15. Antonio

When I get the call that a car has pulled up to the back entrance of Huntsman Lodge, I step onto the loading platform, flanked by guards, to accept the prisoner. My best soldier. My oldest friend.

Normally, I would never take delivery of a prisoner, but Cristiano isn’t just anyone. Although he will be treated like any other soldier who might be compromised. No one gets a free pass—not for something of this magnitude. Only when I’m convinced he’s not a threat will he get back his elite status. If I have any concerns, it will never happen.

My credibility as a leader is on the line. Every guard, every soldier, will know that even the highest-ranking lieutenant is subject to our rules. But by taking custody of Cristiano myself, I’m also showing him respect. That respect is what will allow him to continue to command men, when his name is cleared. If it’s cleared.

A black SUV pulls up to the loading dock. When a tall man gets out and opens the rear door, I do something I never do. I pray. Don’t let him be compromised. It’s not much of a prayer, but it comes from the depths of my soul. I don’t want to order his torture—or his death. But you will, if necessary. I will.

Cristiano’s face is bruised, and I notice a slight limp as he’s brought to me in handcuffs.

I search him for weapons. When I find nothing, I nod to Fedorov’s man, who removes the cuffs.

While Cristiano rolls his shoulders, I hold out my hand to the guard beside me, and Lucas drops a pair of cuffs into my open palm. I wonder if they felt as heavy in his hands as they do in mine.

Cristiano doesn’t make me force his arms behind him. He doesn’t even make me ask. With a slow, controlled movement, he places his hands near his lower back, and I attach the cuffs. The click of the lock is almost crippling.

Boom! Boom!Boom! The platform rocks, as a ball of fire lights up the distant night sky. Even before I can process any of it, my guards push me down and toward the door.

“No,” I bark, shaking them off. “I’ll go when I’m ready.” This is my fucking house, and I will not run and hide like a coward.

“Antonio,” Lucas pleads. “You need to get inside.”

“What’s going on?” I ask Cristiano.

He shakes his head and looks me in the eye. “No idea. You should listen to Lucas and get inside.”

Aside from a series of small pops, the explosion is over. The lodge is set on a high point, and I can see the smoldering fire. Another small pop. Whatever happened, a highly flammable substance was involved—like gasoline. A car bomb, maybe. It could be an innocent accident, but that’s not ever my first guess, or even my fourth.

Once we’re inside, I turn to Lucas, who already has his phone out. “Find out what happened.”

He nods and with a somber glance at Cristiano, he goes to the elevator, and I call Santi, who’s at the house in the valley. Normally I would call Daniela’s guard, and although Duarte’s trustworthy, he’s new to the position, and he doesn’t know the house as well as Santi and Mia.

“Any problems?”

“No, senhor. It’s quiet here.”

“Keep things buttoned up tight. No one in or out.”

“Is there something we need to be concerned about?”

“You’re guarding my family—you should always be concerned.”

“Of course,” Santi replies.

“There was an explosion nearby. It’s still unclear if there are added concerns. Someone will be in touch.”

Once we’re deeper in the building, I dismiss the guards.

Cristiano and I walk silently. It’s an ominous path for someone in handcuffs. The same path Daniela walked after she ran away. The same path Tomas took to meet his death. But when we reach the crossroads, we don’t go to where my cousin was tortured. I lead Cristiano into the cave where I questioned Daniela.

Once we’re in the center of the room, I pull up two chairs and set them about four feet apart. Before Cristiano sits down, I remove the handcuffs.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he mumbles, as I free him.

“I have a gun. I won’t hesitate to shoot you, if necessary.”

We sit facing each other in blistering silence. He doesn’t hang his head, and I don’t flinch—not even when a lifetime of memories passes before me. We might not have shared the same parents, but we grew up as brothers.

“Nikitin had you?”

He nods.

“How the fuck did that happen?”

“I left here early, the day before the race, to go down to the dock to check on the boat and make sure everything was set. On my way over, I saw a man chase a woman into an alley. She was screaming for him to get away. Without thinking,” he says bitterly, “I went after them. It was a trap.”

“I want to know everything. I mean everything. Don’t leave out the time you stopped to take a piss.”

He nods. “I want to know one thing, first. Do you believe I betrayed you?”

I don’t want to believe it. “I’ll answer your questions, once you’ve answered mine.”

Footsteps approach, and I glance over my shoulder. Lucas holds up his phone so I can read the screen. Fedorov’s car hit a barrier wall and exploded.

Jesus Christ. I don’t bother to ask if it was an accident. We had dinner, Cristiano was safely returned, and his car blew up. I’m not a big believer in coincidences.

I peer at Lucas. He presses his mouth into a grim line and shakes his head. No survivors.

“Send men to the scene to gather everything they can. Call Santi and let him know. Tell him to touch base with Duarte.”

“Already done,” he mutters. “But the wreckage is still smoldering. They’ll secure it, but no one’s going to be able to comb through it for several hours.”

“Pull up a chair,” I tell him, with my entire focus on Cristiano.

“Talk to me.”