32. Typhon

32

TYPHON

T he following morning, El and I were in London, where I was waiting for confirmation that Brand's flight had landed. When I received it, I rang him.

"I'm planning my arrival so I get to Shere thirty minutes after you do. Get your meetings with Nemesis out of the way. Once you have, I'll brief you, Tank, and Blackjack on what is going to happen instead."

"Roger that, sir," he responded.

I smiled. Doc and Fatale must've given him some tips between now and the last time I saw him.

Once I'd arrived in Shere, I stalked into the main residence and over to the library, where I knew Nemesis preferred to hold meetings.

When I threw the door open, she looked up with wide eyes.

"Nice of you to join us, Typhon."

"Are you finished?"

"As a matter of fact, we are." My question pleased her, although the smug look on her face would only remain for a few more seconds.

"Gentlemen, we'll take the rest up in the solarium. Nemesis, your presence won't be required."

"You cannot be serious," she seethed.

I cocked my head and smirked. "I was unaware you wished to be included."

Her face turned red, and she clenched her fists at her sides. "A moment, please."

The three men left the room.

"I'm removing you from this mission," Nemesis spat.

"Sorry, doll. It's out of your hands." I'd made certain of it before I left London. Unit 23 owned it, not the coalition.

"I detest you," she spat, picking up her mobile.

I walked out the door, not needing to hear her response to the answers I knew she'd get.

"Let's go," I said to Brand and the other two, motioning us in the direction of the front door.

They grabbed their gear and followed me to a waiting SUV.

"We'll have plenty of time to review the first set of ops while we're in flight. Brand, have you prepared anything?"

"Not formally."

"My favorite kind. Informal, without all the bullshit."

I turned to the other men in the room. "Tank and Blackjack, as you read in my preliminary report, the two of you will act as my bodyguards and speak only when spoken to by me . Only Brand and I will interact directly with either family. If anyone interacts with you directly, look to me, and I'll handle it. Otherwise, use regular secure communication channels. From this moment on, I am Benito Carpinelli, and he is Brando Ripa. Understood?"

Both men voiced their agreement.

"As far as your boss is concerned?—"

"You're the boss for this mission," Tank interjected. "Ares is as clear on that as everyone else," he added, referring to the man who was the first in his chain of command. He was also Nemesis' husband.

I hadn't missed him following when we walked out a few minutes ago. I'd also heard him call my name. I didn't answer to him any more than I did to his wife, so I'd ignored the bloody bastard.

I couldn't help but smirk at Tank's comment. "Nem might not agree, but as you can tell, I don't give a shit."

Before we boarded my plane that would take us from Gatwick to Tropea, I rang El.

"I miss you already," she said.

"Likewise, my love." I hated what I was about to say, but I had to. "Saint is aware of our departure and likely knows I have no idea when I'll be returning."

She sighed. "I've already heard from Harper. She's asked me to visit."

"What will you do?"

"As she pointed out, it's been over three months since I last saw Agatha."

"Understood."

"I can hold my own with him, Levi. I've done it before, and if that doesn't work, I'll just ask my big, intimidating husband to beat him up."

I chuckled. "Do not tempt me." I cleared my throat. "Remember, should you need anything and are unable to reach me, Hornet is staying at my place. He's only a few minutes from where you are."

"He's hardly a few minutes. I saw him earlier when I went for a walk."

I rolled my eyes. "Perhaps I should reconsider his job with the unit if he's so easily spotted," I muttered.

"I'm happy to know he's close by, Levi. Oh, and I've just had a thought. Maybe I'll see if Kima would like to come to the city for dinner tonight."

"Brats, both of you," I mumbled, and she giggled; a sound I adored. "I love you, Eliza Marras."

"I love you, husband."

We made good use of our time on the flight to Tropea. Brand briefed us on his previous dealings with the Sicilian syndicate as well as recounted what had happened with the Calabrians.

While he talked, I thought through Nemesis' plan for this mission versus my own.

Her goal was for Brand to return to the job he'd done for them before he went to prison. Once ensconced, his objectives were to gather as much dirt as he could on the Sicilians. Then, he and I would take what he'd learned to Don Scaglione. That he'd so recently requested I look into whether or not his rivals were serious players in taking over AMPS' territories worked greatly in our favor. While Brand did his side of it, I'd lay the groundwork with Valerio, suggesting I'd had a change of heart. The other thing I planned to do was inform him I would no longer be available for contract hits, that I was, in essence, retiring.

