26. Sal

Anastasia Novikov happensto be in London.

For Fashion Week.

Not for the first time, I regret calling her as I wait for her at the Belfast airport. She flew on a regular plane, which is shocking in and of itself, but at least it's a somewhat smart move.

Somewhat.

I'm here to pick her up, and I definitely don't need anything to figure out who she is. Stassi is as recognizable as a famous statue. People turn their heads to look at her as she glides by, and I can't help but be a little impressed.

She's a beautiful, striking woman.

She has skin that's so tan, it looks almost out of place on her thin frame.

She's willowy, tall with long limbs like a model, and even though she's wearing a black sweater dress that covers everything up, she moves in a way that seems more than a little bit sexual.

Her eyes are the ice blue of her father, and her hair is so blonde it's almost white.

Stassi is the exact opposite of Gia. In every way.

Most people do think that she's beautiful, and that's pretty easy to see.

But all I can do is just appreciate that she's pretty. Like one would find a monument beautiful, or a work of art.

Stassi does nothing for me.

She smiles, and I swear the group of high-school aged boys beside me fall apart. "Stassi," I say by way of greeting, taking her bags.

"Oh thank god. I would have been so pissed if you called me Anastasia."

I gesture her out of the airport. I'm aware that she's drawing attention, and that's the type of thing that we don't need right now.

Stassi gets in the car and I shut the door. "Gia told me that you preferred to not be called Anastasia."

"She's the freaking best," Stassi trills.

Her Valley-girl accent is so out of place it's a little jarring. I start the car and we move toward the port. "She is," I rumble.

Stassi grabs some lip gloss and puts it on. "So. She got herself kidnapped, huh?"

"Yes," I grunt again.

"Guess it's a little easier to get kidnapped than even the great Gia Rossi thought, isn't it?"

I shoot her a look, but there's no malice in her face. Stassi's a little concerned, but her lips are curled into a catlike smile.

"Was I right to call you?" I say flatly.

She sighs. "Yeah, duh. I'm like, totally the right person for this."

"And your family?"

She smirks. "Daddy thinks that I'm at Fashion Week, and he has no idea that I left."

I arch an eyebrow. "I find that hard to believe, considering that you've slipped your leash a few times in the past few years."

Stassi's hand flies to her chest in mock indignation. "Slipped my leash! Oh my god, that is so mean!"

"You know what I'm saying, Stassi."

She huffs. "Fine. Daddy doesn't know that I'm here, for sure."

"How?"

"Well, he sometimes gives me bodyguards that are like, really easy to distract."

"Meaning…"

She looks at her nails. "You know that I have a ton of model friends, right? From when I was signed as a model in New York?"

I had no idea. "Yes."

"They're good distractions. And since my bodyguards are usually pretty hot, they like the challenge."

I shake my head. "What happens when they find out you're gone?"

"Um, do you think that any one of them is going to freely admit to my dad that they lost me?"

She has an excellent point.

"That's pretty clever," I say slowly.

Stassi shrugs. "I'm just so over it. Daddy doesn't need to put me under lock and key, you know?"

"You do know that Gia rescued you from the Irish in a warehouse in Belarus?"

"Duh," she rolls her eyes. "How do you think I met her? Or why I'm here? I owe her. A life for a life. That's the code, right?"

"Right," I observe slowly.

Stassi Novikov might be a little more competent than I gave her credit for.

She nods. "So. You think they took Gia north."

"According to the harbor log, yes."

"Did they give coordinates?"

"What?"

She gives me another look. "So there's like, a couple of ways to look for this. They might have registered the RFID under a false name, that's tagging the cargo. They also need to have some kind of declaration of goods for customs, and if they were carrying anything good, someone should have had a UIID card," Stassi says in a very matter-of-fact tone.

All I can do is gape at her.

"I think that if they were trying to like, be under the radar, that they would totally fake the RFID that they registered. But also like people aren't super smart when they do that, so there might be a pattern we can look for in the name…" she trails off after looking at me. "What?"

"How do you know all of that?"

"Do you think I just like, don't pay attention when Daddy and all of my uncles talk?"

I open my mouth. Shut it. Open it again. "Yeah but… I didn't think you'd pay attention."

"Why. Because I'm blonde?"

