three-story mansion with glittering chandeliers and gleaming wood, another sign of success he didn’t give a damn about, like his trophy wife, but enjoyed showing off to others. He liked the status. He especially liked to lord it over those who had said he wouldn’t amount to anything. His scum parents he sometimes saw just to remind himself of what his life could have been like. Someday, he’d set fire to their little box of a house and burn their alcoholic asses along with the dump they lived in.

He walked to the cliff overlooking the ocean. It was one of his favorite spots. This was where he disposed of anything or anyone who got in his way. A teenage boy who had tried to steal his car and had begged for food when caught, begged even to be turned over to the authorities. Cosmos detested him, that reminder of what he’d been. So pathetic. He brought him home on the pretense of feeding him and giving him a job. It had been so satisfactory throwing his ass off the cliff—a symbol of getting rid of his old self. Feeling the power. Knowing who he was now.

Another death had been that of a woman he’d spent hours with, taking her in every way possible, forcing her to service his friends and later Luigi. She’d been so accommodating until his friends had arrived. She had the audacity to threaten him. He was very happy to prolong her death, holding her over the edge, listening to her beg before he dropped her worthless ass into the sea.

Two dogs, ungrateful for his care, one biting him and the other cowering in the back of the kennel, both reactions after he’d disciplined them. Both every bit as worthless as the little bitch threatening him. He expected his dogs to obey him instantly. He kept them hungry and grateful for the least little bit of attention. The two hadn’t been worth anything, turning on him like that.

The biggest thrill was the whining, sniveling, snot-nosed six-year-old son of his gardeners—a husband-and-wife team. The couple always brought him along and he was continually screaming and crying, running to his mother when his father told him to stop. She babied him endlessly, heaping insults on her husband when he tried to discipline the boy. Cosmos had complained several times of the noise, but she only glared at him while her son had looked smug. He’d arranged for an accident, the poor little brat falling over the edge on his mother’s watch. Stupid cow. Now her husband had something to hold over her head for eternity.

He laughed softly, peering down into the crashing waves. He could do anything. He had that right. Here, in the world he’d created through his hard work, he was god of his domain. He loved reliving those moments of absolute power. He could stand there and think about how it would feel to throw Luigi’s wife right off the cliff. He fantasized about it often when she sat across from him at his dinner table talking endlessly about shopping with his wife.

A sound behind him had him whirling around. He felt a sting, as if a bee had landed on his neck and stung him. He slapped his hand over the wound and staggered a little as his legs turned rubbery. A hand caught his arm. Rough. In a vise. It hurt. He turned his head, finding it difficult to do that. His neck hurt and his motor movements were sluggish.

A man’s face swam into view. Cosmos opened his mouth to speak, to demand what was going on, but his shock was so great that for a moment, he couldn’t find his voice. He could only stare at the stranger, stunned that anyone would dare come onto his property uninvited and look at him the way that man was—as if he were scum. No one looked at him that way and lived. He’d grown powerful. Wealthy. He ruled his own little empire. No one looked at him that way, he wouldn’t stand for it.

He found himself sitting right there on the very edge of the cliff. For the first time he didn’t like being so close to the edge. He wasn’t in control of his movements. His body shuddered, breaking out into a sweat. He swayed and tried to hold himself rigid. Tried to make out the face—no faces—in front of him. The man was still there. A woman had joined him. The man was older, with silver hair. The man slipped on a pair of mirrored glasses covering his eyes—the eyes that held so much contempt. He was exceptionally strong for his age. The woman had glossy black hair, beautiful features, but was far too skinny for his liking.

“Do you know who you’re fucking with?” he asked, surprised his voice worked. He recognized a fast-acting drug rushing through his system. It hurt. Shredded his nerves. More, they hit him again with another needle. This one contained a dark liquid.

“You should have known Luigi would send someone after you. You killed his brother, murdered him. He wasn’t going to let you live.”

The woman spoke, her voice soft, even musical. She might be skinny, but her voice was all kinds of sexy. Cosmos recognized that even thinking about whether she was attractive or not under the circumstances was fucked up and he started laughing.

