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I shake my head. “No. He’s Irish.”
“How do you know him?”
“We met in school. In America.”
“What’s his name?”
“Cyrus. Cyrus Kane.”
“Is he a... Does he know you’re a...” Catalina struggles on how to approach the subject. I know what she wants to ask. Is he a criminal? Does he know you’re a criminal?
I still haven’t let my fiancée in on the inner workings of my world. Hell, I haven’t even told her what I do. She’s smart, though; she knows, and she also knows well enough not to prod too deeply.
“We’re in the same business,” I grumble.
Catalina sighs, hugging herself as rain taps against the car windows. “I’m cold...”
I hardly blame her—the climate here is much colder than the one we left back home—but my eyelids are heavy and I know I won’t be able to think straight for much longer. I need some rest, and that means no more questions from my inquisitive bride-to-be...
So, I take off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders, then I lay my head against the cold glass and let myself fall asleep.
22
Catalina
The castle looks like something out of a fairy tale.
Moss covered grey bricks rise up to the clouds; I can barely see the top through the chilly mist—Angel’s jacket isn’t thick enough to stave off the cold, but I tug it tighter around my body anyways. His glacial scent eases my trembling nerves and his kind gesture warms my heart.
Maybe I’m not so alone, after all...
“The man. The myth. The legend!” A booming voice comes blasting through the huge wooden doors at the palace entrance. Well-dressed butlers in black suits step aside as a tall, broad, barrel-chested, light-featured young man in a navy-blue suit marches towards us. An unused draw bridge acts as an awning, protecting us from the rain.
“Cyrus, you son-of-a-bitch!” Angel is clearly still tired—despite sleeping in the car for most of the ride here—but he puts on a happy demeanor to greet his old friend. They clasp each other in a big bear hug and I get to witness another side of my fiancé, a side that I didn’t know existed. Angel has friends. Not just business partners, or underlings, or connections, but true, make-you-laugh friends. Who would have thought he was capable of that?
“And who’s this pretty little wild cherry?” Cyrus asks with a big charming smile, when he finally spots me.
“Easy there, big fella. That’s my fiancée, Catalina.”
Cyrus steps forward and reaches out in greeting. I let him take my hand, and he plants a tame kiss just below my fingers. “My lady,” he practically bows. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Thank you for having us,” I respond, unsure of what else to say.
“Anything for my old school pal,” Cyrus laughs, clasping a wobbly Angel around the shoulder.
“I appreciate it,” Angel adds, patting his old friend on the arm. “Now, let’s get to work.”
“What’s the rush?” Cyrus gestures to his staff and they immediately rush to the car. It’s empty.
“We don’t have any luggage,” I mention, absentmindedly. We didn’t have time to pack anything. We just got on the plane and left. There were a few spare outfits hidden away on the plane, but they were all men’s clothing. Under Angel’s jacket, I’m still wearing the same tank-top as I was this morning—though, it’s more blood-stained now than it was when I’d first put it on.
Cyrus’s eyes flash across my body and he seems to spot the mess hiding under my jacket for the first time.
“Let’s get you two inside. I have the perfect room setup, big cozy bed, romantic lighting, all that jazz. You two can go to bed, then you can sleep, then you can wake up and have some fun.”
“We’re not here for fun,” Angel mumbles as we follow Cyrus inside.
“Well, work can wait, buddy. You look tired.”