I hadn’t survived and gone on to fight for those who couldn’t by pussying out when things got tough. Lifting my chin, sucking in a breath, I met Dan’s gaze.
“Me.”
Silence.
For a long time.
Then Olive spoke. “What do you mean you?”
“I mean,” I said, having to force the words out because it had been so fucking long, and it was so fucking painful to think it, let alone to give voice to it. “I mean, I am Evelina Toscalo, daughter of Frankie Toscalo, and the woman who was supposed to have been the heir to the Toscalo family.” I glanced at Ryker. “That’s how I knew the code. Before I left, my cousin showed it to me. He’d put it together to hide income—though it took me a bit to remember how to make the puzzle pieces come together.”
This time, there wasn’t silence in response to my revelation.
This time, there was a flurry of noise.
From Ryker and Olive and Dan, all talking over each other, all throwing questions my way.
“Yo!” Laila called sharply.
I sucked in a breath, thankful for the interruption to the peppering of statements.
“Ava will explain,” she said. “But you got to let the woman talk.”
Ryker lifted a brow at his wife. “You knew.”
Laila slanted a glance his way. “I know lots of things. I also know that when you ran your own team, you didn’t always share every bit of information with your significant other.”
Meaning her.
The slightly chastising tone shut Ryker up—because it was true—and relaxed me enough that I could begin to answer some of the questions slung my way.
“Yes, my real name is Evelina Toscalo,” I said to Ryker. “But I haven’t been her for a long time. No,” I directed at Olive, “Evelina isn’t dead. Clearly. It was just safer for me to make everyone think that. And yes, I spent eighteen years in the mob,” I told Dan. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t good at faking I was on their side back then. Eventually, they came to recognize I wasn’t ever going to be their good little heiress, and so they . . .” No. My eyes slid to the side, and I forced the memories of darkness and pain away. Only then did I meet Laila’s gaze. “The reason I knew about this code at all, is because of Sergio. He’s the real heir now, even though that information isn’t commonly known. He bragged to me a few times about a shell game he’d created”—one that had effectively made him, and not my younger brother, my father’s successor—“and when I saw the files, I remembered some of the code.” I glanced down at my hands. “My computer and the algorithm I wrote did the rest.”
After a moment of silence, I looked up, saw the wide eyes greeting me.
“All this being said, I can’t be certain they’re even still using the same code more than a decade later. Nor even that Sergio is still the heir,” I admitted, sinking into my chair and leaning back into the plush leather. “The truth is, none of this may be right, and it could all be about fucking lettuce.”
Olive snorted.
“I know,” I said. “I know it’s not about lettuce. I just . . . I don’t want you all to think I magically cracked this when it may not be right any longer.”
“Right,” Laila said. “Well, there’s only one way for us to know for sure.”
My brows drew together. “How?”
“We’re taking a trip to Italy and getting some lettuce.”
Nine
Southern Italy
15:09hrs local time
Dan
White sand.
Crystal clear water.
Human trafficking.
One of those things didn’t belong with the others.
Or the multitude of tourists crowding the beaches wouldn’t think so, anyway. They were captivated by the natural beauty, the warm weather, the soothing waves. They also had absolutely no understanding of the dark underworld that shadowed the island.
Namely, that the tourism industry in this part of the country was ruled by the Toscalo family.
Visitors didn’t understand the friendly male who delivered their drink beachside was a migrant, paid pennies on the dollar, and drawn into service because he was unable to get papers to work legally. They didn’t know that the poverty seen just inland was because organized crime made it difficult to make a legitimate living.
They just saw the pretty beaches, the friendly locals, and opened up their wallets.
But I wasn’t here to take down the entire Italian mob—though it would be a nice side project. Rather, the rest of the team and I were here to investigate Ava’s assessments about the data, and if they proved right, we might be able to interrupt a shipment.
Of people.
Fuck, that made me sick.
It made me want to hunt the fuckers down who thought it was somehow okay to trade in people—in children and women and men who were vulnerable—and obliterate each and every one of them.
I might be able to take down a decent chunk of them before I went down, but the killing done by my hands wouldn’t do anything.
Yes, it would make me feel better.
Yes, maybe some vengeance would be enacted.
But the crimes wouldn’t stop, and neither would the exploitation, the trafficking, the illegal drugs.
So, instead of loading up with weapons and going on some I will find you-Taken movie vendetta, I sat in the fucking lounge chair and accepted the drink from the man who was a pawn of the Toscalo family with a “Thank you,” a smile, and slipping a large enough tip into his hand that maybe someday, if he got enough of them, the man might be able to eventually get out.
Then I sat there and sipped the whiskey and waited.
For my “girlfriend.”
Before Laila and Ryker had gotten hitched and Ryker was running his own team, I probably would have been paired with our team leader or stashed at the bar like Laila was, watching my back. But now that things between her and Ryker were legal and Ryker had gotten his possessive angry eyes down pat, I knew it was better for my physical well-being to not be playing Laila’s doting boyfriend.
Plus, Laila didn’t speak fluent Italian. Not like—
“Hi, baby.”
I stilled, trying not to let my jaw drop open and failing miserably.
Because . . .
Ava.
She had peeled off after we’d arrived at the hotel to “freshen up and change into my swimsuit”—though that hadn’t been all she was doing. She’d also been setting cameras and placing microphones that Olive, Laila, and Ryker would monitor.
Because if Ava was right, the exchange would be happening somewhere on this hotel’s property in one day’s time.
In a crowded, tourist-filled building, during one of the busiest weekends in the summer.
The Toscalo family had balls, that was for damn sure.
Kind of like the woman standing in front of me wearing a positively tiny string bikini. Breasts. Hips. Thighs. Miles of creamy skin. A large hat shaded her face, and fuck, she was a wet dream come to life. I nearly begged her to spin around so I could see that luscious ass.
I didn’t.
Because Luna was probably around somewhere, and I didn’t feel like getting shot again.
Ava lifted a brow, and a moment too late I scrambled up, remembering to play the role of boyfriend. “Baby?” I asked softly, leaning in to kiss her cheek and gesturing for her to take the lounge chair.