Pleasure's Fury Page 22

  Karl hugged her back, but his eyes remained on Antonio. “Come to bed with us,” he murmured.

  Antonio shook his head, not strong enough to refuse the offer with sound. He ached to be with them, close to them. And while his lovers promised to accept the inevitable end to this affair, he knew the truth. Knew how much actually walking away would hurt.

  Because his feet were already on the path.

  Karl frowned, and Antonio imagined his intelligent lover was trying to reason out the meaning behind his continued refusal.

  If there was ever a time to tell them about Rosa and Viola, it was now.

  He opened his mouth to do so, but Leila whirled on him. Her anger had turned to something different, something he couldn’t put his finger on.

  Until she pulled her shirt off. Her bra went next. Then her jeans and panties.

  As she undressed, she looked at Antonio, and he understood her expression.

  She was daring him to resist this…them.

  Her gaze drifted lower, and he was forced to acknowledge her smirk when she saw his erection straining against the front of his pants.

  Karl added fuel to the fire, wrapping his arms around her from behind, taking her breasts in his hands, plumping the flesh, then pinching her nipples until they budded—hard.

  Antonio felt as if his feet had been sunk in concrete. He needed to walk away, but he couldn’t move, spellbound by their sensual teasing.

  “Take me to the bedroom, Karl,” Leila said, her head tilted to one side as Karl kissed her neck.

  Karl lifted his head, pulling off his glasses. They’d steamed up. The action was so Karl, Antonio felt everything give way.

  “I’ve been placed in my trinity.”

  Leila straightened up. “What? When?”

  Antonio had known those would be the first questions, but there was no turning back. He was already facing unbearable heartbreak and regret. Adding guilt to that would break him.

  Karl and Leila deserved better. They deserved everything.

  Before he could respond, Karl answered her question. “Right before you came to my room in the villa. The first time we…”

  “Yes,” Antonio whispered.

  Fire flashed in Leila’s eyes. She had every right to be angry. Antonio braced himself for her rebuke, her hatred.

  It never came. The emotion he’d seen on her face had been fleeting at best, and he was surprised when her shoulders dropped, a long, slow breath seeping out.

  “I’m sorry, Antonio.”

  He blinked, trying to understand if he’d heard her correctly. “The apology is mine to make.”

  Karl shook his head, stepping around Leila. He walked right up to Antonio and hugged him. “Do you think either of us would have done differently?”

  “I should have told you.”

  “You just did, mijn vriend,” Karl said, pulling back to place his hands on Antonio’s face, cupping his cheeks, giving him a sad smile.

  Then, Karl leaned closer and kissed him.

  He felt Leila’s arm wrap around his waist, her other around Karl, drawing the three of them into the same warm huddle they’d shared at the restaurant the night of their first date.

  Antonio and Karl shifted until the three of them were wrapped around each other.

  “I am sorry,” Antonio said, though they’d made it clear through their words and actions they didn’t need or want that apology. Regardless, Antonio needed to say it.

  “You panicked,” Leila said.

  “There seems to be a lot of that going around,” Karl added, and Antonio was reminded of Karl’s panic attack outside the cave, of Leila passing out on the street in Dublin.

  “You haven’t been to the Isle of Man, so you haven’t been confirmed yet, have you?” Leila asked.

  “We were only placed in the trinity. I walked away. We…I…have to break off any,” he swallowed heavily, searching for the word.

  “Entanglements?” Karl supplied helpfully, grinning sadly. “Relationships?”

  Antonio nodded. Both of those words felt too light to describe what they were to each other.

  “So we still have time,” Leila whispered. “Please don’t let it end here, Antonio.”

  He’d told them the truth and they’d forgiven him.

  Antonio’s heart nearly burst with the love he felt for them. Then he recalled Karl’s argument. Tomorrow, they put themselves in the path of a killer. Their future wasn’t certain.

  But tonight was.

  Antonio kissed Leila, then Karl. “Bedroom. Now.”