Because until right now I thought you were shallower than a kiddie pool. "No. Your hair color has nothing to do with it."

"Well. Like I said. My money's on the RFID being false, and maybe even the UIID."

"Can you figure those things out?"

Stassi rolls her eyes at me again. "Duh. Why did you think I agreed to this?"

"To make your debt with Gia even."

"But like, you didn't think that I could figure out how to do that? I need to save her for it to be even. Right?"

She's not wrong. "Right."

Stassi proceeds to unwrap a piece of gum, then smacks it in her mouth. Loudly. ""Kay. So to even the score, I need to save her."

"Yes…"

"Cool. So, I'm going to save her," Stassi says.

"Just like that?"

She grins. Snaps her fingers.

"Like, totally."

* * *

It's the RFID tag.

Stassi figures out by looking through the log that it's not only registered under a false name, but it's one that the Irish absolutely were doing their imports and exports with. The ID tag is labeled as ‘leprechauns.'

That's rich.

Stassi is chatting with the harbormaster, slowly caressing his face with her fingers. It reminds me so much of Gia that I almost choke.

Instead, I'm running the records looking for a port destination that has logged the same RFID tag.

The computer beeps, and the upload completes. I grab the hard drive that I downloaded the log onto, then get up to leave. Once I do, I sent Stassi a text.

She meets me outside in the car moments later.

"He smelled like, so gross," she says, wiping her hands on her dress. "Seriously, has he even heard of a shower?"

"Here," I ignore her. "Let's check the port destination."

I pull it up on the computer, the flash drive slow to load. Stassi grabs it, scanning through the document.

"There." She points.

I lean in. "Do you know the code for the port…?"

"Yup. That's an easy one. Greenland."

Greenland.

Gia is in fucking Greenland.

"Let's go," I say with a snarl.

Stassi's eyebrows raise. "With you and what army?"

"Um. Just me?"

"You think that's going to get Gia back, out of the hands of these Irish dudes who totally have her on the most remote island in the world?"

I frown. "It's not the most…"

"Whatever." Stassi holds up a hand. "It's fucking Greenland, dude."

"Okay. So what?"

"You think that he doesn't have like, a whole army holed up there in case someone finds them?"

"I…"

She flips her hair. "I have a better idea."

"What's the idea?"

She smiles. "How good are you at acting? And do you know anything about science?"

"Stassi…"

"Oh, shut up. This is going to be so much fun!"

I shut my eyes.

God save me from smart women.

I think they're going to be the death of me.

* * *

Of all thelanguages that I speak, Nordic languages like Danish are some of the ones that I've never touched. For one thing, those types of languages aren't really involved in my work all that often.

For another, I have no interest in learning them.

So Stassi has to do all the talking for us.

She, apparently, not only speaks Russian, but Danish, Polish, Norwegian, and Swedish.

When I ask her about Finnish, she snorts. "I'm not like, trash, you know."

I have no idea what that comment is supposed to mean.

But Stassi speaks Danish. And apparently, so do some of the people in Greenland.

We manage to use my yacht, which does not look anything like a scientific vessel, into port. Stassi, apparently, can fake an RFID tag with the best of them, and our clearance passes inspection with flying colors.

I also don't know how she sold that we're a science team.

"Why did they believe you," I ask quickly.

She smiles. "I told them that we were on our honeymoon and I'm like so excited to see the type of moss that I've been studying for my whole life."

"And they believed that?"

She smirks at me. "Why wouldn't they? I told them I had a PhD in arctic ecosystems, especially in grasses and moss. And I couldn't wait to see Salix Arctica in its like… natural habitat."

I gape at her. "Salix Arctica?"

"It's the grasses you see out there," she waves at the dingy countryside.

"And you knew this…"

"Oh. I do like, definitely have a PhD in biochemistry. Not in grasslands though."

My eyes are going to pop out of my head. "What?"

"Yeah. It's what I was doing when I got kidnapped."

"You were doing a PhD?"

She shakes her head at me. "Nope! I was doing field research for some post-doctoral stuff."

I have no words.

"Stassi…"

"Yeah, I know," she sighs. "Daddy tells me that people get really weirded out when they hear about the PhD. I don't care though. I love it and I know it's weird."

