Nis

I attempted to free my hands that were cinched behind my back while feeling a sinking sensation in my throat as the van continued on its path. My mind was ablaze with the question of where I went wrong in the year-long surveillance I had conducted before my infiltration. I'd meticulously observed their activities and patiently waited for the perfect insertion point to blend into their clandestine world seamlessly. I thought I'd been successful.

I pitched sideways, the tires pulling the van to a stop. No one spoke. Unable to see if the number of my captors significantly tripled, my mind played tricks until a waft of the familiar reached my nostrils.

Artemisia, the Don's beloved daughter, was inside the van. The thought of her being in danger sent chills down my spine. I had to take immediate action to ensure her well being. They'd kill me if I didn't.

My whisper of her name was rewarded with a cuff against the bag upon my head, powerful enough to crank my neck. I grunted, my senses skewed by the lack of sight— though I didn't know her well, I had watched her enough times with curiosity bordering on obsession.

I knew where she shopped, where she lived, who she slept with—her fondness for all varieties of takeout. Still, I penned vague descriptions in my reports to headquarters. 

Black hair, slim figure. Lavish lifestyle. I said nothing of her bright, unreadable eyes or how many nights I'd lain awake thinking of her. I justified my photos of her as part of my assessment of her role in their operations.

For all the scrutiny, she remained the epitome of the society belle. Her Gucci bags, Louboutin shoes, and the heady fragrance of her thousand-dollar perfumes filled my senses even now.

Had she been kidnapped, too? Were we on our way to certain death? For all the questions I had, I couldn't explain her presence in the van. I strained to hear what came next. The hairs on my neck rose as I caught the fringe of her whispered conversation.

"How far are you willing to go with this?" I heard one of the men inquire. 

Seeing Nis shift, Artemisia lowered her voice further. "Far enough to ascertain this man's true loyalties."

I shuddered and prayed she wasn't as vicious as her father's reputation had proven. 

We drove for twenty minutes more until the vehicle slowed. Were there gulls in the background? Had they brought me to the docks to make me sleep with the fishes? My mind played every Godfather cliché I could recall as they maneuvered me through the building.

Mario Puzo would turn in his grave if he knew how I butchered this scene with my cowardice as I began to hyperventilate, suffocating tension forming in my throat as my hands were tied to a sturdy chair bolted to the ground. There wouldn't be any rocking back and forth like in the movies.

The scattered, frantic thoughts were shattered when the bag was whipped from my head, and I locked eyes with the woman who had fooled me into believing her to be a hapless starlet.

"Artemisia-" I planned to beg, at least until a middle-aged man stepped in front of my field of vision and addressed me in a sharp, no-nonsense voice.

"Shaddap." He cracked his fingers and snapped them in my face to tear my attention from her. Of course, he would be there. One of the Don's long-term men. He didn't have a permanent name, his moniker taken from whatever hit he'd been sent on.

I hadn't heard what they'd called him on the way here. Maybe I didn't want to know. There was no mystery in this man's eyes—only the potential for death.

"Mr. Gyali." So good of you to join us, he drawled in a characteristic accent seasoned with Brooklyn flavour.

"Charmed," I answered with more bravado than I felt.

"Shall we begin?"

"Only if you promise to drop the tired movie cliches." I quipped, looking at Artemisia.

A wry smile and a twitch of an eyebrow told me I'd amused her. 

"You should let me question him. After all, I'm the one who discovered his true identity," she said.

I swallowed, trying to keep the tops of my ears from flaming.