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39

JOAO

A fter we set our trap, we make the five-hour drive to Nuremberg and stay busy with logistics for the rest of the evening. We rent a windowless van and replace the rental company logo with that of a local construction company. The same company is repaving the sidewalks in the neighborhood, so nobody will give our parked vehicle a second glance. I wear a reflector vest and a hard hat and plant our surveillance cameras in the parking lot across the street during the day, and such is the magic of my makeshift uniform that nobody pays us any attention. While I’m doing that, Stefi buys half a dozen monitors so we can watch the camera feeds.

As we set everything up, I have a newfound appreciation for my wife. I’ve never had to do this kind of boring operational setup on my own. I went from Bach’s organization to Antonio’s, so someone always gave me the intel I needed for a job. I always had easy access to cars, passports, money and weapons—everything I needed to complete my mission.

Not Stefi. She had to do it all on her own. And despite having none of the support I take for granted, in seven years, she’s managed to wipe out almost all of Bach’s network. My wife is a force of nature, and anyone who underestimates her does so at their own peril.

“I’m starting to realize why you don’t want to hear about Q’s betrayal,” I say out loud that night when the two of us are finally in bed. Our hotel in Nuremberg isn’t nearly as nice as the one in Szczecin, but the bed is comfortable enough, and let’s be honest, I’ll take up permanent residence in a pest-infested farmhouse if it means that Stefi’s there with me. “For seven years, they were the only team member you had, the only person in your corner. It’s got to hurt to realize they sold you out.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she replies, propping herself up on one elbow. My cock hardens instantly. Stefi sleeps naked, and though we’ve slept together for the last nine days, my cock still hasn’t adjusted. “We have no proof it’s Q.”

“We will.”

“So cocky.” Her gaze falls to my rapidly hardening erection. “In more ways than one.”

“That is an awful pun,” I tell her sternly. “It’s so bad that you should be punished.”

She bats her eyelashes at me. “Are you going to put me over your knees and spank me?”

My throat goes dry at the thought of Stefi naked and wriggling on my lap. “If you’d like.”

“You can spank me,” she replies, “if you can pin me down. Deal?”

I lunge toward her, but she’s already slipped away. Fuck, she’s fast. I get to my feet, and she watches me from across the bed, her eyes laughing.

“You didn’t say deal,” she accuses through her giggles. “You have to say it before we start.”

“I cheated. What are you going to do about it?” I crook a finger at her. “Come here.”

“If you want me, you’re going to have to catch me.”

“Deal,” I say, lunging forward again. I catch her, of course. It’s not a fair fight—she’s laughing too hard to be able to dodge out of the way. I spank her and lick her pussy until she’s breathless, then the two of us collapse on the bed, still laughing.

This could be my life, I think. Me and Stefi, together forever.

But even as I say it, I cross my fingers. Imagining a future filled with love and laughter feels like I’m tempting fate.

And that feels like a very foolish thing to do.

We didn’t want to park the van directly across the street from the plaza—it was too risky. Thankfully, there’s another parking lot on a parallel street, so we’re using that one for the stakeout.

The next morning, we arrive at dawn, park the van near the exit so we have a fast way out, and turn on the monitors. Six camera feeds fill the screens, four from the front of both the Thai restaurant and the coffee shop and two from the parking lot we’re in.

And then we wait.

An hour goes by, and then another. The coffee shop does a steady stream of business in the morning, serving impatient people who need caffeine to face their workday. At the Thai restaurant, a van arrives, and a woman in a white apron unloads trays of produce before signing for the delivery.

Stefi and I drink hot coffee out of a thermos and ignore our grumbling stomachs. We’ve both done this kind of boring surveillance, but never together. It’s nice to share this experience with her. “Is it weird that I’m enjoying this?”

“I’m enjoying it too,” she admits. “Normal people enjoy wine tastings and picnics in the park, while you and I get our kicks from watching a bunch of monitors for hours on end.”

“Normal is overrated.” Her words make me realize something. Stefi fantasized about our house, our cat, and even the names of our children, but I don’t remember her ever talking about doing a different job. “Have you ever thought about what you would do if it wasn’t for this?”

“All the time.”

“And?”

“Is it weird to say I don’t care? I just want a job where I earn enough money to live. I want to go for morning runs, spend most of my weekend at a beach, and curl up in a corner and read a good book while drinking a cup of apple tea.” She gives me a wry smile. “After everything that’s happened, I want the most boring life imaginable.”

