Chapter 10

CHAPTER

TEN

Saverio

T he car I ordered from my contact is at Hanscom Field when we land. A short drive brings us to the house Luigi owns. The humble, fully furnished, one-story residence stands empty for most of the year. We use it as a safe house when our men have to lie low or a halfway stop to Portland where we launder a portion of our money in a cement factory.

While Giorgio stretches out on the lumpy sofa, I set up the laptop and get the surveillance on our targets going. A hacker already tapped into their system and streamed the recording to my computer via an encrypted feed.

The best time to strike will be just after closing time. The owner and his two managers do the clandestine work when the rest of the employees are gone.

I study their comings and goings, checking the weak points in the building as well as the security they have in place. Except for a mediocre alarm system, they have two guards. One is stationed at the front entrance and the other at the back. Both guys are new. They must've hired them after learning that Lewis got his throat cut. They probably suspect that we're on to them. If they're clever, they'd know Lewis sang like a canary.

That day Giorgio and I paid Lewis a visit at his office, I told him in detail what would happen to his family if he didn't come clean. He didn't hesitate in admitting his guilt or telling me how and where he laundered the stolen money. He was a fool to believe Luigi wouldn't catch on if he cooked the books. He did it inconspicuously, never taking huge sums. What's a few grand in the greater scheme of a few million? Only, Luigi is the kind of guy who counts every penny. Lewis's bad. And now it's these guys' turn.

Seeing that Giorgio's culinary skills extend no further than opening a can of beans, I cook dinner. There's always a supply of food in the cupboards and the freezer. I check the perimeter alarms while he sharpens his knife, and when he gets a few hours of sleep, I send a message to my regular investigator, ordering him to get me any information about Anya Brennan he can get his hands on. It never hurts to do your homework.

As soon as that's done, I tap into the feed from the cameras I planted in her apartment. I make sure everything works before I install the surveillance app on my phone.

Anya is getting ready for bed. The feed is so clear it's as if I'm with her in the room. She wears a strappy T-shirt and cotton shorts. Her nipples poke through the thin fabric, the sight making me so hot for her I'm hard in a blink. I don't think I'll ever get used to the instant arousal. Not even porn has this effect on me.

She climbs into bed and takes a book from the nightstand. I zoom in to read the title.

The A To Z Of Generation Alpha Baby Names.

What names does she like? Hers is unusual enough that I looked it up. It's the English variant of Aine, which is the name of the goddess of summer in Irish mythology. I wonder if her mother called her that because of her hair. I've never seen a color like that—fiery red with streaks of gold like the most gorgeous flames, like the sun itself. Paired with those amber eyes, she looks as if she's from a different world, a goddess among mortals on Earth. She does her name justice. It's a wonder no man has snatched her up and claimed her. They must all be fools. Just as well. Any male with a romantic interest in my tesoro will find himself at the other end of my blade.

Keeping the app open so I can watch her sleep, I get to work. There's much to do, starting with filling up her closet like I stocked her fridge, and then I download a digital copy of The A To Z Of Generation Alpha Baby Names.