  Leila took a sip of her espresso, the tahini cookies she’d purchased lying untouched on the plate between her and Nyx.

  At the table next to them were two janissaries dressed in business suits, also drinking coffee. To any onlookers, the four of them would look perfectly normal—Leila and Nyx, two girlfriends, enjoying a coffee break in the midst of a shopping trip, the Ottoman knights, two businessmen, meeting over coffee.

  No one would have a clue she was actually sitting near the front of Origo Coffee Shop offering herself up as bait to a man so dangerous, he had the Masters’ Admiralty—the most powerful secret society in the world—running scared, and his pet serial killer.

  They’d chosen the cafe because of its large front windows, that provided anyone from the street and even the first two floors of the building directly opposite a perfect view of the patrons inside. It was also strategically placed across from a bank with multiple exterior cameras, and near an intersection with traffic light cameras.

  The Ottoman knights had also suggested it because it sat on Strada Lipscani, on the outer fringes of Old Town. This was a high-traffic area in Bucharest, but because of the noise and bustle, it might provide an illusion of cover for Ciril to use.

  Their goal today was to make it known that Leila was in Bucharest. She and Nyx had spent the morning playing their parts as girlfriends on a relaxing trip, casually walking from shop to shop. The Masters’ Admiralty had put their countless resources to work in an attempt to find Ciril, relying on face recognition software and the like. If Ciril was connected to the mastermind, as they suspected, he would have access to the same. Which meant there was no telling who he might try to capture first. While Karl felt like the obvious answer, nothing Ciril did was predictable.

  Antonio and Karl had set themselves in other areas around the city—Antonio playing tourist at the Royal Palace, perusing the paintings and sculptures held in the Romanian National Art Museum. She suspected his attention would be on everything except the works of art, as he scanned the area for any sign of Ciril.

  Meanwhile, she was concerned Karl stood the most serious chance of getting himself kidnapped again. For one thing, if there was no mastermind, or if he didn’t pass information on to Ciril, the psychopath might not even know they were there. Karl had been the only one to make it known he was in Bucharest. However, more troubling than that was the fact he’d opted to tour the Kretzulescu Church because he was fascinated by the opportunity to study the Brâncovenesc style and interior frescoes. Antonio had warned Karl twice that his tourist routine was supposed to be an act, and he’d even promised to bring Karl back another time—once the danger had passed—if he vowed to remain alert and aware of his surroundings.

  Karl had given his word, but she’d seen him get lost in too many books, drawn into too many intent studies of the artwork scattered around Villa Degli Dei, to hold out much hope that he wouldn’t be sucked into the unique features of the historic church.

  “An excellent coffee is worth some risks,” Nyx observed.

  “Coffee is worth being kidnapped, tortured, and murdered?” Leila asked, incredulous.

  “It is very good coffee.”

  Was Nyx…making a joke?

  “Ha, uh, ha.” Leila puffed up her cheeks and tried to pretend this whole day hadn’t been an exhausting mix of terrifying and boring.

  Leila wasn’t sure what to make of Nyx. She was incredibly intelligent—one of those people who
could find and make connections between things that others would never have seen. And her multilayered plan to draw out both Ciril, while finding proof of the mastermind’s existence, was clever and dangerous without being suicidal.

  But the intelligence behind her eyes was sharp and dangerous. Completely different from Karl’s warm brilliance.

  Leila found herself shifting in her chair, looking out the window, then looking away. When they’d first started this strange day, she’d used sniper focus techniques to keep herself grounded. That had worked for a while, but without a task to focus on once she’d done her stop, look, listen, smell trick, it had been hard to maintain that sniper calm. She needed a gun, a scope, a target. She had nothing but too much caffeine and too much sugar in her system.

  She’d never been bait before, and it was weird. Uncomfortable. She was out in the open. A perfect target. Knights from Castile were doing a random pattern sweep of the buildings with line of site to the cafe. The idea was that if the mastermind sent a sniper, they would find him or her before the person could shoot.