“He can’t have me killed. He knows I have proof he put me in his brother’s house so we could kill him. He had to cement his relationship with Angeline and her family first and then when it was done, when she agreed to marry him, I could let the dogs loose.”

He laughed hysterically again. Deep inside, Cosmos tried to stop talking, stop the flow of his consciousness from spilling every secret, but his nerve endings were on fire, and worse, he was beginning to feel as if he were drunk. He was drunk. He knew he was. His body swayed and he laughed again.

“Luigi and Aldo Porcelli are friends?”

“Luigi is tight with all the Porcellis. He’s like a shark swimming in a tank with a bunch of bottom-feeders. They think they know him. I can’t wait for him to take over—and he will. He says no, but I know he will and then he’ll kill that fucking moron of a wife. She’s so useless. She can’t even give the man a decent blow job, too busy making sure her lipstick is perfect. I want to be there when he does it.”

“I don’t think you’re going to be there,” the woman said softly. “You’re drunk and you’re very close to the edge of the cliff.”

He felt a hand on his arm. The man again. He found himself standing, facing them, the wind coming off the ocean blowing cold air across his neck and back.

“Do you know who I am, Cosmos?” the woman asked.

He shook his head. The action made the world spin. He recovered, holding himself rigidly upright.

“I’m Giacinta Abbracciabene. That little girl who followed you around and sat next to you at the table night after night when my parents invited you in for dinner so you wouldn’t be alone.”

His eyes widened. That child had flaming red hair like her mother. This woman couldn’t possibly be her. She was dead, wasn’t she? He didn’t know what happened to her. He couldn’t remember, his mind working very sluggishly. He shook his head. The action sent the ground under his expensive Italian shoes rolling. She stepped closer and he stepped back—into air. Empty space. The space where other bodies had gone before his.

He felt himself falling and knew it was too late to save himself. He didn’t understand what happened, but when he hit the jagged rocks below, he felt his body breaking into pieces, the bones smashed. He opened his mouth to scream in pain, but the waves smashed into him, driving salty water down his throat and into his lungs.

Casimir indicated for Lissa to step onto the path out of the softer dirt. Meticulously, taking his time, he erased all evidence of the two of them being at the edge with Cosmos. He took Lissa’s hand and they walked through the riot of cheerful flowers, staying on the stamped path so as not to leave any shoeprints behind. No one was around. It was the gardener’s day off, just as Luigi’s intelligence had reported. He had been thorough. Cosmos’s wife was out of the house with her friends, getting her weekly pedicure and facial. There was no one around to see Cosmos Agosto drunkenly fall over the edge of the cliff he loved so much.

Just out of sight of the street, Casimir stopped, pulling Lissa to a halt as well. He had to know she was all right. They had the confirmation they needed. Cosmos had told them everything they needed to know, the alcohol rushing through his veins loosening his tongue. Had he not gone over the cliff, he would have died from alcohol poisoning before he was discovered, but this way, no sharp-eyed medical examiner could discover the pinpricks on his skin.

“Golubushka, look at me.” She had to be hurting. She had expected the confirmation, had already accepted that Luigi was guilty, but it was human nature to hold out hope. Just a tiny sliver of hope, but still, it would hurt when that was ripped away.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “Let’s get home and finish this.”

“Look at me,” he repeated, standing directly in front of her. A rock wall she couldn’t move or get around. His voice was gentle, but there was command in it.

She tilted her chin. Lifted her lashes. Met his eyes. His gut tightened. He leaned down, framing her face with both hands. “I’m with you every step of the way. Your real family is waiting for you back in the States. This is just another job we have to do. A job, malyshka, something to be done. Don’t feel one way or the other.”

Her lashes fluttered. He loved Lissa’s red-gold tips, not Patrice’s black ones. He brushed his mouth over hers because there was no changing Lissa’s mouth—and just for one heart-stopping moment her lips had trembled.

“Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Giacinta? That’s how you’re going to get through this. Hang on to me. To your sisters. To my brothers. We’re real. We’re solid. We won’t ever let you down. If you called right now, they would all be on the next plane. You know that. I’m not going anywhere. You have to put distance between yourself and this man who was supposed to be your uncle. He’s nothing but an illusion, and now he’s a mark. He made himself that. You didn’t put his ass there, he did. Do you get this?”