"It's not weird. It's really damn impressive." My mind goes back over some of the things she said. "Wait. And you model?"

"Yeah. That started out as like a fun thing, but then I got the cover of Vogue France and it kind of blew up from there."

I'll bet it did.

"Okay. Well. Thank you," I say lamely.

Stassi shrugs. "Totally."

"So now, we…"

"I have to wait to see if they have an idea where she is."

"Oh," I nod. "That's logical."

"Like, if the Irish have her here, she's probably hidden. But that guy," she points to someone who looks like a cross between an orc and a giant that's lumbering across the dock, "likes blondes."

"Oh, does he?"

"Yes." She smirks. "And I'm about to like, totally blow his mind."

I watch her saunter away.

She's an incredible woman. I had quite honestly severely underestimated Stassi Novikov. I imagine that lots of people do.

Idly, in another world I realize that I would have been very interested in her. She's insanely attractive and she's ridiculously competent.

Even with her strange Valley girl accent (I didn't know, but maybe she grew up in California?) I feel like she's just running circles around me.

I like that. I like smart women.

But even though Stassi is an amazing woman, I don't think I'm attracted to her. I don't think she does anything for me, actually, other than make me realize that she's pretty awesome.

There's no room in my heart for anyone except Gia.

It's fucking terrifying.

So I watch Stassi shamelessly flirt, in Danish, with the harbor master. I sit back and let my mind drift to the next thing, which includes one of the most terrifying things that I've ever thought of.

I'm in love with Gia. I have been for months. Maybe even years.

If she doesn't love me back…

I don't know what I'm going to do with myself.

Stassi returns, her tennis shoes squeaking on the dock. "I know where she is."

I gape. "What?"

"Gia. I know where she is."

"How…?"

"I promised him that I'd come to his house later. Which I will not be doing," she says in a low voice. "But he told me that there's a guy in town whose father was Irish, and whose mother was on the island. He brought some friends to his town, which is a ways away from here, about a week ago. The friends are two men and a woman," she says with a smile. "So that's totally where Gia is."

"How…?"

"And, if we go now, there's no one up there. The one guy, the one with the Irish father, he's gone to look for supplies. The other two might be there but according to his auntie, who is the person who cleans the cabin, they go out during the day and come back in the evening," she examines her nails.

I heave out a breath. "Stassi. That's incredible."

"Thanks, Sal. So come on. Let's go get your girl," she smiles.

"She's not… I'm doing this for Elio."

Stassi snorts. "Sure. Same as you like, pulled her out of a smoking warehouse in Belarus for Elio? And you totally made sure that she never had to sleep alone until she was okay? And how you like, really seem to be into her?"

"How often do you talk to Gia?"

"Often enough that I know a lot about you," she winks.

She winks at me.

"I mean if you weren't so obviously head over heels for Gia, I'd totally do you," she says with a flip of her platinum blonde hair.

"I'm not quite sure how to respond to that."

"So don't," she smiles. "But let's get the hell out of here, okay?"

"Okay," I murmur.

We get back onto the yacht. Stassi has the crew put in the correct village, and we're hauling ass within moments.

As the forlorn coastline whips by, my heart is in my throat. I truly have no idea what I'm going to say to Gia. How we're going to get her out of here. If Stassi doesn't have another trick up her sleeve, and the Irish come for us…

It's going to be an all-out war.

Elio's going to wage war on them anyway if we don't get Gia.

We can't do that.

There's too much at stake.

Caterina is about two seconds from giving birth to twins. Luna's just a kid. Dino has kids who are going to be caught in the crosshairs if anyone ever finds out about them, and God forbid anyone does, because it sounds like his children's grandfather is also going to be hell if he finds us.

Marco is in police custody. To testify against us in a case.

We're so fucked.

In my head, there's a logical path. But I refuse to acknowledge it. If Gia did get married to Liam, then everything would change.

There would be no war.

And we'd have a massive number of allies.

Allies that can protect us from the threat of whoever is the grandparent of Dino's twins. Allies that can help us to secure our new shipping lanes, courtesy of the Irish, who do have some pretty decent networks for smuggling across Europe.

It's the logical choice.

But I will be absolutely fucking damned if it's the choice that I make.