Chapter 8

CHAPTER

EIGHT

JACK

A knock on the door, followed by a now familiar voice, calling “Signori?” pulled me out of sleep the next morning.

Cal’s pillow wall had done its job. He’d stayed on his side, and I’d stayed on mine, even if I hated it, even if I was still recovering from the brutal truth he’d thrown in my face last night. A truth I hadn’t known even mattered to him. He’d blamed his words on exhaustion, but there had been truth to them. I could see it in his eyes.

If he only knew how much it had sliced me apart to leave him. Every. Single. Time.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like knowing the pull I was feeling toward Cal wasn’t one-sided, especially since he believed he had a fated mate out there somewhere, waiting to be claimed.

That thought made the room spin and my stomach churn as I threw my legs over the edge of the bed and stood.

Because he’s supposed to be yours .

I silenced the little voice in my heart as I flung open the door, forgetting I’d gone to bed in just a pair of boxers.

Carlo stood on the other side, holding a small package wrapped in thick blue paper and tied with a copper-colored bow.

“Ah, Signore Harper. I am sorry to wake you, but this package arrived for you, and the courier was insistent you get it as soon as possible.”

He passed the small box over.

“Should I have breakfast sent up? I trust you’ll want to relax and enjoy the first day of your honeymoon in bed, no?” Carlo winked, and after last night, that wink felt like a punch to the solar plexus.

“Uh, we’re planning to do some sightseeing today.”

Carlo’s brows lifted, but he nodded. “Venezia is very beautiful.”

“Exactly. There’s a lot we want to do before we have to leave.”

“Ah, of course. Sì, sì. I will have the pastries and cappuccino sent up so you do not have to waste time finding a cafe.”

“That would be great. Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He turned and walked with purpose down the hall.

I shut the door and turned the little package over in my hands. I knew what lay beneath the ornate paper.

“What’s that?” Cal’s voice was sleep roughened, his question punctuated with a yawn.

I tossed the box his way, and he caught it in one hand. “Open it and find out.”

He glared at the box, then ripped into the paper.

“You’re a barbarian.”

He shrugged, and I noticed the mischievous light that normally danced in his eyes had returned. I wondered if it would still be there when he saw what was inside the navy blue box he now held in his hand. “You were one of those kids that opened their presents so the paper could be reused, weren’t you?”

I smirked. “Maybe.”

He looked down at the gold embossed words on the top of the box, then up at me before taking the top off to reveal two simple gold bands secured within.

“The rings you requested.”

Cal held them up and studied them in the light. “I’m considering this an acknowledgment that I was right.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Which one is mine?”

“They’re the same size.”

“How do you know we wear the same size ring?”

“I don’t. If it doesn’t fit, we can see if we can get it sized or something while we’re checking out Azzura Scivolo.”

Cal nodded and plucked one of the rings out of the box. He slid it onto his left ring finger like it wasn’t a big deal, like seeing it there wasn’t twisting my heart into a knot.

“Fits pretty well.” He shook his hand, and the ring stayed put.

“Good.” I had to clear my throat to get the word out.

He passed me the box, and I put my ring on too. “Yeah. Not bad.”

“We’ll just have to take them off when we shift.”

“Do you really think you’re going to need to shift while we’re here?”

Cal shrugged. “You never know.”

“I doubt it.” Not being able to take my animal form whenever I needed to was one of the worst things about being an aquatic shifter. It was why the swim at Reuben’s had been so important. While Venice was full of water, it wouldn’t be safe to swim in the canals with all the traffic, not to mention the water pollution.

Cal got out of bed and started pulling on clothes from his duffel bag.

“Didn’t you bring anything else?” I asked, taking in the black tactical pants and black T-shirt he pulled out.

“Why can’t I wear this?”

“You’re going to stand out like a sore thumb.”

“What are you wearing?”

I had laid out my clothes for the day while Cal had been in the shower last night. “This.” I held up a lightweight gray sweater and a pair of dark-wash designer jeans.

“I didn’t bring anything that nice.”

“Shocking.”

He scowled. “I brought clothes for work, not fancy shit.”

