"Forgive me for not immediately falling in line with your rhythm." I wiped the last traces from my lips with a tissue. "Where are we going now?"
He checked his watch. "We need to prepare you for that goddamn meeting with the Russians tomorrow."
"What does that mean, exactly?" I frowned, completely caught off guard.
He looked at me—a beat too long, too serious.
"You’re getting a tracker," he finally said.
My eyes widened. "What?"
"Your life insurance, Fiona." His tone was so calm, so final, as if any objection from me was unthinkable. "I’m planning for the worst. And you should too. What you saw today was just the preview. Tomorrow, we’ll have our backs against the wall."
I opened my mouth to speak, but he was faster.
"Maybe now you’ll finally understand what a colossal asshole your Carter is," he continued. "He sent you in here. Clueless. Unprotected. With nothing but your naivety." Then he turned to me, leaning in so close I could feel his breath. His voice was a hiss, quiet but brimming with hate. "If I had one free wish—I’d do to Vaughn exactly what I did to Carbone."
I took a deep breath. My thoughts raced. And then it burst out of me. "Tell me… why exactly were Giovanni and the others already waiting at the back door?" I turned my head sharply toward him. "And don’t feed me any bullshit."
He was silent. Just for a moment. Then he admitted with a shrug, "I combined business with pleasure."
I blinked. "Oh..."
He sighed. "I knew since last night that Carbone had mentailing me. Opportunities like this don’t come often."
"So you used me as bait."
His gaze stayed fixed ahead.
I shook my head. "You’re no better than Carter."
He scoffed, irritated. "Don’t compare me to that bastard. I knew exactly what I was doing and how little risk there was for you."
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Too much had happened. I was so exhausted from everything that my eyes fell shut.
When I woke some time later, we still had a good twenty minutes left. I stared silently out the window, trying to take in the landscape—but my body was too tense to enjoy any of it.
As the car finally slowed, massive, electrically operated wrought-iron gates rose before us. I glanced in the rearview mirror. Four more black SUVs. Like some goddamn presidential convoy.
The gates slowly opened. Beyond them stretched an endless driveway—lined with slender cypresses standing in perfect rows toward the horizon. Golden fields shimmered under the heat on either side, olive groves and low drystone walls crisscrossing the hills. The road was paved with rough cobblestones, flanked by meticulously trimmed hedges—and there, at the end of the avenue, it loomed: a Florentine estate so vast and magnificent it looked like a castle from another era. Topped with terracotta roofs, towering arches, floor-to-ceiling windows, and stone figures standing guard along the balustrade.
I inhaled sharply. The sight was breathtaking. "My God…" I murmured involuntarily. I couldn’t tell if it was awe—or dread. Probably both.
This estate wasn’t just impressive. It was colossal. Powerful. And suddenly, I realized just how much power one had to wield to afford something like this. The thought sent a chill through me. Because if this was the price of his dealings, then today, I’dbarely scratched the surface of what Alessandro Russo truly was.
The car rolled slowly along the circular driveway, cutting through the gravel that gleamed like polished stone. At the center stood a small stone fountain, surrounded by lavender and cypresses. Then we stopped—right in front of the broad front steps leading up to a building that resembled a palace more than a home.
Alessandro draped his arm over the seat, slowly turned to me, and smiled.
"This is more to your taste, hm? Quite the high standards, Ms. Robertson," he said, amused. "At the hunting lodge, you were still… cautiously skeptical."
I just shook my head. "I’m just speechless." Then I added with a crooked grin, "But before you get any ideas—no, I’m still not going to worship you. Not even with marble, columns, and this… obscene palace."
He laughed, his gaze sliding over me. "Good. You know I like resistance. Anything else would be boring. And very unsexy."
We left the SUV and, instead of heading toward the villa, followed a narrow path that led to a much more modest building some distance away. Flat, pale stucco, mirrored windows—it looked sterile, almost soulless.
I said nothing, just followed him. Our footsteps on the gravel sounded too loud. The air itself seemed thicker.
