He slides both hands from his pockets and leans over, pressing them against the table; I can see something in his right hand, pressed between his curled fingers: small, plastic, black.
“You leave for Italy in the morning,” he says and then slides a tiny flash drive across the table to Nora. “Everything the three of you will need to know about the mission is here. The password to access the files I will give to Izabel tonight.” He looks right me. “It would be wise not to go to that bar tonight with any hopes of mending this thing between my brother and me; it is a waste of time at this point; focus only on the mission.”
Even though I get the distinct—and unwelcome—feeling that Victor thinks I might waste what little time we have by trying to talk some sense into Niklas where he and Victor are concerned, I say nothing about my suspicion and just nod in acknowledgment. The truth is, I probably would have if he hadn’t brought it up.
Nora stands up in her tall, beautiful, deadly glory and sashays her hips down the length of the table toward the exit doors.
“I’m excited,” she says, her expression bright and dark at the same time, her white teeth stark between the deep crimson of her lips. “And I don’t think I’ve ever played the submissive before—well once, but it was short-lived.”
I shake my head and glance at Victor momentarily.
“Looks like you might get to sleep with him, after all,” I say, rolling my eyes.
Victor raises a brow, but says nothing—he doesn’t care about things like that, but surely, somewhere inside that methodical head of his, he finds it amusing.
Nora places her full palm on the door.
“Oh, Izabel,” she says dramatically, “that’s not what excites me.”
“Oh?” Now I’m the one raising a brow.
Her crimson smile lengthens and she says, “It’s just been a really long time since I’ve been on a serious mission. I was getting bored with these insignificant woman-scorned revenge hits and monotonous stakeouts—this mission in Italy, this…Francesca Moretti, is like candy to me.”
She looks at Victor as if to say “Are we done here? Because I’m anxious to get started.”
Victor nods, and with the gesture of one hand he waves her out. “That will be all,” he says.
Nora pushes open the door, the room flooding with more light from the fluorescents in the ceiling out in the hall, and she disappears from sight.
I turn to Victor, the extra light in the room dimming as the door slowly closes.
“What makes you think your brother’s loyalty to you will always be unwavering, Victor?”
I stand up to meet his gaze, waiting for his answer.
“Because he is Niklas,” he says, “and I know no other man with more loyalty and heart, than my brother.”
It was the last thing I expected to hear. So much so that I’m dumbfounded by such simple, yet deeply profound words.
“Are we…”—I’m confused by my own question—“…Victor, are we talking about the same person here?”
Heart? Niklas Fleischer? The rage-filled lunatic who shot me and wanted to kill me? A man who is unmatched in hatred and coldness and disdain?
Heart? Really?
The only heart I’ve ever seen in that man is one disfigured by decay.
Victor leans in and touches his warm lips to the corner of my mouth. Then the other side.
“You should start getting ready,” he says and then pulls away, leaving only the taste of him on my lips. “I’ll see you tonight.”
He leaves me standing here; the sound of his dress shoes echoing down the hall is cut off when the door finally closes behind him.
This is going to be interesting.
Niklas