The Stefi I knew drank coffee, not apple tea. She must have acquired a taste for it in Istanbul.

“I can relate,” I reply. “My life is a little bit like that. It’s boring, but in a good way.”

“You said you didn’t do much killing.”

“Hardly at all, and I’m happy about it. I’m good at killing people, but I don’t like it. In fact, when Antonio offered me this job, I only took it on one condition. If he wanted me to kill someone, he needed to explain why, and I had the right to turn it down. In five years, he’s never once broken his end of the deal.”

Every time I mention the padrino, she usually has something cutting to say. This time, though, she just looks thoughtful, which gives me hope. Maybe the idea of Venice isn’t as poisonous to her as it’s been in the past. Maybe she’s starting to entertain the idea of hearing Antonio out.

Last night, I thought I was tempting fate by imagining a future with Stefi. Today, in broad daylight, my worries feel very far away, and I’m filled with happy anticipation for our future. Yes, we have some issues to work out—well, one issue—but I’m feeling good about it. We love each other, we want to be together, and we’re going to make it happen.

Everything is going to be okay.

She takes another sip of coffee and squirms in her seat. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Pee into a bottle,” I tell her. “Someone could see you if you get out. They have your picture now, remember?”

She gives me an incredulous glance. “Pee into a bottle? Are you nuts? Newsflash: I don’t have a penis, so aiming isn’t as easy as you’re making it sound. Also, I’m not going to pee in front of you. I’d like to retain some sense of mystery.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake?—”

“There’s a fast-food restaurant a block south of here,” she continues. “I’ll go there.”

“Stef. . .”

“Joao, don’t be paranoid. This parking lot is deserted. The only person here is that kid on his skateboard.”

I look at the screens and realize she’s right. There’s no one around except for the lone preteen practicing tricks in the far section of the lot. It’s nine forty-five. The breakfast rush is over at the coffee shop, and it’s too early for the lunch crowd at the Thai restaurant. Everything is as quiet as it’s going to be. “I’ll come with you.”

“Who’ll do the surveillance if you do?” she asks pointedly. “I’ll be fine.”

She’s right; I am being paranoid. “Okay,” I say grudgingly. “Go pee.”

She gets out, and I monitor her progress on the screen. The kid is wearing headphones and doesn’t notice her until she’s almost in front of him, and then he promptly wipes out. Stefi helps him out and says something with a smile. I keep my eyes glued to the screen, feeling uneasy and not able to explain why, and it’s not until she returns that I’m able to breathe again.

“Here you go.” She holds out a sandwich to me. “I thought you could use something to eat. It’s ham and cheese.”

“Thank you, little fox.”

At half past ten, a black SUV pulls up in front of the coffee shop. The driver parks at the side of the road, in flagrant disregard for the No Parking sign, and Dante Colonna, the Venice Mafia second-in-command, and Goran Karaman, one of the enforcers, get out from the back.

I zoom in until I can see the driver, and when I recognize him, a wave of relief goes through me.

“What is it?”

“They’re not expecting any trouble,” I reply. “If they were, they never would have brought along Ignazio.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Ignazio is nineteen,” I reply. “And easily distracted. If you flutter your eyelashes at him, he’ll forget the mission. If he sees a stray dog or cat, he’ll befriend it and bring it home. Antonio wouldn’t put him in a dangerous situation.” I exhale in a slow breath and feel a smile break out on my face. “The leak isn’t in Venice. I’m sure of it.”

Ignazio turns on the four-way flashers and stays in the car. Goran stands outside the coffee shop with a cigarette in his hand, pretending to talk on the phone, while Dante goes inside.

Stefi watches them on the screen. “You think they’re armed?”

“Yes. They might not be expecting danger, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be prepared for it. They’ll all be armed, even Ignazio, as unwise as that is. ”

“Why is that unwise? Is Ignazio not competent?”

“He’s nineteen .”

She smiles. “Not all nineteen-year-olds are clueless,” she says. “After all, we got married when we were younger than that, and we certainly thought we knew what we were doing.”

“Thought being the operative word. What were we thinking? Bach would have killed us if he found out.” I give her a wry smile. “Just goes to tell you what a fool I am when it comes to you.”

“Do you regret it?”

We should be looking at the screens in front of us, not having this conversation. “Regret it? I’m congratulating the eighteen-year-old version of me for having excellent taste.” The memory of who we were at eighteen wraps around me. Maybe we hadn’t been reckless, but defiant, choosing each other in a desperate bid to hold onto something good in a life that offered so little of it.

