Pleasure’s Fury: Masters’ Admiralty, book 3 Page 19

  Leila jerked free, stumbling backwards. Her legs wouldn’t support her, and for a moment, she swore she could feel the chain around her neck tightening. She couldn’t breathe.

  She gasped, her hands flying to her neck, even as she fell.

  She landed roughly on her ass, still struggling to catch a breath. Her vision was foggy, almost black. She had a sense her eyes were open, but she couldn’t see.

  And she couldn’t breathe.

  Leila rolled to her side, fighting hard to get air into her lungs. She was suffocating.

  “God, no! No. No. No.”

  She heard the voice. Recognized it as hers.

  Then another.

  “Leila! Leila!”

  Antonio was shouting her name, but it sounded too far away, echoing as if coming through a long tube.

  Strong hands started to shake her, and the chain around her neck tightened even more. She shuddered as more cold water dripped over her naked body.

  Leila wanted to fight back, but her arms and legs were bound, useless to her.

  Spots formed behind her eyes and everything went black.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Leila heard a deep voice somewhere nearby, anxious, commanding.

  “Get out of the way.”

  Her body was being jolted, and she had the sensation of riding a horse. Ciril had turned the water off and strapped her to a galloping stallion.

  At least the chain around her throat was gone.

  That was the last somewhat dreamlike thought she had before she came to with a start.

  Antonio cursed. “Merda”

  Her arms flew up as she sought something to hold on to. She found Antonio’s strong shoulders.

  “Hold on,” Antonio commanded, jostling her until he had a more secure grip on her.

  Leila opened her eyes, looking around. The brief storm had passed, but the sky was still dark gray and the threat of more cold rain loomed.

  She clung to Antonio, her hands linking around his neck as she tried to regain her wits.

  “What happened? Why are you carrying me?”

  Leila tried once more to get down, to regain her freedom, but Antonio hauled her tighter against his chest.

  “Stop.”

  Leila was a soldier, following commands was something she’d learned to do well when she was part of the Finnish Defense Army. However, since becoming a security officer for the Masters’ Admiralty, she’d acquired more autonomy, more freedom to make decisions based on the situation and her reading of it. She was given objectives, but how she carried them out was up to her.

  “Antonio,” she said, though she stopped trying to get down. “Please.”

  He slowed his pace, but kept walking. “We need to return to the hotel.”

  She glanced around, surprised to discover how close they were to his destination. When the rain had started, she’d guessed they were several miles from the hotel. If her memory served her, they were now only a few blocks away.

  “How…” She wasn’t certain what to ask. How had they gotten here so quickly?

  “Leila. If you feel any affection for me, you will remain still until we are safe. Okay?”

  His demand should have chafed. She didn’t like being told to be still and quiet, like a naughty child at mass. However, that wasn’t the part that bothered her most.

  If she felt any affection for him?

  How could he question that after all they’d been through?

  She wanted to call him out for such foolishness, but she could see the deep worry lines in his brow, the… God. Was that terror in his eyes?

  Had she put that there?

  That and the length of the sentence. The fact that he’d made it a request and not an order was an indication of exactly how concerned he was.

  He shifted her in his arms again, and she knew he must be tired. He’d carried her close to three miles.

  Leila took a moment to take stock. She’d been injured in fights before, even knocked out a time or two, though that was the exception rather than the rule.

  Her chest burned and she recalled the sensation of suffocating.

  Her clothing was damp—nay, soaked—and she was still chilly, though the temperature wasn’t nearly as unbearable as it had been earlier. Not with the heat radiating from Antonio warming her.

  Her head was still groggy, but as Antonio crossed the street and walked into their hotel, the haze cleared enough for her to realize what had happened.

  She’d been there to witness Karl’s panic attack at the mouth of the cave.

  For a moment, she thought perhaps that was what she’d experienced too, but this felt different somehow.

  “Mr. Starabba?” she heard the front desk clerk call out. “Do you need help?”

