Princess

In the morning, Calloway came by the house.

Her appearance didn’t just surprise the guards; it stunned them to silence and quick obedience. As I watched them scurry away from her presence, I wondered if I had behaved the same way they had until she had pushed me to the point where I could no longer pretend to tolerate her. I supposed I had.

“I was informed last evening that Dylan Fuller has taken over his father’s business.”

Even though I knew that the Dylan I knew didn’t really exist, I couldn’t help but feel an ache in some hidden part of me. And I didn’t bother to pretend that I was unaffected; I gritted my teeth and waited for Calloway to get to the point.

“He’s not in America at the moment. Instead, he’s working in Italy, where his father’s ambassador friends have somehow protected him from our Agency. I do not like this one bit. But as I’ve mentioned before, you still have your uses.”

“No, I’m not going to do it.”

She pretended I had not spoken. “Owen is going to travel to Italy and use the contacts he has inside the Mafia to find Dylan. If there’s a need, he is going to pretend to be a double agent to gain their trust. I want you to travel to Italy with him and help him in whatever you can. If Dylan discovers that you’re there, you can do whatever it takes to get the information out of him, even pretending that you still have the same feelings for him.”

“I said I’m not going to do it.”

“I thought you already understood, Kristen. You don’t have a choice.” Calloway raised his eyebrows. “Your flight is at 1630, tomorrow. You need to prepare.”

And after dropping that bombshell on me, she left.
***
Owen and I stayed in a hotel, in the picturesque area of Sicily. It was easy to realise why the Mafia would change their new headquarters to Sicily, aside from Dylan’s diplomatic immunity. Sicily was an important trade route in the Mediterranean Sea and the Mafia could get whatever they wanted easily.

The only disadvantage here was that the Italian Mafia-Cosa Nostra-existed here. There was bound to be some tension here because of the American Mafia’s appearance here. If there was a need, Owen was certain that he could make some friends in the Cosa Nostra, imply that the American Mafia intended to start operating from Sicily permanently, so that there would be an all out Mafia arms war.

And Owen had said that he was tired of bloodshed? That seemed entirely impossible with the way he was willing to sacrifice lives in order to get to Dylan, because that was our main objective here—to bring Dylan Fuller back to America and whatever men we could catch.

My name this time was Lilly Mackenzie and Owen was Ryan Peterson. We were friends who were on vacation here, interested in tourist attractions, which it enabled us to ask foolish questions without appearing suspicious.

The first few days, Lilly and Ryan kept to themselves but made a show of studying tourist maps and exclaiming about the perfect weather. The days after that, they were friendly and chatted about the mundane whenever they appeared at eateries or shops. They enquired, respectfully, about the past of Sicily as well as its vibrant culture. In short, they were the perfect American tourists.

That made our job easier when we asked the locals whenever they complained about the crime rate or other political news.

I noticed a pattern in their reactions though. They would first look around nervously, before replying in English that it was just some petty crime that they were talking about. And then they would continue in their conversation in Italian, which I couldn’t understand.

Owen was versed in Italian though, but I couldn’t tell if Owen was lying to me whenever he translated things. It made things complicated.

But in the few weeks, we gathered that the Cosa Nostra was getting very nervous about the large shipments that the American Mafia kept receiving and there were rumours that Dylan Fuller intended to carry out the plans left behind by his father. And like his father, he had no qualms killing anyone who stood in their way. Dylan Fuller apparently promised, though, that if the Cosa Nostra was willing to cooperate with them, everything would run smoothly.

The details of their so-called cooperation were not available to the locals but I could tell that we were about to land ourselves into some major trouble.
***
I stood outside the restaurant and looked up at it. Dans le noir?-the taste of darkness. I had heard about this place before and since it was our last day in Sicily, Italy, I had decided to find it and try the food.

