Page 20 of The Chameleon

Because you’re ambitious.

And a liar.

And selfish.

And a monster. You know he will never forgive you if he finds out the truth.

No, he couldn’t think about that right now. Right now, he had one important task.

Answer the fucking phone!

Click.

“Pronto?”a male voice answered, calm and collected.

“Get out! Grab your wife and meet me at the plane!”

“What? Ares? What’s going on?” Giovanni Sabarino asked, switching from his native Italian to English. His voice was much more alert this time.

“Massimo knows. He knows about the deal, and he’s sending men to kill you and your wife. You both need to get out of that room right now! Meet me at my plane, and I’ll get you both out of the country immediately.” Ares still had to call the tiny airport that housed his private jet to tell them to gas up and be ready to depart the moment his guests arrived.

“Shit.” Ares heard Gio gasp over the phone. “Carmela, grab your purse! We’re leaving!” Gio shouted to his wife in Italian.

Ares's Italian was very basic, but he hoped Gio had told his wife that they were leaving.

“I’ll get the jet ready and meet you at the airport in thirty minutes,” Ares barked into the phone. His palms were sweaty, and his shirt was starting to cling to his back.

How did they find out?

Ares knew it was a risky deal, especially given the wealth and influence that the Sabarino family held. But still, Gio had insisted on moving ahead with it.

They had brokered a lucrative deal that would expand Ares’s gun trafficking business further into the European market. So far, Ares had been able to conquer the United Kingdom, France, Ireland, and parts of the United States—making a name for himself in the criminal underworld.

The Sabarino family had offered to help him expand his territory for an equal partnership over the countries they were able to bring in—mostly Italy, Spain, and Portugal. Given Ares’s young age and Mr. Sabarino’s extensive contacts throughout Europe, it was too good a deal to pass up.

The only problem?

Gun trafficking in Europe was controlled by another Italian crime family operating out of Sicily—the Zittis. Apparently, they didn’t like the idea of the Sabarinos moving in on their territory.

Glancing at his watch, Ares punched in the number for the airport.

“Drive faster,” he barked at his driver, bringing the phone to his ear and listening to the annoying chime as the phone rang in his ear.

Fuck, does anybody pick up their goddamn phone on the first ring?

On the second ring, a woman answered.“Pronto?”

“Ciao, this is Ares. I need my jet fueled and ready for departure in the next twenty minutes. It’s an emergency.” Ares listened to the woman talk to her boss quickly. “Tell him I don’t care what the cost will be. Do it now and be ready for takeoff in twenty.” Ares ended the call, then dialed his pilot.

Fuck, were there always so many calls to make before every flight he took?

First-world problems.

Twenty minutes later, his driver pulled into the airfield and stopped just before the steps to his private jet.

“Thank you, Marco,” Ares said, barely waiting for the car to come to a complete stop before jumping out.

Ares checked with the pilot and air traffic control to make sure that everything was set and that they were ready to depart the moment the Sabarinos arrived.

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