Oxblood (7 page)

“
Piacere di conoscerti
,” Damon said as he took my hand and kissed it. If there was a poster boy for the classic Italian male, it was Damon. He had dark hair and eyes and rich olive skin. He was just like Rudolf Valentino in all those old movies my mom used to watch.

“He's very pleased to meet you,” Ian laughed.

“I can see that. Does he speak English?” I asked.

“He does. He likes to lead with the Italian, though, don't you, Damon?”

“The ladies, they like the Italian,” he answered with a smoldering look. “Wait. She is Gil's sister? Gil has a sister?”

“Yes,” Ian answered.

“That is not good,” Damon said in his Italian accent, his eyes turning dark.

“No. Why don't you go back and see if we've got anything new? I've got to figure out what I'm going to do with Victoria,” Ian instructed him.

“I know what I'd like to do with Victoria,” Damon said in a sultry voice that made me blush.

“Go!” Ian demanded. Damon kissed my hand again and exited the restaurant.

“You have to figure out what you're going to do with me?” I questioned him, annoyed by the implication that I was something to be done with.

“You surprised me. Damon is a chameleon, a shadow. He's followed the pope into the Vatican and gone unnoticed.” Ian looked around the restaurant and then back at me. “They were going to seat us in the middle of the room. But you preferred the corner. You like the vantage point it gives.”

“Yeah,” I said in a short breath.

“What else have you noticed?” he asked curiously.

I paused. “The couple to your back right is having relationship problems. Every time she gets up to use the restroom, he checks his phone.”

“That's not unusual. Maybe he's looking for the latest football score,” Ian proposed.

“Does the latest football score cause a bead of sweat to form on your upper lip, or cause you to adjust yourself?” I said confidently.

“Go on.” He smiled.

I leaned back in my seat and narrowed my eyes.

“The slight limp tells me our waitress is nursing a blister on her right foot. The man eating alone at your nine o'clock lost his wife not too long ago. He keeps spinning his wedding ring and rubbing it like a genie's lamp in hopes of bringing her back. You shoved the capers in your dish to the side, which tells me you like the flavor they add, but not the taste of them directly, otherwise you would have requested they make the dish without them.” I smirked at him triumphantly.

“Is that it?” he challenged.

“No. You suck at Candy Crush.”

“What? No I don't! I mean . . . How did you . . .”

“Were you, or were you not, playing Candy Crush on your iPad when I saw you in the lounge at the hotel?” I leaned forward and rested my forearms on the table.

Ian huffed a smile and licked his lips as he looked away from me for a moment. “Well, Victoria Asher. You may not be headed back to America as quickly as I thought.”

“I'm pretty sure that's what I've been telling you,” I countered.

Ian asked for the check and paid for our dinner. I knew it hadn't been a date, but it was nice to be on the receiving end for a change.

The night air had turned chillier by the time we began our walk back to the hotel. It was only a few blocks away, but I was kicking myself for leaving my hoodie in my room.

“I'd offer you my jacket if I had it with me,” Ian said apologetically.

“Really? Guys still do that?” I asked disbelievingly. Chad was certainly not the chivalrous type. The last time we went to the movies, I had to buy the tickets
and
the popcorn, and then I proceeded to freeze to death in the theater. After spending half the movie viciously rubbing my arms and sending him death glares, I finally asked for his jacket, but he just shrugged and told me that I should bring one next time. I used to see Dad do sweet things for Mom, and Gil hadn't dated anyone since Maria died and he became obsessed with school—or whatever it is he's obsessed with.

“Where I come from, they do. My mum taught me to believe that women deserved to be treated like princesses and queens,” he said with straight conviction.

“Well, you do come from a place where they have
actual
princesses and queens.”

“It's more than that.” Ian looked at me softly, and there was something in his eyes that melted me. Pain. A lost love, perhaps. I held his eyes for another moment. Suddenly, something clicked and I was sucked into the whirlwind of Ian Hale. Who was he? Where did he come from? And what did “more than that
”
mean?

Ian walked me back to the hotel, and we rode the elevator up in silence. When we reached my room, I slid the card key into the slot and opened the door when the light turned green. Before I could say thank you and good night, Ian stepped past me and into my hotel room, making himself comfortable on the couch. Resting his ankle on his knee, he looked at me with anticipation. When I didn't respond, he got playfully irritated.

“Really? You're not going to say anything? That's disappointing,” he chuckled.