  If it were her, she’d do two quick shots. One aimed at the thigh—break the glass, and disable the target, if the glass skewed the shot. The second shot would be to the head.

  She ran her hands through her hair.

  “This may take days,” Nyx said quietly. “The mastermind is patient, thoughtful. It may not work at all.”

  “Maybe the mastermind won’t send Ciril after us, but Karl… We made sure Ciril will know he’s here.” She looked at the janissaries. “Maybe we should send them to help protect him.”

  “You are worried about him.”

  “No, I’m terrified for him.”

  “Terrified?” Nyx asked. “A strong word.”

  Though she and Antonio had both asked, Karl hadn’t offered any insight into his relationship with Nyx—how he knew her, if they were friends, or if he’d merely sought her out as an expert on religion and cults. “Karl and I have grown close since…our time spent in the basement together.”

  “You were both brutally tortured.”

  “Yes, I remember. I was there.” Leila told herself she should be offended or upset—after all, who brought up something like that over coffee and cookies?—but weirdly, the matter-of-fact acknowledgement made her relax.

  Nyx smiled. “There is an expression from where I grew up. The fear has big eyes.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You too are dangerous. A security officer. A sniper.”

  “I am.” And if Ciril hurt Karl, or came near her again, she’d show him exactly how dangerous.

  The gun strapped to her ankle was small, but it was there.

  “And you are sure you will stand back, let them take Ciril alive?” Nyx nodded to the knights when she said “them.”

  Leila nodded.

  Nyx raised an eyebrow, then plucked a rough brown sugar cube from the bowl. “I may die, but first, you, my tyrant and tormentor, shall curse the sun that gazes on your misery. Beware, for I am fearless and therefore powerful.” She placed the sugar cube on the table, then pressed on it with the back of her spoon. For a moment it held together, then it shattered under the pressure of Nyx’s thumb.

  “Is that quote from some religious text?” Leila asked. Was the sugar cube a metaphor? Was she the spoon or the cube?

  Nyx shook her head, a slight smile crossing her face. “Frankenstein. Are you fearless, Leila?”

  Leila had been fighting to find that inner strength she’d always taken for granted in the past. Broken bones would have hurt less than this shattered spirit Ciril had left her with. She’d lived a lifetime, confident in herself and her abilities. Too many times she’d looked around today, questioning her movements, her decisions. He’d bested her once, taken her and rendered her helpless. She couldn’t forget that failure. “I’m not,” she confessed. “But I am trying to be.”

  Nyx studied her face with an intense scrutiny that made Leila feel as though her soul had been laid bare, everything inside her written plainly on her face. When Leila was with Antonio and Karl, she felt stronger, more capable. It was when she was on her own, like now, that she found herself floundering. It was as if, in rebuilding herself, she’d erected the walls with Karl and Antonio on the inside.

  “I’ve never met a strong person with an easy past,” Nyx said at last.

  There was something in her eyes that told Leila Nyx spoke from experience.

  “Thank you,” Leila said, finding comfort in that.

  Considering Antonio’s confession last night, her past was about to get a lot harder once his marriage was made official and the three of them were forced to part.

  “I think perhaps we should take a walk, perhaps stop outside a jewelry store. They always have—” Nyx stopped mid-sentence, her attention drawn to the entrance.

  Beside them, the janissaries stiffened, but not in alarm.

  It was almost like they were coming to attention.

  Leila bent her leg, planted her heel on the seat of her chair, slid her hand under the hem of her pants, and turned to look at the door, all in one smooth motion.

  Her heart was in her throat. Rationally she knew it was impossible, but emotionally she was sure that Ciril had killed every knight and guard and was now brazenly walking through the front door.

  Nyx made an odd little noise, almost like a whimper combined with a bitter laugh. It was strange enough that Leila glanced her way before looking back at the newcomer.

  The man who stood there was clearly very wealthy, given his fashionable attire and the way he held himself. He walked into the cafe as if he were a god, one slightly appalled to be in a pedestrian cafe. His silver hair was short, cropped close on the sides, with just enough left on top to be stylish. There was a silk scarf tucked under the collar of his coat, and his shoes gleamed as if they were new, or so expensive and well taken care of that they would always look new.

