Taking another sip, he considered his mother as she paced back and forth while talking on the phone. A very important call had come in from one of their informants, interrupting their after-dinner conversation.
Annoyance flared through him at how often work pulled his mother away. How, for most of their lives together, one thing or another had always managed to interfere—although he understood just how much control was necessary to maintain power over such a vast network of bad asses. Control that his family kept in a number of ways, including elimination of anyone who got in the way—like Corbett Lazlo and his annoying band of do-gooders.
In the past few months his mother had grown more determined, almost fanatically so, to rid herself of the Lazlo Group. Lazlo’s well-known agency had been a thorn in their side for quite some time, but lately, the Lazlo Group activities had managed to create even more problems for them. He didn’t think the Lazlo Group had been smart enough to figure out the various sources of the Dumonts’ illegal gains, but recently they had unwittingly slowed the flow of money from different Dumonts’ illegal. gains, but recently they had unwittingly slowed the flow of money from different operations.
“Fils de pute,” his mother, Cassandra, nearly screeched and he shifted forward in his chair, determined to find out what had set her off.
“Find out what Lazlo wants with Kruger and where he’s taking him,” she said as she reached one end of the room and whirled, then paced back to the other side, her long legs carrying her back and forth swiftly. Her slender body vibrated with anger.
“I don’t care how difficult it will be. You’re well paid to get this information for us.” Her French accent intensified in tandem with her anger.
Her green eyes narrowed to tight slits as she shot him a glance. Realizing she had her son’s full attention, she sent him an apologetic smile.
As the person on the other end of the conversation signed off, she snapped the cell phone shut, dragged a hand through the long, wavy strands of her auburn hair and walked toward him, the lines of her body elegant. Graceful. Dangerous.
“Je suis si désolée, chéri. Something unexpected came up.” She cradled his jaw and stroked the line of it, her hand smooth against his skin. A mother’s gentle touch.
He leaned into it and covered her hand with his, needy for her affection. She was all he had in the world, having never known the rest of his family. Grandfather. Uncle. Father. All dead before he could meet them. “It’s fine, Maman. I just wish…”
Troy didn’t have to finish. Cassandra seemed to know just what he wanted.
“Once this is done, mon fils, we’ll have more time together.”
He had heard her say it before, and, in general, she had kept her promises to him. For as long as he could remember, she had juggled the demands of the syndicate with those of motherhood in order to give him her attention.
When he had become old enough to learn about the business, she had begun to teach him much as her father had taught her and her brother.
Corbett Lazlo had been responsible for his uncle’s death, and so he could understand his mother’s current desire to see the Lazlo Group suffer. In their world, payback was common. Almost demanded. You didn’t survive if you let others tread all over you.
But this ongoing vendetta with Corbett Lazlo was getting…tiring.
“You’re losing sight of the bigger picture when it comes to Lazlo.”
She pulled her hand away and walked to the bar, poured herself a drink. When she sashayed back toward him, she said, “You can’t understand—”
“I know he killed your brother.” He downed the last of the scotch, wincing as the burn worked down his throat.
His mother sipped her drink and considered him over the rim of her glass before she said, “It’s more complicated than that.”
He shot to the edge of his chair, placed his hand on her arm and applied gentle pressure to lower her glass. “So tell me why you want to hurt Lazlo so badly.”
“He’s disrupted our financing.”
“Merde. You sent the Sparrow after Kruger because he was stealing from us. We needed a new courier anyway.”
“That operative in Prague—”
“Would have taken forever to figure out how that organization was funneling us the money. This is about something else.” But as his gaze met his mother’s, he realized she was not about to reveal what drove her lately. What had been compelling her for the past three years and invading their time.
“When you’re ready, Maman. I’m sure you’d tell me if it was something I should know.”
“I would, mon coeur,” she said. She cradled his cheek again and leaned forward, kissed his forehead. “I promise you, Troy. This has nothing to do with you.”
When Dani had been an agent with SIS, they had footed the bill for an apartment in Rome close to the Villa Borghese. It had been home base for her when she wasn’t traveling the world, capturing bad guys in her disguise as the Sparrow. During her non-spy times, she would “work” at the offices of a financial services company located not far from the Coliseum. The company provided a front for the local SIS headquarters and agents.
She had met Mitch years earlier at a bar not far from those offices. The attraction had been physical at first. Mitch’s size and good looks had immediately snagged her attention. But after a few hours in his company, she had liked his humor and forthrightness.
During the dates that followed whenever he was in Rome, Mitch had mentioned that he worked for a private investigations firm and needing to be careful, she had used her SIS connections to confirm that he was employed by the Lazlo Group. She had also seen his military records and realized that behind the good looks and elegant clothing was a bona fide hero. Not that Mitch had ever bragged about his Silver Star or Purple Heart.
For the next year, she had come to learn more about the complex man he was and had fallen in love.
Now they were back in Rome together, but the Lazlo Group had decided she and Mitch would stay a good distance away from either of her old locations as well as the Lazlo Group office while they were on their mission.
The Albergo Santa Carmela hid on a small street in Rome’s Trastevere section, painfully close to the spot where she had found Mitch bleeding to death nearly three years earlier. One part of her didn’t understand why someone would chose a location bound to stir the emotional pot for both her and Mitch. Another part of her—the spy part—acknowledged that as a base of operations, the tiny hotel was close to perfect.
The street on which it was located had defied discovery even to locals, and the hotel boasted only twenty rooms, all on one floor and opening into a central courtyard. Easy to secure and with quick access for escape. If there was anything that made the hotel not perfect, it was the rather solicitous and eager staff, who had too many questions and paid too much attention to the supposed newlyweds checking in for a two-week stay.
Dani pasted a smile on her face as Mitch encircled her waist and with a playful wink, confirmed their status to the older woman behind the front desk. “Yes, that’s right. We’re on our honeymoon, so I hope you’ll understand if the Do Not Disturb sign is on the door often.”
The woman tittered and handed Mitch two keys for the room. “Non lei disturbano, mai you do not want to miss seeing la citta eterna,” the clerk replied, wagging a pudgy finger in emphasis.
Mitch friskily jostled Dani before bending his head and nuzzling her cheek. “Oh, we’ll see the la citta eventually.”
What she wanted to do was give him a shot to the ribs, but decided a different punishment would be better. She turned and whispered against his lips, “Eventually, amore,” and kissed him to shut him