Page 129 of Precious Hazard

Well, thank fuck!

I slide the ring on her finger until it rests butting up against the very first one I chose for her. The ring I gave herbefore my mind fully understood what this incredible woman meant to me, yet my heart already knew she was priceless.

As soon as the two center emeralds connect over the wedding band, sitting slightly askew to inadvertently form an infinity symbol, I spring up and scoop my wife into my arms, then scurry to our bedroom.

“Um… Can we skip mentioning the major leak and the flood when we tell our future kids about this moment? We can just say I agreed to marry you in Rome,” she offers as I peel her wet T-shirt off her.

I smile and capture her mouth with mine.

“Absolutely not.”

Meanwhile in Boston

Adriano

Ruffo Enterprises headquarters

Seaport District

The constant skull-pounding pain throbs in my temples, making my damn brain feel like it’s turning into mush under the pressure. I squeeze the bridge of my nose and lean back in my office chair, hoping this latest migraine will pass quickly if I keep absolutely still. Just as I settle in for an agonizing hour, a sharp knock on my door sends my misery into overdrive.

“Great,” I sigh.

Considering the late hour and the strange, muffled wails that can be heard even behind the closed door, this could only be one person. My courier.

With another squeeze to my nose and then my temples, which accomplishes fuck all as far as my migraine is concerned, I straighten in my chair.

“Enter.”

The door opens to reveal a middle-aged man with greasy shoulder-length hair and a stringy gray beard. And a sniveling bastard curled up at his feet. Somehow, despite the dirty rag stuffed into his mouth, the roughed-up man’s whining sounds like thunder in my head.

“I have your package,” the bearded guy declares. His voice is tinged with a slight French accent; the articulation is crisp and utterly at odds with his unkempt looks. “Here you go.”

As if to underline his point, he grabs the whining guy by the scruff of the neck and shoves him over the threshold. The poor bound and gagged schmuck rolls across the floor.

I cock my head, assessing the state of my newest acquisition. He seems to have passed out. My gaze shifts to the courier, scrutinizing him from head to toe. By the condition of his dirty, torn clothes, I’d guess he spent at least a week sleeping on the streets. I wonder if he actually did.

“That’s new.” I shift my gaze toward his hair, to the tresses that look as if they haven’t seen soap and water in at least a month. “And I especially like the fake beard.”

The man’s eyes narrow into slits. They are the only flaw in his disguise. One can change many things about themselves, but the look in their eyes usually gives them away. The courier’s eyes are clear. Young. Very young. Staring back at me with fire shining in their depths. Wild flame. He hasn’t yet learned to control his emotions. Which only emphasizes his astonishing skills of deception. That includes the expertly applied makeup on his face. The crafty mask makes him appear more than twice his actual age.

“So? Are we even now?” he growls.

“Yes. We’re even, Zacharie.” I nod, immediately regretting it when a piercing pain shoots behind my eyes. “Did you have a chance to reconsider my offer to work for me full time?”

“No. I’m satisfied with my new employer.”

Itsk. Bullheaded. Just like his father. And loyal. I should have tried harder and beaten that damn Sicilian to getting the boy out of the Chinese prison. “Alright, pass my congratulations to DeSanti. He gained himself quite an asset.”

The kid’s eyes flare in surprise. “That’s not the kind of information that has been made widely known.”

“As long as there are agents willing to sell intel and parties with means to pay for it, all information is obtainable. Remember that.”

Once Zacharie Allard departs, I head over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the Boston skyline lit up at night. My delivery is still curled up in the center of my office, stinking up the place with the stench of fear.

It took months and a small fortune, but my sources finally found Tobias Katrakis hiding in some dump in Athens. Another chunk of cash went to arrange a private flight to get him on this side of the Atlantic. It was worth it. The old loan shark has plenty of connections in New York that could prove useful, and the information I can get from him makes up for all the money I spent to hunt his ass down. And then there’s the added bonus. The Cosa Nostra underboss wants the Greek’s head for almost killing his wife. I’m still contemplating how to wield that leverage, but it’s a good card to have up my sleeve.

I glance at my wristwatch. It’s very tempting to stay and start on the first round of questioning right away. However, my priorities seem to have changed recently. Taking my phone out of my pants pocket, I send a text to the security guard downstairs. My staff knows that I expect prompt action, so he’ll be here momentarily to collect Katrakis.

---