  He was stocky, with features a bit too heavy and coarse for his mannerisms, dripping with arrogance. He looked vaguely familiar to Leila, though she couldn’t recall where she’d seen him before.

  He walked directly to their table. Nyx didn’t bother to stand, even though the man appeared to expect her to, his arms outstretched as if she’d embrace him.

  His eyes narrowed briefly at her snub.

  “Petro.” Nyx smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She tipped her head to the side and examined the man as if he were a piece of art to be considered and dismissed.

  Leila’s eyes widened at the name. Petro? Petro Sirko was the admiral of Hungary, one of the most powerful admirals in the Masters’ Admiralty.

  Surely this wasn’t the admiral of Hungary.

  Though they were in Romania, which sat predominantly within his territory, despite Bucharest’s somewhat undefined ownership.

  The knights, though from Ottoman, both bowed their heads slightly when Petro looked their way.

  It was the admiral of Hungary.

  Leila started to stand, in deference to the man’s power, but Nyx gave her a look that said she’d kill her on the spot if she moved.

  Leila sat down and slid her foot off the seat of her chair onto the floor. She’d considered for a moment keeping the gun in her hand, but that might be considered a threat against the admiral.

  Petro and Nyx exchanged a few words in an Eastern European language, until Nyx held up her hand and said, “Speak English. It is rude to do otherwise.”

  Petro stiffened, but replied in English. “You’re home.”

  Nyx just told the admiral of Hungary he was rude. Wait, home? Was Nyx from Hungary? Now that she thought about it, Leila wasn’t sure anyone had said what territory Nyx belonged to.

  “This is not home. Surely we do not have to have this conversation again.”

  Nyx’s voice was almost, almost, patronizing. Leila felt like she was watching a play—one where she’d been late and missed the first act, and now had no idea why the tension was so high.

  “You cannot
change the past.”

  Nyx shook her head. “And you cannot control the future.”

  Petro looked around. “Come to the house tonight.”

  Nyx said something in the first language, and Petro’s face tightened, his lip quivering as if he were fighting a snark. Then she continued in English. “I have business here. Once that’s done, I will return home to Minsk.”

  Minsk was in Belarus, which was in the Bohemian territory, so why did Petro think Nyx’s home was Bucharest?

  Petro flashed Nyx a closed-lip smile, and then turned to face Leila.

  “Leila. I was pleased to hear you and Dr. Klimek were rescued. By Giovanni’s son, I believe.”

  She decided to play along and pretend she hadn’t just heard whatever that conversation with Nyx had been about.

  “Thank you, Admiral.”

  He smiled, and his cheeks rounded. If the smile didn’t reach his eyes, well, given the strange not-fight he’d just had with Nyx, that was to be expected.

  “You are welcome to Bucharest, though it is not what it once was. After this, come to Kyiv. You and Dr. Klimek will be my guests.”

  “Uh, thank you. I’ve never been to Kyiv.” She sounded like an idiot, but she had no idea what else she could or should say.

  “If there’s nothing you need, Admiral, Leila and I were just leaving.” Nyx rose slowly, gracefully.

  Leila had never heard the word “admiral” spoken with such utter disdain. Leila stayed firmly rooted in her seat.

  “We will speak, Nyx. Resolve…this.”

  “No. We won’t.”

  Petro reached up and adjusted his jacket, a small, controlled movement. “It is beneath you to run away.”

  “Goodbye, Petro.” Nyx walked toward the door, leaving Petro standing beside their table.

  “It was… It was nice to meet you, sir.” Leila quickly gathered her purse and jacket and raced after Nyx.

  She was halfway down the block when Leila caught up with her. The knights had moved fast—there was one in front of and one behind them, and on the other side of the street, she saw several people moving at the exact same pace as them, staying toward the edge of the footpath where other pedestrians wouldn’t obstruct their view.