Page 135 of Thorns of Death

A sardonic breath vibrated through the door. “Every goddamn organization in the underworld wants Sofia Volkov dead, but you think I’ll magically be able to end her?”

“That’s more words than I wanted to hear,” Enrico growled.

“Nipote, you have to calm down.” Manuel’s voice was full of reason. “We’ve strengthened security. Neither one of them will get close.”

“Are you willing to stake your life on it?” Enrico was raging. “Because I’m not. We still don’t have the mole. He could be on this boat for all we know.”

A mole? Shit, Enrico had a mole in his organization. That meant danger for all of us. Why hadn’t he said anything? Maybe Illias—

I stopped myself. For decades my brother was the one I ran to when I had a problem. It was time I handled my problems and my family on my own. Without running to my big brother.

I knocked on the door, then made my way into Enrico’s office. If there was ever a mobile office to desire, it was his. Luxurious furniture and floor-to-ceiling glass on three sides with nothing but the blue sea stretching for miles.

My eyes darted to the stranger—Ghost or Kingston, whatever he was called—and self-preservation had me taking a step back. I was met with a tall man whose dark eyes held an almost haunting chill in their depths. Dark hair. Olive skin and harsh expression. Peekaboo tattoos.

Enrico rose to his feet. “Isla, what’s the matter?”

My eyes locked on his friend as I answered my husband. “Are we going to have dinner together?”

There was something unsettling about the stranger’s gaze. Something broken or cruel that lurked in his eyes that reminded me of something, but I couldn’t pinpoint what.

“Yes, I’ll try. Can you have them set an extra plate, please?” I nodded. “This is my friend, Kingston.”

My brows scrunched. Kingston, not Ghost? Maybe it was a code name.

“Kingston,” I repeated. Then I remembered my manners and outstretched my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

A second stretched before he accepted it, and I stared at his inked fingers in fascination. He’d be handsome if there wasn’t something so unsettling about him.

“Pleasure is all mine.”

His voice was deep, the hint of an accent lacing his words. But I couldn’t quite place it. “Are you… Russian?”

His expression darkened to fury matching only the darkest depths of the ocean. I took a step back, unsure what I’d done or said to offend him.

Enrico was by my side in the blink of an eye. “Amore mio, Kingston is American.”

The warning glare Enrico shot Kingston didn’t escape me.

“Oh.” Kingston’s accent definitely wasn’t American, but I didn’t want to push it. I didn’t really care, but clearly, Kingston cared. My husband’s hand wrapped around my waist, tugging me closer. “Sorry about that,” I apologized. “I grew up in California.”

Kingston didn’t answer; instead, he pierced me with a gaze that would have made me cower not so long ago.

“When is dinner?” Manuel asked, interrupting the stare-down.

I shrugged. “How should I know?” Manuel actually rolled his eyes. “What?” I challenged. “Do I strike you as a woman who hangs out in the kitchen?”

In our little apartment, my girlfriends and I hung out in the kitchen. We’d sip wine and make food, but none of us were great at cooking.

“You should try it sometimes,” he grumbled dryly.

“So should you,” I retorted. “Maybe you can start today.”

Enrico let out an amused breath. “Don’t taunt Manuel, baby. Go tell the staff to set an extra plate. We’ll be right out.”

Flicking another look at Kingston, I nodded. “See you at dinner, then. We’re on the upper deck.”

I made my way to the kitchen to pass on the message, then back onto the upper deck where Enzo and Amadeo sat in the same spot I’d left them in. Both of them had sunglasses on, looking very much like future Italian playboys.