I gestured to the clothes I’d laid on the bed. “Those are clothes for work.” I shook my head. “No wonder some of your targets saw you coming from a mile away.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Oops. “Nothing.” I rummaged through my bag, pulling out a dark green button-down. “Wear this. You just need to iron it.”

He caught it and held it up. “It’s fine.”

“It’s a wrinkled mess. We need to look the part.” I held up my left hand and wiggled my ring finger. “You said so yourself.”

“Fine.” He turned back to his luggage. “I guess you want me to wear the jeans I wore on the plane.”

“If all you have other than those is tac pants, then yeah.”

Cal picked his jeans up from where he’d tossed them on an upholstered chair in the corner, shook them out, and slid them on. “Where’s the iron?”

“Probably in the closet.”

To get there, he had to brush past me, squeezing too close in the small walkway between the bed and the dresser, and I held my breath, not wanting to breathe him in. Things had been more charged between us since we left Reuben’s, and I wasn’t sure there was anything, short of fucking it out, that would break the tension.

The breakfast Carlo promised was sent up as Cal ironed my shirt, and I ate a hazelnut-and-chocolate-filled croissant and sipped a cappuccino while I watched Cal out of the corner of my eye. His body was gorgeous, miles of smooth bronze skin over toned planes of muscle, and my mouth watered, wanting to taste him.

“Why are you staring at me?” He lifted the iron, and a hiss of steam billowed out.

“I’m not.”

He scoffed. “Yes, you are.”

“I’m just making sure you don’t burn my shirt.”

Cal sighed and rolled his eyes. “Former military, remember? I know how to iron.”

“Right. Sorry.” I tried to turn my attention back to my coffee, but it was hard to look away from the bunch and pull of Cal’s muscles as he moved the shirt around on the ironing board and pressed it to within an inch of its life.

He hung the shirt on a hanger and sat on his side of the bed, grabbing a pastry off the breakfast tray.

“Are you not going to put it on?”

“I will after I eat. Just in case.”

I nodded. “When you’re done, I’ve mapped the route to Azzura Scivolo’s villa. It’s right off the Rio Marin.”

It was Cal’s turn to nod. “Who’s driving?”

With anyone else, this wouldn’t have been a conversation, but of course, Cal was going to make it an issue. “Me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Have you piloted a boat in Venice before?”

“No. Have you?”

“No, but I take my cousin Hadrian’s boat out all the time. I’m used to navigating around Seattle, and that’s pretty much the same thing.”

“The same thing? Like Australia and New Zealand are the same thing?”

Cal crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes. Exactly.”

“You are such an idiot.”

“Whatever.” He held out his hand and made a gimme motion. “Give me the keys. I’m driving.”

Just to be a dick, I pulled them out of my pocket and dangled them in front of Cal, the foam key chain swinging. “These keys?”

“Yes. I’m clearly more qualified than you are. Give them to me.”

“I told you before, but apparently, I need to say it again. I’m taking point on this op, which means you follow my lead.” I jingled the keys, teasing Cal like a matador taunting a bull with a red cloth. “Which means I drive.”

“Like hell.” In a move I would have assumed was too quick for him on land but should have expected anyway given the way I was teasing him, he lunged at me, grabbing for the keys. I turned at the last second, still holding them out of reach, and he tackled me onto the bed, trying to pin my arms so he could steal the keychain. But he forgot we were evenly matched, and the second he thought he had them, I rolled us so I was on top and regained the upper hand.

“Just give me the keys.” A low growl rumbled from his chest, and we were close enough that I felt it in my own.

“Stop being a child. You’re not driving.”

He threw his body weight against me, flipping our positions again, his fingers trying to pry my hand apart where I held the keys in an iron grip.

We wrestled until we were both panting, me telling him to give up and Cam insisting I relinquish the keys. He had his legs tangled with mine in a wrestling move that brought our faces within inches of each other, and with memories of a similar night in Budapest running through my head, I paused, my mouth so close to Cal’s I could almost taste the coffee he’d been drinking before he’d made a play for the keys.