  Antonio shot the woman a foreboding look. “No.”

  Antonio took the stairs to the second floor two at a time.

  And then, at last, they were back in the room. He crossed the small space and placed her on the bed, his hands going to the button and zipper on her jeans.

  “Your clothes are wet. You need them off.”

  She placed her hands over his, halting his actions. “Wait.”

  He kept going until she clasped her hands tightly around his wrists, tugging them away.

  “Antonio. Wait,” she repeated.

  For the first time since she’d regained consciousness, he looked her in the eye. And she knew what she’d seen on the street had been real.

  She’d scared him. Terrified him.

  “I’m okay.”

  He shook his head. “You’re cold. Wet. I need—”

  She cupped his cheek with her trembling hand. “I’m okay.”

  With each moment that passed, Leila felt her initial light-headedness give way to something far heavier, angrier.

  “The rain,” she said, feeling as if she needed to explain.

  “I know,” he hastened to say, not wanting her to have to explain it.

  He didn’t realize…she needed to talk this out.

  “I was chained. Ciril kept the cold water—”

  Antonio had straightened, slashing his hand through the air. “I know what he did to you! I saw the water, saw…”

  His words faded away, and Leila’s heart ached at the sound of his own torment.

  What Ciril did to her had forever changed her. The idea that Antonio now suffered from those actions as well caused her rage to erupt.

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  Antonio’s head jerked up at her heated vow.

  “I’m going to Bucharest, and I’m going to kill him.”

  “Leila—”

  “It won’t be a sniper shot. I know we need him alive. To question. But I will find him, and when they’re done with him, I will kill him. That motherfucker is going to see my face. He’s going to know exactly who’s pulling the trigger.”

  The concern and fear in Antonio’s face vanished, replaced by something that couldn’t be mistaken as anything other than pride and respect and determination.

  “We’ll go together.”

  She nodded. “We’ll kill him together.”

  “No.” James’s dark skin took on an ashy tinge, and he started shaking his head. “Sophia’s father is not the mastermind.”

  Cecilia put her hand on her cousin’s arm. “I agree. My admiral—my former admiral—is not a villain. He is powerful, yes. Ruthless, but he would never work against the Masters’ Admiralty.”

  James nodded emphatically.

  Karl looked at the other three. Hugo inclined his head in acknowledgement of his understanding that Cecilia and James probably couldn’t be objective. Josephine had a hand over her mouth in a classic horror/shock posture. Nyx looked mildly interested.

  “I don’t want it to be him,” Karl said quietly. What he didn’t say was that as dysfunctional as Antonio’s relationship with his father was, it would probably destroy him to learn that his own flesh and blood was a traitor. “I don’t. But whoever the mastermind is,
I think they have to be someone in power in Rome.”

  “Whiteboard,” Hugo declared. “We need a whiteboard.”

  “What?” Cecilia asked.

  Nyx nodded. “I agree.”

  Karl pushed to his feet. “I bet we can find one.”

  “Why do we need a whiteboard?” James asked.

  “Because that’s how you solve intellectual problems,” Karl said dryly. “With whiteboards.”

  “This is a historical library, not to mention a tourist draw. They won’t have a whiteboard,” Cecilia insisted.

  “It’s a building on a university campus. Trust me, there’s a whiteboard somewhere.”

  Much to Cecilia’s disgust, they did find a whiteboard. Even better, it was a rolling whiteboard, which they wheeled into the elevator and then into the Long Room. They positioned it near the entrance, where there were fewer books, and after a bit more hunting, found some low-odor markers that, after a bit of debate, they agreed would not hurt the books, especially given the distance between them and the start of the stacks.

  Cecilia looked ready to strangle someone. Nyx had been calm until Josephine had insisted on looking up what chemicals were in whiteboard markers. Now she looked alarmingly calm. Nyx was a bit…odd. And dangerous.