Her gaze moved over his face, studying every line there. She slowly nodded. “I do, Casimir. I’ll put him where he belongs now. I have to sit down with him. Tell him it’s done. He’ll hand me my next assignment, Aldo Porcelli. Aldo supposedly was the one that got his father to order the hit on my family. He probably did. He believes Luigi is his friend. Luigi married his sister. Of course he would believe that. Aldo won’t suspect, and he’s the last obstacle before Luigi is head of both families. The Porcelli territory is large, much larger than the Abbracciabene territory ever was.”

“I hope Luigi enjoys thinking about being the all-powerful head of both families, because he won’t have time to enjoy it,” Casimir said. “Are you going to be all right by yourself getting home?”

She nodded. “It will be good for me, taking the time on the bus. You go be Tomasso, the faithful bodyguard. Keep an eye on Arturo.”

He smirked. He couldn’t help it. He’d keep his eye on Arturo, all right. Especially when she was sequestered with her uncle in his study and she had an alibi—when there was no possible way Luigi would ever suspect his niece. Arturo was going to die. It was that simple. Arturo was every bit as guilty as Luigi. He had to know Luigi didn’t have multiple sclerosis. He knew Luigi was married and had a full life in another town. He also knew that Luigi planned to dispose of his niece the moment she finished taking out the key figures in the Porcelli family to leave the opening for Luigi. Arturo was living on borrowed time. He just didn’t know it.

“What are you planning?” she asked.

He smiled down at her. “Go, Lissa. Go now.” He glanced at his watch. “You have a bus to catch. I’ll shadow the bus until you get to your stop. If you have trouble, you know the signal. You’ll be on your own once you get to that stop. I’ve got to take the car back to the rental place and get my own transportation.”

She nodded. “I’ve done this countless times on my own, Casimir. I’ll be fine. I won’t pretend I wasn’t holding out a little hope, but I knew. I was trained as a professional. He trained me. I learned a lot more on my own. He’s very old-school. He got lazy. Once I was working and he trusted that I knew what I was doing, he lost interest. I kept educating myself. He’s a very arrogant man and that can kill a man very easily.”

He found himself smiling. Even his gut settled. His hand came up from the nape of her neck to sift through the strands of the very expensive wig she wore. He gave a little tug. “I get what you’re saying. I won’t let arrogance be my downfall.”

“Have no worries, Casimir,” she said. “If you do, I’ll be right there to remind you.”

Lissa left him, walking away from him as Patrice Lungren. She took the picture of his beautiful, masculine face with her as she rounded the corner of the garden and emerged from between two tall elegantly rounded bushes to step through a low, unlocked gate back onto the sidewalk. She ambled down the street, looking around her in the way an awed tourist would, occasionally stopping to snap another picture before moving at a little more brisk pace toward the bus stop.

She stood at the little stop, trying not to feel restless. Patrice wouldn’t be restless. She was always calm and cool. Friendly. Easygoing. Lissa didn’t want to have time to think about having to face her uncle. She would do it, because she had to, but it wouldn’t be easy. She also didn’t want to dwell too much on the look on Casimir’s face. She had to walk a very fine line. If she allowed herself to be too upset and he knew it, he would definitely not wait to kill Luigi and Arturo.

Casimir had learned to push down the fire roaring in him, just as she had done. But it was there, smoldering just beneath the surface, and it would come blazing to life if she did anything at all to fan those embers. She knew, with absolute certainty, that she was the only one who could make Casimir lose control. He wouldn’t wait to rid the world of Luigi and Arturo if he thought it would make her feel better.

Life didn’t work that way. She had avenged her parents’ death going through the Porcelli soldiers who had carried out the attack. They’d died, one by one, over the years. Their dying hadn’t lessened her grief even a little.

The bus arrived and she climbed aboard, flashing Patrice’s friendly smile to everyone as she sank into a seat. She made a show of looking at all the pictures on her camera before putting it away and turning to make small talk with the older woman sitting in the seat next to her.