His eyes were so beautiful. The dark brown had flecks of gold and amber that caught the light coming in through the uncovered window, though they were hard to see with his pupils blown wide, the black blotting out almost all the brown. Cal moved beneath me, and I realized in a brush of denim-clad flesh against denim-clad flesh that we were both hard. My hips pressed him into the bed like it was muscle memory, like we’d been in this exact position before.

Because we had been.

And when Cal’s next breath caught and held in his chest, I wanted nothing more than to press my lips to his and let this go where we both wanted it to.

I couldn’t speak for Cal, but I was getting tired of fighting the distance between us. We were good together. The bedroom was the only place where we worked, and while it wouldn’t be professional, maybe a quick fuck or two would help us both get our heads on straight.

Instead of kissing Cal, I leaned forward, letting the full length of my body press against every inch of his, my lips finding the shell of his ear. A shudder rippled through him, and I smiled, then whispered, “I’m driving.”

When I pulled back, Cal’s eyes were narrowed, and his hands came up between us, shoving me away hard.

“For the record, I fucking hate you,” he said as he rolled off the bed and straightened his clothes.

But we both knew that wasn’t true.

Cal pouted the whole ride out to Azzura Scivolo’s villa and still wasn’t talking to me when we docked the boat in a public slip and crossed the small piazza in front of her home. Her villa was close to the Accademia di Venezia, where she had occasionally been a guest lecturer. The proximity to the university made it that much easier to blend in as students bustled around campus and crammed into the local cafes.

A niggling in my gut told me we weren’t in the right place. “The painting isn’t here.”

My comment caught Cal off guard. “How do you know?”

I nodded to the foot traffic and the traffic on the water behind the villa. “How does she move it in or out?”

“From the water.”

I shook my head. “That’s a main route around the city. There’s no way someone doesn’t see.”

“There could be a hidden door.”

“Did you see one?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. Not being able to see it is kind of the point of a hidden door.”

“Just trust me. The painting isn’t here.”

Cal turned so he was facing me, his voice pitched low. “I still think we should go inside and look around.”

“No. Remember what Reuben said?”

Cal looked at me blankly like Reuben had said a lot of things and he wasn’t sure where I was going with the question.

“She’s not supposed to be here. She’s technically banned from the city. I don’t think she’s going to risk drawing attention to herself by bringing a massive painting in through the front door.”

“Then why did we come out here?”

“I needed to check the vibe to see if maybe I was wrong.”

“Are you saying we’re basing our decisions during this op on your Spidey sense?”

I glared at Cal. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the superhero type.”

“Blame Felix and answer the question.”

Blowing out a breath, I did my best to explain. “It’s kind of my thing. I can get a sense for the energy of a place by being close. It’s hard to explain.” A faint tingle snaked down my spine. “Shit. They’re leaving.”

“How do you know?” Cal looked around for some indication that there was anyone in the house or that anyone was departing the premises while I started speed walking back to our borrowed boat.

“If they’re leaving, don’t you think we should pop inside and make sure your Spidey sense was right?”

“No, and stop calling it that.” The second we were back at the dock, I tossed the mooring line onto the deck and climbed in. Cal was a few seconds behind me.

By the time we hit Rio Marin, a boat was pulling out of the slip behind Azzura’s villa.

“Okay, not gonna lie, I thought you were pulling my leg.”

I glared at Cal while I motored into traffic in the main canal. The boat that had left Azzura’s villa wasn’t far in front of us, and I could see there were at least three people aboard the boat that looked almost exactly like the one we were on. A tall man with dark hair was at the wheel while another man and a woman with her hair wrapped in a turquoise scarf and large sunglasses covering her eyes sat in the back.

Traffic was heavy, and I did my best to stay with them while not drawing attention to the fact we were following them. For his part, Cal stood next to me, his head on a swivel, watching to see if anyone else had left the villa and was following us or if anyone had noticed we were following Scivolo. With the large number of boats traversing the canals, I didn’t think it would be easy to tell who was following who, but I appreciated Cal’s vigilance all the same.

When Scivolo and her men took a turn toward Piazza San Marco, I followed, careful to maintain my distance. The captain of her boat pulled them into a public slip, and the other man who had been sitting in the back of the boat with Scivolo jumped onto the dock and secured the boat with the mooring line. Both men helped Scivolo onto the dock, and the larger man who’d been captaining the boat took her elbow as she ascended several stairs to street level.

