Kei dropped in his Mozart CD then picked up his glass of wine. Today he would receive word from Cheung. There was no better assassin than his cousin. In fact he was certain that Giovanni Battaglia would be dead soon. Cheung had arrived in Sorrento over twenty-four hours ago. The news should have come by now.
Patience wasn’t something he was used to. Mira and Eve were getting further and further away from him. He felt it. If Mira went public before Giovanni Battaglia was dead, his world too would come apart. He’d exhausted some pretty powerful resources to have her. He’d be damned if it was all done for naught.
If Cheung didn’t call tomorrow he’d take his jet to Italy and drag them home himself. This time he’d bring the media with his own story. Control the truth when the world learned that she was alive. It was a costly risk since he broke several laws himself. He dropped in his chair. Taking a sip of his merlot he stared out of the penthouse window at the lights over Central Park. Revealing the truth had to be handled carefully. If Mira got ahead of him, the truth could blow out his future. And if she learned that she was never in witness protection he’d have to answer to the authorities about the cover-up of Angelique’s and Eduardo’s deaths. The devil would be in the details.
A noise to the front of the penthouse drew his attention. Kei sat forward. He set his merlot glass on the coaster scanning the dark hall that separated his lounge area from the front of the penthouse. He reached in the sofa cushion and removed his .45.
Slow and silent he rose and turned off the lamp nearest to him. Someone had bumped furniture. In pajama pants and bare feet he headed toward the front of the penthouse, turning off lights as he went. As soon as he entered the hall he saw three men in ski masks. Their eyes met. The one in the middle lifted his gun, equipped with a silencer, and began to fire.
Kei dove.
“Get that motherfucker!” he heard one of them yell—his brogue was heavy, Brooklyn maybe, definitely Italian. The idiots charged straight after him. None of them were prepared for Kei’s weapon of choice. He picked off the first two, running easily into the hall. He shot one between the eyes, the other in the leg. The man wailed like a child.
He yelled out something in Italian to the one who didn’t reappear. Kei heard feet running for the door.
Kei stepped over to the man who was crawling across the floor for the hall. He tucked his gun into the back of his pants. The man continued to whimper and crawl smearing dark blood over his blonde teak wood floors. Kei picked up the phone, and his glass of wine, and then walked over to the man. In his struggle he’d lost his gun. All he did now was pull himself across the floor. Kei kicked the man in his wounded leg. The poor fool howled in agony. Kei took a sip of his wine. “Hello police. I think I’ve shot intruders. Come quickly please.”
Kei smirked. Was this the best Giovanni Battaglia had? Bringing Mira home would be easier than he thought.
Chapter Eleven
“Wake up.”
Mira blinked awake. Her head fell over to the left. Eve slept on Giovanni’s chest. Crinkly hair covered her baby’s face. Giovanni must have brought her out of her crib sometime in the night. Smiling Mira drew the blanket up over them both.
“She’s beautiful.”
Startled Mira’s gaze swung left. Fabiana stood at the edge of the bed. She wore the same yellow dress she’d last seen her in. Her scarlet red hair cascaded around her face.
“Are you just going to sit there and stare like you’ve seen a ghost or something?” she chuckled.
“I’m dreaming.”