Prologue

February

“Sir, you cannot go behind security lines,” a woman with a heavy Italian accent said.

“He’s with me,” said Maximo De Rossi, my friend and head of the Italian Civil Aviation Authority.

“Mi dispiace, signore,”the woman muttered, her gaze immediately downcast.

“What do you do to these women?” I asked when we were a few paces away.

“I pleasure them. Just like you do. It’s been too long since you and I were out on the prowl.”

“Those days are over for me, my friend.”

“No! Do not tell me you’re in love.”

I shrugged a shoulder, not bothering to explain that the woman who’d captured my heart did it back when I was a teenager.

“Wait. Is that who you’re meeting?”

I smiled and nodded. It had been a little over a month since Penelope Ramsey, who I affectionately called Butterfly, and I were together, and I missed her like crazy.

On the other hand, I hadn’t expected to see her this soon. When I deployed on a mission for the United Nations Coalition Against Human Trafficking, I feared it might be months before we saw each other again. The people involved in the organization I’d insinuated myself into were among the dregs of humanity, but until I was able to move up the ladder—to the very top, if I could—I had to deal with the lowlifes.

When I heard from Nemesis, the coalition’s commander, saying she’d arranged for Penelope to meet me in Florence, I was ecstatic. Not only could I get out of my base in Tropea for a few days, but it would be to visit a place where I’d once lived and knew she’d love.

At one time, we were supposed to go undercover together as an engaged couple. Then, the plan had been to infiltrate an art-forgery ring. That part of the mission was sidelined when the investigation became about something far more sinister—human trafficking. I was thankful every day that her intended involvement had been dropped.

The only downside was not seeing the woman I loved as often as I’d grown used to. Keeping her safe was worth it, though.

I stopped to check the arrival board and saw she was coming into gate eight. “Thanks again, Max,” I said, extending my hand to shake his.

“Oh no. I want to see this woman who’s taken away my wingman.”

I laughed. “It’s been a long time since our days in Milan.”

“Not so long for me,” he said with a wink.

“The plane is pulling up now.” I rushed over so when she exited the jetway, I’d be the first person she saw.

“Settle down, my friend,” Max said when passenger after passenger came out the door but not my Butterfly.

“She has to have flown first class. Why wasn’t she one of the first off the plane?” I said as much to myself as to him.

“Let me check.” Max walked over to the gate agent, who checked her computer, then shook her head.

“She wasn’t on the plane,” he reported.

“She had to have been.” I pulled out my mobile and checked the flight number and arrival time. I had the right one, so where was she?

When I rang Penelope and it went straight to voicemail, the second call I made was to Nemesis.

“Hey, Michelangelo. Got our girl?”

“Actually, I do not. She wasn’t on the flight.”

“What do you mean?”

“I checked with the gate agent, who said she never boarded.”

“Have you tried contacting her? Wait, sorry. That was a stupid question. It’s not an excuse, but I’ve been traveling all day, and my brain is mush. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll see what I can find out.”

When I received a text a short while later, I expected it to be from her. It wasn’t.

As I read the words on the screen, sent from an unknown number, the blood in my veins turned ice cold.

I know who you are, and if you ever want to see your Butterfly again, you’ll follow my instructions to the letter. Tell no one about this message, or she will die before sunrise.