Cal and I found a public slip not far from where our target had docked, and we hurried through the same routine, tying the boat up and heading toward the street. By the time we hit the Piazza, Scivolo was walking toward the Basilica, carving her way through the crowds of people and pigeons.

“What is she doing?”

Instead of passing through the ornate front entrance of the church, Scivolo and her bodyguards had turned before the Basilica, heading down a small passage.

“I’m not sure, but hurry up.”

Putting on a burst of speed, Cal keeping pace with me, we almost ran smack into a group of tourists. Their guide shouted something at us in a language I didn’t recognize, and Cal and I made it down the passageway in time to see Scivolo enter the Basilica through a hidden side entrance. Knowing she was inside the church, we slowed down and took a second to get our bearings.

Cal pointed to a small marble sign that marked the entrance as the Porta dei Fiori. “What’s that mean?”

I shook my head. “Did you even read the file from Reuben?”

“Yeah, up until the part where it said I had to be fake married to you.” Cal’s voice bounced off the marble around us.

“Shh! That was on the first page.”

He shrugged, and I sighed. It felt like I was doing that a lot lately for myriad reasons. “Translated, it means flower door or door of the flowers. It’s the entrance for people who come to the Basilica to pray instead of just to look around.”

“I assume we’re going in?”

I nodded.

Cal’s face twisted with displeasure like he wasn’t sure what would happen if he crossed the threshold. “Fine. After you.”

I pushed open the heavy wooden door, and we found ourselves in a small vestibule that led into an area with rows of benches attached to padded kneelers. Several ornately carved wooden boxes flanked the exterior wall. The low echo of murmuring tourists could still be heard, but this area of the church was much quieter than the main section, and it was obvious from the handful of people sitting with rosaries wrapped around their hands, their eyes closed in prayer, and those kneeling, their heads bent over folded hands, that this was an area for quiet reflection and contemplation.

The two men who had been with Scivolo on the boat were seated in a pew outside one of the ornate wooden boxes, but Scivolo was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is she?” In the quiet space, Cal’s whisper near my ear made me jump.

“I don’t know.”

“So what do we do now?”

“We wait.” I shuffled into the last pew. From the middle of the bench, we could see the entrance we’d come through, all the pews, and all the wooden boxes, as well as the large votive stand at the base of a marble statue where several people were lighting candles.

“Now what?” Cal looked completely unsettled.

Sliding forward, I fell onto my knees and braced my elbows on the back of the bench in front of us, then looked over my shoulder. “You get on your knees.”

Cal’s mouth dropped open, his eyes wide.

“That wasn’t innuendo, sweetheart. I meant like this.” I gestured at my position. “To pray.”

His gaze swept over me slowly as he slid off the pew in slow motion. My eyes took him in, surrounded by the gold the church was famous for, the soft, low light casting deep shadows on his face. He looked like a fallen angel sent to tempt me, and before my brain had time to communicate with my mouth, I said, “God, you look good on your knees.”

The corner of Cal’s mouth twitched, and he leaned in close. “Blasphemy and lust? Pretty sure these people have rules about both.”

Cal’s sea salt and cedar scent mixing with the incense hanging in the air and the faint aroma of burning candles made a shudder roll through me I had no hope of hiding with him so close. My dick twitched behind my zipper. Pretty sure there was some rule about getting hard in a church too.

When our eyes met again, Cal’s burned, and I had no doubt he saw the same in mine.

“You can’t look at me like that. Not here.”

He blinked slowly, and when he opened his eyes, the fire was banked. “I know.”

A low creak broke the moment and pulled our attention to where Scivolo’s men were seated. Azzura Scivolo stepped out of the box closest to where they were waiting. She had removed the turquoise scarf and oversized sunglasses she’d been wearing on the boat, and from here, I could make out her features. She was lovely, with dark hair that brushed past her shoulders curling at the ends. Her age barely showed in her face, the lines around her large brown eyes faint. Her clothes were trendy but appropriate for church, and her low heels clicked against the travertine floor as she moved to where her men sat. She looked like a vintage Hollywood starlet who had, like a fine wine, improved with age. There was almost a shrewdness in her bearing, an economy of movement that no doubt had made her an excellent thief. There were some things a person couldn’t learn, and Azzura Scivolo looked like she had been born to steal—art and hearts.