She walked the three blocks to retrieve her car, changing directions several times to ensure she didn’t have a tail. She saw the moment Casimir believed she was safe and he turned down a narrow street to return the rental car and get back to being Tomasso. She kept walking until she came to the small storage facility. Patrice Lungren put in her code, stepped inside and immediately became Lissa Piner.

Lissa was thorough, scrubbing off Patrice’s makeup and carefully applying Lissa’s. Everything Patrice went into a duffel bag with her papers, ID, passport, cell phone and charger. Lissa braided her own hair and donned a long skirt and elegant blouse. Her boots were soft leather and matched her wide belt. Her jacket was short and fit snugly, emphasizing her lush curves.

Lissa tossed her purse onto the passenger seat of the little car Luigi always had available to her and drove out of the private storage garage. Luigi owned the facility, so there were no cameras set up anywhere near the building reserved for her. She even had her own private entrance, kept for Luigi or someone from his estate.

She drove all the way to the road leading to the Abbracciabene property and then she had to pull over, fighting for air. It wasn’t a panic attack, but her chest hurt so much she thought her heart would shatter.

She dragged her cell phone out of her purse and dialed a familiar number before she could stop herself.

“Lissa!”

Lexi’s delighted voice nearly brought her to tears. She hadn’t considered that she would turn into an emotional storm. The burning in her eyes and the lump in her throat were evidence that she shouldn’t have reached out. Not now. Not when she needed to be strong. She was going to face Luigi, and she couldn’t go with red eyes and a face swollen from crying.

“Hey, girl.”

There was an instant silence. Then Lexi’s voice came again. Soft. Loving. So Lexi. “What’s wrong? Do you need me? I can get a flight out tonight.”

There it was. Exactly what Casimir had told her not even an hour earlier. She had family. They were chosen, not blood, but they were family all the same. She heard the love in Lexi’s voice and knew it was genuine. For her. For a moment she had to bite down hard on her lower lip to keep from bursting into tears.

“No. No, I’m all right. I just needed to hear your voice.”

“Gavriil wants to talk to you.” Lexi sounded dismayed, as if she didn’t believe Lissa.

“Come home.” Gavriil issued the two words as a command. “You don’t have to do what you’re doing for this family, Lissa. We’d much rather you be home with us and safe. Come home.”

She knew he didn’t want her going after Kostya and Uri Sorbacov. He had no idea about her uncle and his betrayal. Still, it was nice to hear a badass like Gavriil wanted her to come home. He was totally wrapped up in Lexi, not so much in the rest of those living on the farm. He hadn’t been there long and hadn’t developed his relationship with the others yet. Lissa did feel a connection with him. He saw her when no one else had, and that had meant something to her. She had trusted him with her past, and that meant something to him.

“Not yet, but don’t worry about me. I’m well taken care of.” That was to assure him his brother was looking out for her.

“Lissa . . .” Gavriil began.

“I have to do this. I have to. I’ll explain things when I come home.”

“Just see that you do. Come home, that is. If you need me for any reason, I’ll be on a plane. Give me the word and I’ll come.”

She closed her eyes again and pressed the phone tight against her ear as if she could hold Lexi and Gavriil close to her. Gavriil would be risking his life getting on a plane and coming to help her, but he still offered and she knew he would do it if she asked. “Thank you. I needed to hear you say that, Gavriil. I have to go. Just take care of Lexi for me. I have to know all of you are safe and when I get home, you’ll all be there.”

“We’ll be safe,” Gavriil said gruffly. “You’d better be the same.”

She hung up quickly before Lexi could get back on. She knew if she heard Lexi’s voice again she’d break down and cry and nothing would stop her little sister from getting on a plane and coming to her. Probably all of her sisters would come. And then all the Prakenskii brothers would come. She found herself laughing instead of crying, because that was what true family did, they made life so much better, no matter how bad the problem was.

Lissa set the car in motion. Chances were, Luigi wouldn’t be home yet. He wouldn’t come back until he knew for certain she’d done the job. He would pretend he was still ill in his wing of the house, and that gave her a little respite and time to decide just how she would face him.