Page 43 of Mafia Billionaire's Surprise Baby

He sighs. “Fine. What’s your plan then?”

My smile grows. “Got any investment houses in Ireland?”

* * *

Five hours later, we have passports, bags, and clothes, and we’re on the train to Copenhagen. From Copenhagen, we’ll board a jet to Dublin, and go from there.

It’s going into the heart of enemy territory, sure.

But it’s not like we haven’t done this before.

Sal is sitting across from me in the train car. He booked private, of course, cashing out some of the funds that I presume he’s collected as the manager of a small real estate empire. I still can’t get over the fact that Sal is as rich as God.

And he never told me about it.

He doesn’t owe me that, I guess. It’s not like I asked him to share his life story with me, or really for us to be something to each other at all.

Still…

Sal’s closer to me than anyone. Closer than Caterina. Closer than Elio, even. He understands me in a way that I don’t have to explain.

It’s like having an echo.

When I move, Sal moves.

When I speak, he listens.

When I have a plan, he’s already making it happen.

By the time we’re at the airport, I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t notice when he tenses.

Until his hand snakes out and grabs my wrist.

“Fuck.”

“Sal?”

He wraps an arm around me, sheltering me from the bustling crowd by the ticket counters. “We need to go.”

“Why?”

“Our faces are on an Interpol bulletin.”

Shit. Shit.

“How? Why?”

I want to turn and see if I can locate our faces on the Interpol screens at the security checkpoint ahead, but Sal is already steering me out of the building.

“They’re saying that we bombed the building in Amsterdam.”

“Do they have our real names?”

He glances back. “No. no names. Just pictures.”

“Shit.”

It’s not too bad. If our identification doesn’t list us as Salvatore De Luca and Gianna Rossi, we can still pull this off.