Cal and I hung back, watching her as she and the two men with her moved into the main area of the church. Cal tried to stand to go after her, but I pulled him back down.

“What are you doing? She’s leaving.”

“Yes, and if we go running after her, she’s going to know we’re following her. Give it a minute.”

Cal ground his teeth. “She’s getting away.”

“Relax, sweetheart. It’s going to take her time to get through the crowd.”

“Exactly.”

I made a show of looking at my watch, staying where I was for another two minutes before I finally rose and started toward the main section of the church. For someone who’d been ready to chase Scivolo down just minutes before, it took Cal a second to catch up. The crowd was heavy, but Scivolo and her men stood out. They weren’t looking around the church, taking in the frescoes and artwork, but rather moving at a leisurely pace toward the Basilica’s main doors. We followed through the throng of people in the church. Along the way, I made Cal pause and pretend to look at something. The third time I did it, he pulled his arm out of my grasp.

“Will you stop that? We’re going to lose them.”

“We will not.”

Cal growled, but the sound was swallowed up by all the people around us. By the time we began pursuing Scivolo again, she was nearly at the door. This time, we slotted into a group of tourists who were also leaving and followed her all the way out into Piazza San Marco. The number of tourists in the square was staggering, but it made for good cover, and I grabbed Cal’s wrist and then his hand for two reasons. First, I didn’t want him to be the one I lost in the melee of tourists, and second, I didn’t trust him not to waltz right up to Scivolo and ask her point-blank about the painting.

Towing a disgruntled Cal along, I moved to the other side of the square and stayed parallel to the trio we were tailing, watching them from the corner of my eye.

When they took two tables at a cafe near the edge of the square—the bodyguards at one closest to the edge of the square and Scivolo at a table closer to the building—I dragged Cal to a similar cafe across the square, requesting a table where I could keep Scivolo and her men in my sights.

“I’m getting really tired of asking, so maybe you could just tell me what we’re doing.” Cal crossed his arms over his chest and looked across the square to see a pastry and an espresso being delivered to Scivolo’s table.

“We’re observing.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I know that, asshole. Why?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Have you really, in all the ops you’ve worked, never had to observe a target?”

“Uh, no. Not really. Someone else usually gave me the details of where the target was going to be and when, and I took them out, or if it was a rescue op, I was told when to go in. I did and then got out. This wait-and-see shit is for the birds.”

As if they understood what Cal had just said, a flock of pigeons took flight from the square, momentarily obscuring the cafe across the square.

“I thought you said you’ve done recon.”

Cal scoffed. “This isn’t recon. This is sitting around waiting for something to happen.”

“Well, that’s what this op is all about, so you better get used to it.”

Cal huffed out a sigh and folded his hands on the tabletop, fiddling with the edge of the laminated menu.

Over the next thirty minutes, Cal changed positions at least ten times, ate three pastries, and made an origami crane out of a napkin, basically everything except watch the trio across the street, which was why I was surprised when he stood a second after Scivolo. “They’re moving. Let’s go.”

I tugged his arm. “Sit down. We aren’t following them anymore today.”

He flopped back into the seat. “What? Why the fuck not?”

“What did you notice about her time at the cafe?”

“I dunno. She sat there, ate a pastry, read the newspaper, and left.”

Honestly, I was surprised he’d gotten that much. I didn’t think he’d been paying any attention at all. “Did she order the pastry?”

“She must have.”

I shook my head, surprised Cal had survived as long as he had in covert ops. “She didn’t.”

“Okay, then how did the server know what to bring her?”

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “That’s the question. The answer is she’s a regular. She doesn’t need to order because the staff already knows what she likes.”

“But she’s allegedly only been back in Venice a short time.”

“Which means she’s cultivated this habit quickly.” I threw enough euros to cover what we’d eaten on the table and stood. “We need to be back here tomorrow, but we’ll be sitting over there.”