"My expectation when you have the goods on their rivals is Prince will do everything he can to get you to make rain for them," I said when Brand finished talking.

He turned toward the window and appeared lost in thought for several minutes.

"Gentlemen, please excuse us," I said to Tank and Blackjack, motioning them to the rear of the plane. "Second thoughts?" I asked.

"I wouldn't put it that way."

"How would you put it?"

Brand sighed. "The stakes are higher. Five years ago, I didn't give a shit what happened to myself or anyone else."

"Now, there's Penelope," I prompted.

"Not just her. I want a different kind of life, but I find myself about to walk straight back into my old way of living. Except now, as I said, the stakes are higher. If Battaglia gets wind of who I am, I'm a dead man."

"I won't allow that to happen. Why do you think I stepped in?"

"I have no bloody idea," he muttered.

"There is a fuck of a lot at stake here, Ripa. Your role amounts to a flea on a dog. If that flea messes up, the ramifications are farther reaching than you can imagine. I will not let you fail. I will not allow it."

"Why risk it?" he asked.

It was a good question. While I'd questioned Nemesis' wisdom in mounting this mission, I was starting to see it in a different light.

"Time," I said. "We need to escalate the war between the syndicates. Once their focus is on each other, they can either take each other out, or we can move in and finish them." There was one more question I needed to ask, and if I didn't feel confident in Brand's answer, I'd kill this mission, turn around, and go home. "Can you come through for us, Brand?"

He thought about his response for quite a while, but when he raised his head, squared his shoulders, and said he could, I believed him. The more important thing was that he believed in himself.

When we exited the aircraft, there was a man I didn't recognize waiting on the tarmac. However, Brand did, and it raised my fucking hackles.

"Welcome home," he said, approaching us.

"Maximo, it's great to see you," said Brand. "This is an associate of mine, Benito Carpinelli."

While the two chatted, I studied him. I'd lay odds he was with one of the smaller crime families. He wasn't polished enough to be part of either of the biggest and most powerful syndicates.

I motioned to Tank, who nodded. He knew I wanted photos, and he got them—another indication he was too stupid to have the power he wanted us to think he had.

"I look forward to continuing our escapades. Perhaps Benito would like to join us?" I heard the sloppy arsehole say.

"Perhaps," I responded, looking beyond him to where Blackjack was pulling up in a black SUV. "Our ride has arrived."

"Off so soon? What a shame."

"Interesting guy," I commented as we drove away. "Is he connected to the Sicilians?" I knew he wasn't, but I was anxious to see what Brand would say.

"Not that I'm aware of. He's never given me the impression he was connected to any of the families."

"What did you say he does?" I asked.

"Maximo is the head of the Italian Civil Aviation Authority."

"A person doesn't get a job like the one he has without mob connections," I muttered.

I studied the passing landscape as we neared the part of the city closest to the Sicilians' compound. I fucking hated it here. Not just Tropea but most of Southern Italy. The mafia had settled into the area decades ago, turning it into an innocuous-looking war zone, where men behaving more like spoiled children battled it out to take over the kingdom. This year, it might be Scaglione seated on the throne of organized crime. Another year, it might be Macellaio, the Sicilian don. Then again, if our plan was successful, one or both would soon be dead.

"Where are we staying?" Brand asked.

"My villa." I'd made arrangements to have seventeen masterpieces that had been acquired for the mission delivered there. Each had a tracking device implanted that we hoped would lead us to where Macellaio was storing the originals his team of artists had already forged. Once we found the pieces and the people hired to copy them, we'd take that information, along with other evidence I'd spent years compiling, to Scaglione and let him do the dirty work of cutting his rivals off at their knees—perhaps literally.

I heard Brand sigh, then groan.

"Trouble with Penelope?" I asked, looking down at a message on my mobile.

"No, why do you ask?"

Hornet messaged he'd just seen Saint enter El's building only to come out minutes later, appearing to be furious. "Fucking Saint. I hate the bastard," I muttered.

The next message that appeared on my mobile was from Tank.

"Maximo de Rossi was in the States at the same time you were. Did he make contact?" I asked Brand.

His eyes scrunched. "He did not. Why was he there?"

"I hoped you knew."