Our baby had been part of that hope. When I think about him, a hollow ache fills my chest. We lost him before he could draw a breath, but he’s still part of our story. I glance at her, serious now. “Will you take me to visit Christopher’s grave in Istanbul?”

“Of course,” she says. “He was your son, too.” She lapses into silence and then asks, “You were nineteen, same age as Ignazio. If you found out I was pregnant, how would you have reacted? Would you have wanted to be a father?”

“You were nineteen as well,” I reply. “Just as young as I was, and you had to deal with everything on your own.” Even thinking about what she must have endured makes me rage. It’s a pity Bach’s dead because I’ve thought of at least a dozen ways of making him pay for what he did to her. To us.

“It was our baby, Stef,” I continue. “A little piece of you and a little piece of me. Of course I would have wanted him. I probably wasn’t ready to be a parent, but it wouldn’t have made a difference. I would have loved our baby with all my heart.”

I want to ask her if she still wants children, but I don’t want to upset her if it’s a sore subject, so I hold my tongue and keep my attention on the screens.

Nothing is happening. Dante is still inside the coffee shop, Goran is still pretending to smoke his cigarette, and Ignazio is still ready to get them out of there at a moment’s notice. I glance at my phone. It’s almost eleven, almost time for Q to make their move.

“What about now?” Stefi asks, after a few minutes of silence. “Do you want children now?”

“I want you. Anything else is a bonus.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“No, I’m not. I would love children if you want them. If you don’t, then we won’t have them.”

“Is it really that simple?”

“Yes,” I reply, lacing my fingers in hers and brushing my lips over the back of her hand. “It really is. I love you, Stefi. I’ve tried living without you, and it was garbage. Zero out of ten, do not recommend. I spent eight years feeling like an essential piece of my soul was missing. You were the first person on my side, the only person I could always trust. I found my soulmate when I was ten, Stef. I know how lucky I am, and I never want to let you go.”

Before she can react, a car pulls up outside the Thai restaurant. Four men jump out. They’re dressed in jeans and thick sweaters, but even though they’re trying to blend in, they can’t. The way they move gives them away immediately. They’re all ex-military.

This is a mercenary unit sent to capture or kill my wife. I push the rage deep down inside. My fury can wait. One day, I will make Q pay, but today, my priority is to get Stefi to safety.

She stares at the screen in shock. “It really was Q,” she says in a whisper. “I wish I understood why.” She slumps in her seat. “What do we do now?”

Before I can answer, there’s a sharp staccato of machine gun fire from the parking lot. A deafening cacophony shatters the quiet, and the van rocks as bullets pound the metal sides.

I dive over her on instinct.

But I’m a second too late.

I watch in horror as a bullet tears into my wife. She stares at me, uncomprehending, as blood spreads from a wound on her left side, then her knees buckle, and she slowly slides to the floor.

The world goes still. Time slows to a viscous crawl. Images flash in front of me like stills from a movie: the monitor that shows the skateboarding kid holding a machine gun in his hands and shooting at us, the vivid red of Stefi’s blood, and the strained gasps of her breathing.

Put pressure on the wound, a voice in the back of my head screams. Stop the bleeding before she dies from the blood loss. Keep oxygen flowing to her brain.

I take off my shirt and put pressure to her side, desperate to stop the pulsing flow from the vicious wound. I lock my mouth on hers, giving her the air from my lungs, the air that’s coming in choking gasps as she struggles to live. My eyes fall on the phone, and I grab it with the ferocity of a drowning man, dialing Dante’s phone number. “Help,” I shout. “We need help.”

“Stefi,” I rasp between breaths. Her eyes flutter as she struggles to focus on me, and her lips part, as if she’s trying to say something, but no words leave her mouth. “Stay with me, little fox. Please, I beg you.” Tears stream down my eyes and blur my vision. “Hold on for me. Just for a little bit. Because I can’t make it without you.”

I whisper her name over and over. Her anguished face is the only thing I see. Her strained breathing and her weakening heartbeat are the only things I hear. I don’t register the machine gun fire dying away, and I don’t notice the van door being wrenched open.

And then Dante and Goran are at my side. Dante screams an order, and the next thing I know, the van is moving, being driven at full speed down the road.

But I barely notice what’s happening around me.

I can only look at her. My soul mate, my wife. Lying in my arms, a pool of blood spreading from the wound on her side.