But apparently some people did care—cared enough to attempt to kidnap him.
“Because of your relationship?” Jordan said in a neutral voice.
Ferrara grimaced before giving a clipped nod. “We presume it’s related to the assassination attempts on me. Nate doesn’t have enemies. I do.”
“You don’t mean business enemies, do you?” Jordan said quietly.
Ferrara shrugged, his expression hard and grim. “I don’t know for sure. But I presume it has something to do with my family. With my father. He died two months ago. Shot in the head.”
Huh.
Jordan didn’t bother offering condolences. Ferrara didn’t want empty condolences. He wanted something else. The question was, what.
Leaning back in his chair, Jordan pondered it. Maybe the rumors were true and Ferrara’s father had been some big shot in the mafia. But as far as Jordan knew, Ferrara was estranged from his family in Italy, had been for years. Why was this happening now? What did they want with Nate?
More importantly, what did Ferrara want with him? Why was he telling him all of this? Raffaele Ferrara was a very private man. Jordan could count on his fingers the number of times his boss had spoken of something remotely personal over the years, much less about something as deeply personal as the death of his father.
“May I speak freely?” Jordan said.
Ferrara gave a clipped nod.
“What sort of help do you need from me?” he said. “It’s obviously not financial. Nor is it likely that you want my advice. We’re hardly close friends.” He tapped his chin with his knuckles, thinking. “It has something to do with Nate, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Ferrara said. “I was invited to the wedding of my cousin in Italy—or rather, me and Nate. I could decline the invitation, of course, but I don’t think that would be smart. The assassination attempts won’t stop if the issue isn’t resolved. So I accepted the invitation. That’s where you come in.”
Jordan stared at him as the realization sank in. “You want me to pretend to be Nate,” he said incredulously.
“You look similar enough,” Ferrara said.
Jordan frowned. He supposed that was true enough. Although Nate was younger by quite a bit, they had a similar build and facial features, as well as blond hair and blue eyes. Jordan’s hair was a few shades darker, but that was nothing some hair dye couldn’t fix. At a passing glance, they could probably be mistaken for one another—if one didn’t know them personally and if Jordan didn’t wear his hair styled and slicked back. “The resemblance wouldn’t fool airport authorities,” he stated.
“It doesn’t need to fool them,” Ferrara said, unfazed. “Nate will accompany me to Italy. You will arrive on a different plane and switch places with him after he gets through customs.”
Jordan couldn’t help it: he chuckled. “I feel like I woke up in a Bond movie.”
Ferrara didn’t even crack a smile, his gaze serious. Grim.
The smile died on Jordan’s lips.
“I will not lie to you,” Ferrara said, his voice quiet. “It will be dangerous. You will be walking into a situation that I can’t entirely predict or control. We will stay at my family’s estate for a week. There will be other guests there. Dangerous guests.”
Jordan’s mouth was dry. “Dangerous—as in they play dangerous mind games, or dangerous as in they might shoot me between my eyes?”
“Both,” Ferrara said.
Right.
That was…
“Right,” Jordan said, clearing his throat. “So you want to take me with you because you aren’t willing to risk Nate’s safety.” And you are totally fine risking mine.
“Yes,” Ferrara confirmed. “But not only. Nate is—too nice and kind. Some people in my extended family would eat him alive, even if there weren’t the danger of someone literally killing us. You’re not too kind or nice. You’re also very observant and composed. I will need your help in order to find out who wants me dead and why. And if things go south, it also helps that you box and you know how to handle a gun. I trust that you can take care of yourself.”
Jordan quashed down the urge to feel flattered. It was far more likely that Ferrara wouldn’t worry about him because he didn’t care for him. Nate and concern for his safety would be a distraction for Ferrara; he simply didn’t give a damn about Jordan. Ferrara was a cold bastard who was probably just manipulating him into accepting. Jordan also was a little creeped out that his boss was aware of his hobbies: it wasn’t common knowledge that he boxed and was good with a gun.
“Why don’t you just go alone if you don’t want to risk Nate’s safety?” Jordan said.
Ferrara leaned back in his chair, loosening his tie a little. “You have to understand how unusual it is that Nate was also invited. I haven’t spoken to most of my family in over a decade. I certainly didn’t tell any of them about Nate. Which means someone from my extended family is keeping tabs on me. That someone is very likely to be the same person trying to kill me. Even if someone recognizes that you aren’t Nate, that would be useful too: it would give us a clue as to who has been keeping tabs on me. Besides, leaving Nate behind would make him an easier target and I’m not comfortable with the thought of being an ocean away if something happens to him.”