Page 133 of Devil's Vows

“All clear,” Matteo says. “They’re getting into the elevator.”

“I’d bloody hope they’re all clear,” Dominic says with a cocked brow. “Our security team stripped them down in fucking Rome before they got on our jet. You verified it’s the man you met in Sicily?”

“Yep, it’s our mole,” Matteo says on a nod. “I wasn’t paying the closest attention that day in Randazzo’s compound, but I’d bet it’s the same woman, too.”

“Make sure, face to face,” Dominic says. “We’re on standby.”

Matteo nods and heads for the front door. “Party’s starting, folks. Whatever happens, don’t kill the woman. She needs to talk first. See you on the other side.”

Fuck me.

“We’re not exactly prepared for a friendly shootout,” I say, my gaze jumping from Dominic’s to Yuri’s, where he’s standing ramrod straight, reading the room and coming to the same conclusions as me.

“Matteo’s just kidding,” Dominic says. “We try to limit shootouts in this apartment. The cleanup isn’t an issue. It’s getting a renovations team in to fix blown-up shit that’s a fucking nightmare.”

“You’re telling me. Hosted a pretty exciting Fourth of July party this year. Still trying to clean up that mess.”

“You should let me come over and assess. We know people who could help out.”

“I bet you do.” I’ll see how today goes before I let the Scaleras onto my property. I suspect they won’t appreciate an anal probing, so we’ll need some more trust before we can skip that part.

Voices sound from the foyer. Speaking fucking Italian. Now I’m not going to understand a word.

“Let’s hope this goes down a breeze,” Dominic mutters under his breath. “I’m not in the habit of extracting information out of women.”

I’ll happily deal with her, for what she’s done to Gabriella.

“So, who’s getting a tattoo if this Mara isn’t the same woman who…worked on Gabriella?” I ask. “And she basically knows nothing?” They did, after all, lure her here with the promise of work.

Around the room, we shoot each other glances, then Yuri raises his hand and says in Russian. “I’ll take one for the team. In honor of the Pakhan.”

I nod, and then two strangers walk in, Matteo right behind them. A man in a suit, clearly Italian, suave, with dark hair worn longer and brushing his collar, brown eyes, a good tan, and just the right height not to draw attention. His eyes are on me, though, taking me in, and as he does, there’s a flicker of recognition in his gaze.

Do I know him?

I brush the thought aside, turning my focus to the woman. She’s short, scrawny, black hair falling loose over her shoulders. She’s wearing tight white jeans, blood-red high heels, a cropped black leather jacket, and a figure-hugging white T-shirt, with a red scarf hiding her neck. Her outfit shows off her navel piercing and a midriff tattoo. She’s not young, anything between forty and sixty, but she’s toned, all right. Who knows with all the procedures available nowadays, her age is just a number, but her face tells the story:I’ve seen some shit in my life, so don’t fuck with me.

Yep, this one has miles on her.

She’s pulling a small travel case, typical for a tattoo artist on the go. Her gaze flicks around the room, landing on each man, then falls on mine, and hovers just that split-second longer than on the others. It rankles that they seem to isolate me from the crowd. What the fuck is up with these Italians?

“Hello,” she says in English, holding her hand out to greet us. “Who’s the client?”

Good. Keeping it professional.

I shoot Yuri a look, but he’s watching the new arrivals like a hawk. Fuck. Something’s off.

“Mara Pesci, this is Dominic Scalera, Ivan Petrov, and Yuri Sokolov.” Matteo introduces us, and fuck knows why but suddenly, I want to be very anonymous.

She does the rounds, shaking our hands, and as I wrap her hand in mine, she’s cold, and quivering a bit.

“Ivan Petrov,” she says. “Pakhan Alexei Petrov’s son?”

“Yes.”

As I let go of her hand, it hits me that Matteo doesn’t intend for this woman to go back to Italy. She’s done something to pissIl Consigliooff, and this is a trap—forher.

“Mara,” The Mole says, skipping introductions and gently touching her on her shoulder. “Pardon me…uhm…you have—” He breaks off and indicates toward her butt. “Something to take care of.”