“You're kidding, right? What am I supposed to say? You are officially the King of Mixed Messages. One minute, you're saying you can't tell me anything. The next minute, you're saying that anyone who joins your club has to be alone in the world just in case they get killed. Then you're telling the Italian Don Juan that you have to decide what you're going to do with me. If you could choose which side of the street you're driving on, then I could hitch a ride. Until then, I'm sorry if I'm a little skittish about asking the wrong questions from the man who held a gun to my chest within the first sixty seconds of meeting me!” I crossed my arms and waited for his response.

“Okay, first of all, it's not a club.” He stood and planted himself two feet in front of me.

“Seriously, Ian! Look, if I were honest, you were really nice tonight, you know, after you put your gun away. Being out with you actually put me at ease in the midst of all this craziness. But I have to get back to why I'm here, and I'm still really hoping that you're going to help me.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Ian closed the gap between us and rubbed my arms to soothe me. “I'm sorry. If
I'm
honest, I had a lovely time tonight, too. There are parts of me that I don't get to access very often, at all really, and it was nice to feel like I was just a bloke out with a pretty girl.” I blushed at his compliment and looked down for a moment to compose myself. “I can assure you that finding Gil is our focus.”

“Thank you.” Gratitude welled up in me, and I found myself up on my toes and wrapping my arms around Ian's neck. I felt the strength of his body against mine and Ian instinctively put an arm around my waist. The scruff of his five o'clock shadow brushed my temple, causing me to tilt my head and bury my face in the crook of his neck. He smelled like mahogany and lavender. It was intoxicating.

I landed back on my heels and caught a look of sweet surprise on Ian's face. I was pretty sure there was a hint of pink on his cheeks. “I'm sorry. You Brits aren't very big on the affection thing, are you?” The words stumbled out of my mouth, revealing my embarrassment.

“My grandmother wasn't very big on the ‘
affection thing
.' I happen to enjoy it very much,” Ian said with a smile, and this time we both blushed.

“So, now what?” I asked, regrouping.

“Well, if you're going to stay—it's obvious I'm not going to be able to put you on the first plane home—there are a few things you should know. Like what, exactly, it is that I do.”

Chapter 6

I sat in the oversize chair with my back to the window and faced the entry to the suite. Ian sat catty-corner to me on the couch. He rubbed his hands together like he was going to start a fire. Worry painted his face as he started and stopped speaking more than once.

“Get to it, Ian,” I said impatiently. “I'm sure you've had to explain before.”

“It's difficult because you're different,” he answered without hesitation.

“How am I any different?”

“First of all, I don't find myself needing to explain my job to anyone very often. Secondly, you're different because you didn't seek this out. You didn't come to me wanting to sign on to what I'm about to tell you.”

“But my brother did?”

“Yes and no.” Ian let out a heavy sigh. “It's not easy to understand, Victoria, and it will sound very farfetched. I can assure you, though, that everything I'm going to tell you is true. I know you want to stay to find Gil, but if after you've heard what I have to say, you may change your mind. If so, I'll get you on a private plane back to Miami and I will personally make sure Gil isn't far behind.” Ian leaned his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. He stared at me while I processed what he just said.

What if I really couldn't handle what he was going to say? What would I do? I knew that I wouldn't leave Italy without finding Gil, but what if Gil didn't want to come home? What if tracking down Ian and disappearing was part of his plan, just like Agent Stokes said? That would mean Gil had abandoned me on purpose. That thought scared me more than anything else.

“Thank you, Ian, for considering my feelings. But as I've repeatedly said, I'm not going anywhere without Gil. I came here to find him, and that's what I'm going to do.” I pressed my lips together, to keep from crying, or smiling, or both.

“You're sure about this?” he asked, reconfirming.

“Get on with it already!”

He nodded to himself a few times and then locked his eyes on me.

“My team and I work for INTERPOL,” he began.

“That's it? Your big I-don't-know-if-you-can-handle-this secret is that you work for INTERPOL?” I didn't hide the look of disappointment and then confusion at Ian's secrecy from my face.

Ian shot me a look. “To be specific, we work for a secret division within INTERPOL. We do what the other agencies don't want to do, or can't do. Usually because, in order to accomplish what needs to be done, some very serious laws have to be broken. Don't get me wrong. INTERPOL is not above breaking a few laws. But when it goes beyond what they can do without their hands becoming
visibly
dirty, they call on me and my team to get the job done.”

“What do you mean ‘
visibly
dirty'?” I asked. Instead of replying, Ian looked past me and out the window. “If you're not going to be straight with me, then I guess I'll have to find him on my own.”