  Hugo was standing by the board with a pen. Karl took off his glasses, cleaned them, and then snatched the pen from Hugo.

  Hugo looked ready to object, but then took a seat in one the chairs they’d pulled up in a semicircle around the whiteboard. Karl cleared his throat and began, addressing them the way he would a post-graduate seminar discussion.

  “We have several hypotheses. The first is that there is a single originator, whom we’re calling the mastermind, who is responsible for everything that’s happened since the bodies were found in Rome.” As he spoke, he diagramed what he was saying, drawing circles and lines. “Previously, and incorrectly, we had labeled this person the Domino.” He wrote “Domino” then crossed it out, and drew a line to “mastermind.”

  “Agreed. But what makes you think it’s the—” Cecilia started.

  Hugo held up his hand. “First, we should list our evidence supporting this idea.”

  “I’m going to take notes,” Josephine chimed.

  They listed reasons why the mastermind theory made sense—the coordination and timing of the attacks, the lack of adherence to the previous two-person Domino structure.

  “Now, why is this hypothesis wrong?” Karl asked.

  “They know too much about us,” Josephine said.

  “No,” Nyx replied. “That’s a point of evidence for the next hypothesis, about who the mastermind is.”

  “Time and resources.” It was the first time James had spoken. “The amount of time and resources it would have taken to set this up…it seems more realistic if it was two people, or a group of people.”

  “But adding another person risks secrecy. Also, a couple or group requires total adherence to an idea or cause. That’s harder to do than people think—to maintain a commitment to a radical cause in the face of more mundane concerns. There are far more ‘radicals’ who quietly abandon their fanatical leanings than ever become true extremists.”

  “But possible,” James insisted.

  The debate continued, but in the end, the evidence pointing to a mastermind, a single individual pulling the strings, had stronger support.

  “Now we address the issue of who the mastermind could be.”

  Karl waited until Josephine said she’d finished transcribing, and then erased the board, writing out the hypothesis again. Then he went on to explain the conclusion he’d come to at the cave—and why he thought that meant the admiral of Rome was the primary suspect.

  “That area of the grounds isn’t patrolled regularly,” James said. “We went over this when they first found the bodies. It’s more likely that the placement was meant as a taunt for the admiral of Rome. I can get close to you. I can hurt your people, important people, your finance minister. Right under your nose.”

  Karl opened his mouth to counter that, then took a step back and looked at the board.

  Josephine shoved her notebook at Hugo, then jumped to her feet and snatched the pen from Karl.

  Hugo looked at the book in his hands. “Every time… Did we elect officers? Did I miss the part where I was voted secretary?”

  They ignored his outburst, as Karl rubbed his chin. “I hadn’t thought of that. That’s a good motivation. But still, the insider knowledge required…” He stopped to think. “If it’s a taunt at the admiral, then it might be the vice admiral.”

  Josephine went to the board. “Who is the most powerful admiral?” she asked.

  “Rome,” Cecilia said promptly. “Uh, no insult to your husband, James.”

  James made a face at Cecilia, then said, “One of our theories, about the timing, was that the murders were meant to destabilize Rome, to pull their focus inward, before the other attacks.”

  Karl took Josephine’s seat. He had to admit he was relieved there were possible suspects other than Antonio’s father. Then he wondered about his objectivity. Perhaps his knee-jerk reaction, his suspicion of Giovanni, stemmed from his anger toward the man’s treatment of Antonio. Ever since his time in the basement, Karl found himself struggling to think intellectually, emotion clouding his vision.

  “Who is the second most powerful admiral?” Josephine asked.

  “Before he was killed, Winston in England. But now I’d say Petro in Hungary.”

  They made a list of powerful territories. Both England and Castile had been weakened by the loss of their admirals at the attack in London.

  Josephine started drawing on a still-blank section of the board. Once she was done, she’d done an impressive sketch of a shadowy figure and labeled it “mastermind.”

