Me: Can’t talk. We’re in the box now. I don’t want to take a chance we spook the asshole.
Charlie: Shit. Okay. The box is registered to a company by the name of Gray and Associates. As far as I can tell, there’s no single Gray. Or not anymore at least. Anderson Gray died about fourteen years ago and since then it’s been run by his children. Three brothers. The name changed to Gray and Associates then. Before that, when Anderson Gray was alive, they went by a different name. It’s why I didn’t make the connection.
Me: What connection?
Charlie: This group isn’t exactly clean, Dante. You want to be careful. They have interests across all continents. Not all are on the up and up.
Me: What do they do exactly?
Charlie: Imports and exports. It’s all very vague. The family is associated with IVI.
Me: What the fuck is this Secret Society bullshit? Grown men playing at some game?
Charlie: I don’t think they’re playing games.
Me: What else?
Charlie: Gray and Associates has ties on all continents, as I said, but the European sector only started to really grow about twenty years ago. And this is where the interesting piece comes in. The connection.
Me: Twenty years?
Charlie: I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. It’s the only thing that adds up.
Me: What?
Charlie: The oldest brother, Drake Gray, was charged with the Europe project. And somehow, he came into contact with David.
Me: David?
Charlie: Yes. He was in Naples for a meeting with him. I remember this because your father happened in on the meeting and David was beside himself angry. He was trying to make a deal without your father’s knowledge.
Charlie has never stopped referring to the man who raised me as my father. He has not once called David that.
Charlie: Because David had gone behind your father’s back, your father punished him but cutting him out of that particular business altogether.
Me: You’re losing me. Who cares what happened twenty years ago?
Charlie: It’s exactly that. The timing. This could be a longshot but the million dollars… Gray, and I’m assuming it’s Gray in that box, he put up a million dollars for Mara. Why? It can’t be coincidence.
Me: What the hell are you talking about?
But as I ask it, my mind is working, doing the math. As impossible as it is.
Charlie: Your father had several secret meetings with Gray at the house. I don’t know much more because the business never came to fruition. Gray spent some time in Naples vacationing, or so he said, and he was gone.
Me: Twenty years ago?
Charlie: I’m going to send you a photo of Drake Gray from back then. The shots we have of the man in the box next to yours aren’t great quality but it’s not unreasonable it’s the same man and it’s the only thing that makes sense. Keep in mind, he’d have been thirty or so then.
A ding signals the photo and I open it. It’s a shot at a restaurant and Gray clearly doesn’t know it’s being taken. He’s sitting at a table with a woman. Her back is to the camera and she’s a little fuzzy because the photographer had focused on him. She has long dark hair draped over her shoulder. And I only recognize her because the strap of her dress has fallen off her shoulder exposing a familiar birthmark.
I shift my gaze to the man sitting across from the woman. He’s a big guy. Blond hair cut short wearing an expensive suit and a Rolex watch, pouring from the bottle of wine into the woman’s glass. And he’s smiling at her like he’s smitten.
I zoom in on his face. The pixels slowly come together. And I see it. The connection.
And all the pieces fall into place.
48
Mara
I ride in one SUV with Jericho while his daughter, mother and a soldier follow in the one behind ours.
The hilt of the blade feels cool and smooth against my thigh, the strap holding it in place tight. The dress itself has a slit up the center which should allow me to reach it easily when it’s time.
I think about what I’ll do when I see him. When I’ll do it. I’ll have one chance and as soon as it presents itself, I will take it. If I don’t succeed and Jericho is wrong about Dante, I’m dead. But I’d rather be dead than a slave to another Petrov again.
Once we’re in the city, traffic grows denser, and I can see Jericho constantly checking on the other SUV in the side mirror.
“Why didn’t you ride with them?” I ask.
He shifts his gaze to me. “Everything has to be done in the right order.”
About ten minutes later, we slow down in front of a strip club that looks seedy enough to be exactly Felix’s style. My heartbeat picks up and a cold sweat covers me. I lay my hand over the dagger and instantly feel Jericho’s on top of it.