Owen was busy summarising the information and sending it back to Calloway to have come here with me and for this, I was glad. Sitting in the darkness and enjoying a meal sounded like a very private thing to do and though I had pretended to warm up with Owen Harrison, I could not bring myself to act as though I was at ease if I was left alone in the darkness with him.

Deciding to take the plunge, I entered the restaurant and found total darkness.

It was a little disorientating even though I had expected it but I smiled to myself in the dark. This was a place where I didn’t have to pretend and it was sort of nice to just be myself here.

“Ciao, quanti ci sono nel vostro partito?” asked the waitress, approaching quietly. Once she reached me, she placed her cool hand on my arm.

(How many are there in your party?)

I frowned slightly. How could I have forgotten that I didn’t understand the language? What could I do now?

Her hand was still on my arm though and she said, confusedly, “Lei sembra perso.”

(You seem lost)

I didn’t know I was going to get out of this and tried, in English, to explain. “Sorry, but I don’t speak Italian.”

“Il mio inglese non e buona.” She patted my arm. “Permettetemi trovare qualcuno per parlare a vol.”

(My English is not good. Let me find someone to talk to you.)

Then she ushered me deeper into the pitch black restaurant, all the while muttering the name, “Aloysius,” under her breath.

Whoever this guy was, I hoped that he could get me out of the mess I was in. I kept walking with her until she stopped and then called out, “Aloysius, ho bisogno del tuo aiuto! Un americana qui!”

(I need your help! An American here!)

A man said something so quickly that I couldn’t catch what he said. She sighed before releasing her hand and he took hold of my shoulder. She said to me, firmly, “Aloysius.” Then she left.

Aloysius then said, in a somewhat teasing tone, “What were you thinking when you couldn’t speak Italian to come into an Italian restaurant?”

He had an American accent and his voice sounded familiar but I convinced myself that it was because I had not heard another American for a long time. But I replied, “I’m sorry. I just…kind of got lost.”

“Right,” he said, totally unconvinced. But then he added, “Since you’re here anyway, would you like to try some of the food?”

Again, there was something in his voice…and something persuasive about it. It wasn’t to say that I disliked it but there was I had a gut feeling that if I stayed with Aloysius too long, something miserable was about to surface in my memory. “But I don’t even understand Italian. How will I order?”

“I can get one of the waiters to read the menu to me in Italian and then I’ll translate it to you. Does that work for you?”

I pondered for a moment why he was being so stubborn about it before giving up. I was hungry anyway and I was still Lilly Mackenzie and not Kristen Hart, so I needed to act like it. “Sure.”
***
“What brings to Sicily anyway?” asked Aloysius after a lull in conversation.

I had basically covered everything from the weather to polite questions about the culture and history of Sicily. But because Aloysius had just moved to Sicily from Chicago, he couldn’t really answer my questions and hadn’t really seemed interested in them, to be honest. It was really starting to bother me why he hadn’t left me alone after my meal arrived but chose to sit and talk to me.

“I’m on vacation here with my friend, Ryan.”
His tone was oddly sharp. “So where is he?”
“Packing, I guess. It’s our last day here.”
“Did you find what you were looking for here?”

I looked at his general direction since I couldn’t exactly see him. His question was innocently posed but... “Yeah, I had fun here.”

“But did you find what you’re looking for?”

“Who are you?” My tone was cold. There was no point pretending that I didn’t know what he was talking about. I had prepared in case I had met the Mafia so I had a flashlight in my purse and a gun if I needed to use it.

“Can’t you guess?” He sounded arrogantly lazy but I could tell that my failure to recognise him disturbed him.

But shouldn’t he not want me to realise who he was? I replied, “Don’t play games with me.”

“What can you do about it?” He was a lot closer now because I could feel his breath on my face. It wasn’t just his voice that was familiar now, he smelt familiar. “Shoot me? You can’t see how many civilians there are here. Do you know who you’re going to hit, Kristen?”

He knew my name.

In a quick move, I opened my purse and shined the flashlight into his face.

Then I dropped it.

Dylan.