  Hugo, apparently done with notetaking duty and suffering lecture withdrawal, shoved the notebook and pen to Karl and stood. He and Josephine had a brief tussle for the pen, but he triumphed, then smoothed down his shirt.

  “It’s time to make a list of the players and figure out how they relate to our mastermind.” He tapped the image with the pen.

  One by one, they listed the people involved, their current status, and if they had referred to themselves as the apprentice or made any reference to the Domino.

  There were only two people on the list who weren’t dead. Alicia Rutherford—the Dominatrix who had been Derrick Frederick’s lover. She’d killed him to stop him from saying anything and then disappeared. Prior to Antonio rescuing Karl and Leila, hunting down Alicia had been a priority, at least until facial recognition caught her boarding a flight to Mexico with a forged passport. The current assumption was that she was in her native United States. Given their…tense…relationship with the Americans, they had yet to pursue her.

  The only other living person on the list was Ciril.

  Karl ignored the uneasy looks he got every time the man’s name was mentioned. He shoved the notebook back to Josephine and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Despite his great-aunt’s membership, he never mentioned anything about the society or Domino.”

  “It could have been an act,” Cecilia mused.

  “Why bother? He was going to kill me anyway.”

  Josephine made a sad little noise and leaned over to give him a half hug.

  “Several people have noted that he didn’t seem to have the intelligence necessary to execute the kidnappings.” Nyx sounded dispassionate. “If the mastermind is organizing and giving instruction, then it explains the apparent disconnect.”

  “Then we’re agreed,” James said. “And we take it to the admirals—Josephine, put your phone down, this is too serious to text. No! Don’t take a picture of the whiteboard… Where was I?”

  “We need to tell the admirals,” Cecilia said.

  “Ciril is the best link we have to the mastermind.” Hugo once more tapped the image with his pen.

  “Then we find Ciril.” Nyx rose and stretched. She looked at
Hugo. “I need information about the socio-political realities of the region where Ciril was raised. I will need it by morning.” She looked at Karl. “I’m coming to Bucharest with you. Inform your pilot.”

  “Who said we were going to Bucharest?” Karl asked.

  “I did. Just now. I will talk to Grigoris. It is clear he needs my help.” Nyx looked around. “I have to pack.” She nodded and walked out.

  They stared at her for a moment.

  Josephine took advantage of the distraction to raise her phone and snap a picture of the whiteboard.

  James reached out one long arm and took the phone from her. Then he sighed. “Meeting adjourned.”

  Karl looked at the whiteboard. Then he stood and took the eraser from the tray and, with one stroke, obliterated the mastermind.

  If only it were that easy.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Grigoris was waiting for them when they cleared customs at Bucharest’s Henri Coandă International Airport. They hadn’t been able to use the private jet—it didn’t have clearance—but Antonio had purchased them four first-class tickets.

  He’d been surprised when Karl returned to the hotel and announced they were going to Bucharest, when he and Leila had already decided the exact same thing.

  They’d had a brief layover in Frankfurt, during which Karl had enthusiastically scoured the airport shops for snack food that felt like “home.”

  Antonio winced internally when he realized it had been nearly a month since Karl had been home. An airport in Germany was as close as he’d gotten, so when he wanted to go hunting for mustard and odd veal sausages in a can, Antonio went with him, leaving Nyx and Leila in the security of the first-class lounge.

  The guilt from that—not realizing that Karl and Leila needed some normalcy, some “home”—was minuscule compared to the guilt he felt over not telling them about being placed in his trinity. Even thinking about it made him feel ill.

  He turned his attention to the problem at hand.

  Grigoris.

  The fact that they’d had to book a commercial flight meant there had been no way to hide their movements. But the only way Grigoris could have found out about it in time to meet them at the airport was if he had flagged their names so he’d get an alert if they traveled. Which meant he hadn’t trusted them to stay out of the investigation or to stay at Villa Degli Dei.