Chapter 269
(SASHA)
We leave Rome as early as we can, after I buy tickets for a high- speed train north. We don’t talk much about anything that happened overnight until we’re safely in our first-class seats—Tyler refused to travel in anything but—and I’m happy enough to have time to process and think. I asked him, as we packed, to explain to me exactly what steps he had taken, and his reasoning behind them, and he gave up all the information readily, succinctly.
I ran it through my mind again and again, in the hotel room, in the taxi to the train, and after we boarded and were waiting to leave. And at the end of all that thinking, I really couldn’t fault anything in his approach.
Refusing to let the enemy dictate the terms of engagement is a classic strategy. He’d been right that they would not expect an attack; he’d been right that they’d underestimate his grit. He’d been right to keep it quiet; Miles could have pulled together a crew or called in a favor from an extractor to pull me out, but probably not before six a.m. the next morning, and not without significant damage to my own reputation, which I can ill afford right now. Appearing weak is the one thing I have to avoid, and Tyler is smart. He understood that.
No. The person who fucked up here is me.
I’m the one who missed the signs. I was tunnel-visioned, hyper-focused, worrying about the wrong things. It could have gotten me killed—or worse, gotten Tyler killed.
Once the train is beyond metropolitan Rome and speeding through the countryside, I get up to ostensibly use the restroom, but instead take the opportunity to eyeball our fellow passengers.
None seem familiar. And it’s not even dawn yet, so there are few of them, and no one is sitting near to Tyler and me. So when I get back to the seat, I take his hand in mine, and wait until he looks at me.
“Don’t do that,” he says, before I can start to speak. “Do what p>
“Do that serious, ’We have to talk’ expression. I told you last night, there’s nothing to talk about p>
The soothing rhythm of the train is lulling him. His eyes are heavy, and exhaustion has made him pale. I lower my voice and say: “You could have been killed p>
He doesn’t look away from me. “But I wasn’t.” “Angel p>
“Sasha,” he says firmly. In his eyes I see the same hard determination that I saw last night. “We have been through a lot of shit in our time together. Last night was just another incident as far as I’m concerned. Our enemies will always keep coming for us, but I plan to be ready for them p>
He says it all in a whisper, but it’s still fierce.
And it’s all true, too. I can’t keep him completely safe from danger, and it would be even more dangerous to send him somewhere away from me.
All I can do is train him…and trust him.
“Okay,” I tell him at last. “Okay, baby. When we get back to home, the first thing we’re going to do is get you some moving target practice. But you listen to me: I don’t want you running around saving me unless you absolutely have to, you hear me? That is not the first option; it’s the last. I’m telling you this not just as your husband, but because your actions have implications for—for the Family business. Understand p>
His eyes travel over my face, and I wonder what he’s thinking. Eventually, a slow smile dawns on his lips and he leans into me. “Yes, Don Sasha,” he says in my ear. “I understand p>
For a moment, I consider taking him into the train restroom and having very awkward, uncomfortable sex with him in that tiny room. It’s exactly what he wanted me to think about, judging by the flirtatious flutter of lashes he gives me.
“Wait until we get where we’re going,” I tell him, grabbing his traveling hand before he can start unbuttoning my pants.
He starts to pout, but it morphs into speculation. “Where exactly are we going, husband p>
“I was wondering how long it would take you to ask. You really must be tired p>
He frowns. “We can’t possibly chance visiting Gloria and Marco after last night p>
“Absolutely not,” I agree. “But, as you know, I have business in Venice. It seemed like the opportune time to go, and it’s a long way from Rome p>
“Venice.” He smiles. “Perfect p>
He curls up next to me and I pull him close, press my nose into his hair and breathe him in.
“I really am very proud of you, baby bird,” I whisper a few minutes later, but he’s already asleep in my arms.
When we arrive in Venice, the workday is only just starting, and so we breakfast at a café while I wait for Miles to organize access to our accommodation. He was still awake when I called, and sounded highly relieved to hear from me.
“All went okay with the contact?” he asked.
“Very okay.” I knew he was wondering about details, but there was no need to give them. Tyler did what he did, and no one outside our marriage needed to know about it. Eventually I plan to shout my husband’s praises to the skies, let everyone out there know that he’s just as dangerous to cross as I am, but while we’re in Venice, it suits me better for people to continue underestimating him.
“Well, alright, then,” Miles had said at last. “Anything else you need p>
I gave him a number of instructions: accommodation arrangements, finding an opportunity for me to approach some lady, Magda and finally, a sizable donation to a particular Florentine art restoration company. Miles expressed no surprise at all. At the end I added, “And get some sleep after that. It must be the middle of the night there p>
He huffed a quiet laugh. “After that last text, Boss, I couldn’t sleep. Glad to hear it all worked out p>
“These things always do. How are things there p>
“Well, nothing we can’t handle, Boss. Al Vollero’s been going around shooting his mouth off. He’s lit a few fuses, if you know what I mean p>
“Has he? Alright. We’ll deal with that situation on my return. Now listen, Miles—give us three days free and clear in Venice, but then spread it around a little, which town we’re in. Understand p>
“Baiting a hook, Boss p>
“Something like that p>
“Will do