I started to stand when Ian stopped me. He looked at me with surprise. Did he really think his broad explanation was going to be good enough?

“We do a lot of things. Protection. Surveillance. We make sure secrets stay secret. And, well, sometimes it's necessary to become embedded in an organization in order to take it down from the inside out. Implode it, so to speak.”

“Don't law enforcement agents do that all the time?”

“Yes, but these aren't your inner-city street gangs where you send an agent into their hideout with an unmarked laundry van parked a block away listening in. These are international drug and gun dealers, kidnappers for hire, human-trafficking rings. Really bad people doing really bad things. Things . . . happen, Victoria.”

“People die,” I said, connecting the dots.

“Yes.” Ian leaned back on the couch and unbuttoned the second button on his dress shirt, seemingly satisfied that I was beginning to understand the depths of his job.

“Have
you
killed people?” I asked. If this was Ian's line of work and Gil had been working with him, what the hell was my brother doing?

“Yes. But they were all bad,” he answered with just a hint of a smile.

I stood up and paced the room a few times. I chewed and swallowed the information and considered where Gil fit in. Had Ian trained Gil to be some kind of killer for hire? Why on earth would Gil become a professional hit man? Could I stand behind a team that killed people?

I shook my head. At the moment, I didn't have the luxury of questioning Ian's morals, or even my own. What mattered now was getting Gil back. And Ian seemed like the best way in.

“Okay,” I said. I turned to face him, trying hard to put on a brave face.

“Okay what?” Ian sat up and cocked his head at me.

“Okay, I'm in.”

“You're
in
what?”

“I'm in whatever your international fight club is so that I can find out what my brother is doing and bring him home.”

“This isn't something you get to decide if you're in,” Ian argued.

“Gil did. You said he was already in too deep and you didn't have a choice but to let him stay on and do whatever it is he's doing. Consider me in too deep, because I'm not leaving.”

Ian stood up and took command of the space between us. He was so close that I could feel his breath on my face. I looked up at him boldly. His nostrils flared and his chest heaved with frustration. After a few tense seconds, he shook his head. “You are exasperating, you know that?”

“It's part of my charm,” I said with a sugary smile. “Now, please tell me how Gil fits into all of this, and then how I'll be helping.” I waited for Ian's response, but he maintained his silence. “Why did my brother come to you?”

Ian paced the room, wrestling with how to give me the details of my brother's secret life. He took a deep breath before answering.

“Gil didn't come to me, it's more that we stumbled upon each other. My team was given an assignment two months ago. We were to embed ourselves in the Cappola crime family to figure out what they were illegally importing and exporting. I had been trying to get close to Antony Cappola so I could bend his ear on some interesting loopholes, only to find out Gil had beat me to it. When Antony said he had solid information from another source, I knew it had to be Gil. We had every piece of intel on the Cappolas, and there was nothing in there about your brother.

“It took me a couple of weeks, but I got close enough to Gil to know he wasn't one of them. He was working his own angle. So I cornered him and we had a little conversation. He told me that he was an American law student doing his thesis on immigration law. He knew the system was corrupt, but his objective was to find the legal loopholes that were making it easier for countries to export illegal products into the States. I told him that was the stupidest thing I had ever heard, but knowing what he knows about the law put him in a position to help the Cappolas. As much as I hated it, he was already in the mix. There was no way I could kick him out and then come in and gather the same information he already had without looking suspicious.”

“So you asked him to work for you?”

“For the record, I didn't exactly have to twist his arm. He was quite insistent on finishing what he started. And you have no idea, as a outsider, what it takes to gain the trust of a mob family. The fact that Gil was able to do that in such a short amount of time was genius. For me to come in and do what Gil had already done would have been far too suspicious and would have blown our whole operation. We agreed that he could stay as long as he provided me with the information he was gathering—and that he had no family to go home to.” With that, Ian gave me a sharp glance.

“And how, exactly, is my brother supposed to defend himself if he gets found out?” I asked, ignoring Ian's jab.

“He said he had some gun training before he came to Italy.”

“I'd say that's not true, but it's obvious I have no clue what my brother has been up to.”

“My team also gave him some training. Not enough, but at least enough to give him a chance,” Ian said. “He was supposed to meet me at this hotel two weeks ago. He didn't show, and I found out he'd checked out three days earlier. We've been watching the Cappolas, but they've practically been hermits. With the exception of the help, no one has come or gone from their estate since. Damon is working on getting some eyes inside, but at this point, we don't even know if Gil is still with them. I've been sitting on the hotel hoping he would come back or that someone would come looking for him. I didn't expect that person to be you.”

“Is this Cappola family especially violent? Could they have found out he was working with you and killed him?” The words left my mouth like a nightmare. I never imagined having a conversation about the possibility of my brother being murdered.

“No more than any other crime family. They're known for your standard money laundering and extortion, and a little import-export business. But things in the last several months have begun to escalate, and we're seeing connections between the Cappolas and another family known for having their hands in more dangerous activities.”

“Where does Gil come in?” My breathing was getting shallow as I realized Gil was in deeper than I could comprehend.

“Gil said the Cappolas mentioned a man I know only as Paolo. Gil didn't catch all of their conversation, but heard them say Paolo was looking for something of value. I've been watching him for almost a year, and Gil's information was the first lead I'd had on him in three months. So I sent Gil back in to find out what he could about his connection to the Cappolas. Based on how out in the open he is, I don't think Paolo is in charge of the operation. I want Paolo's boss, and he's good at hiding.” Ian looked disappointed.

“What is Paolo looking for? Why do you have your eye on him?” I asked.

“He's been linked to drug and arms trafficking—so it could be that he's on the hunt for new products—but he was also photographed coming out of an all-girls boarding school in London two days before three students went missing.”

“You think he had something to do with their disappearance?” Ian nodded. The vein in his neck was pulsating, and his jaw was set. It sounded like he thought this Paolo guy didn't agree with his belief that women should be treated well. “But what else did Gil find out about him?” I asked.

“Only that Paolo was planning on meeting with the Cappolas in Bologna. Gil disappeared before he could tell me when. So, as of now, Paolo could be anywhere.”

Ian took my hand and led me to the couch. We angled ourselves toward each other, our knees touching. “Once I told Gil who Paolo was, he made it his personal objective to get the proof we needed to bring him down. He thought that if he could become of service to the organization as a whole, then he would rise in the ranks. He'd already found favor with the Cappolas. If he's not still with them . . .” Ian hung his head and a bolt of fear ran through me.

“Just say it.”

He looked into my eyes. “I can't tell you that Gil isn't dead.”

I couldn't think that way. I'd come too far and I had too much to lose. “You can't tell me he isn't alive, either,” I countered.

“Hope is a dangerous thing, Victoria.”

“No. Hope is a glorious thing. Hope is what put me on a plane I swore I'd never get on. Hope is what keeps me talking to you instead of running to the US Embassy or back to the airport. Because, right now, you are my only hope of finding my brother.”

Ian looked at me like he had never heard such optimism. Maybe he hadn't, or maybe it had been too long since he had. Until I knew for a fact that Gil was no longer breathing, I wouldn't give up. I
couldn't
give up.

“My home is with Gil, and until I find him, I have nowhere else to go.” I put my hand on top of Ian's resting on his lap.

“I don't know, Victoria,” he said quietly.

“I'm not a fragile little doll, Ian. I can handle myself.”

“Yeah, I could tell that when I was able to back you into your hotel with a gun shoved in your gut,” he replied. His tone changed quickly from soft to defensive.

“Because I should have known that a gun-wielding Englishman was going to come knocking on my door? Why are you being so difficult?” I stood up with a fury. He quickly stood, too, towering over me, a look of frustration plastered on his face.

“Because if we find Gil, I don't want to be the one to tell him that I got his sister killed! You have a life! You have people back home who care about you! This is a lonely and dangerous job, Victoria. I wouldn't wish it on anyone.”

“I'm not asking for this to be my life, Ian! All I want is your help in getting my brother back. If that means I have to become a part of whatever it is you do, I'll do that for as long as I have to. I know I sound like a broken record, but I'm not going home. All that's there is my shitty apartment, my less-than-mediocre job at a diner, my
one
friend, and my freeloading boyfriend. I will miss Tiffany, but I would rather be here where I feel like I'm accomplishing something than merely existing day to day and wondering if I'll ever see my brother again.

“Train me. Put me to the test. If I fail miserably, you can send me home. But don't sentence me to a life of worry without at least giving me a chance. I know I can do this.” I took an infinitesimal step toward Ian, closing the gap between us, and lowered my voice. “You said there were agents who would give anything to have someone to go home to. Why do I have a feeling you were talking about yourself?”

Ian turned his head away and looked down. My hand cupped the side of his face, pulling it toward me. For a minute, we were inches apart, his frustration melting at my touch. His expression was soft, the dim light pooling in his eyes. We stood there for a moment, our breathing barely audible above the faint sounds of the traffic outside.