Chapter 3

MARCO LUCCHESE SLIPPED THE ringing cell phone from his grey silk suit pocket.

"Scusi," he said softly, turning away from the small group of guests mingling in the expansive living room. He answered the call with a brusque, "Pronto."

A dark cloud passed over his face. He smiled an apology to his guests and stepped out of the living room. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice lacking all civility, the smile vanishing to be replaced by hardness.

"We found them in Cordoba, just as you said, Mr. Lucchese. But somehow he saw us coming and slipped away. Aleksandar has a broken jaw."

"How the Hell did he recognise you?" Marco barked. "How did you give yourselves away?"

"We did nothing! I don't know how he knew us."

"Where are they now?" he asked.

"We lost him."

"You idiots!" Marco barked. "They must still be in Cordoba. Find them. Kill them!" he ordered, cutting the connection. Like a petulant child deprived of a present, Marco threw the cell phone onto the marble floor and growled his frustration, his heel slamming down on the cell. She had to die! He needed her money!

"Can I help?" a slender young man asked, bending to pick up the pieces of Marco's phone.

Marco drew a deep breath. He studied Aldo, his dark hair, his good looks, the slenderness of his body belying its physical strength. Marco felt a stir, a spark of desire.

"No, Aldo. Let those incompetent idiots fix the problem. If they fail, perhaps..."

"Just say the word, Marco," Aldo said.

Marco reached out and touched Aldo's forearm gently, with possessiveness. "Not yet. Get me a new phone. I have guests to attend to."

"Bene."

Watching Aldo walk away, he admired his lithe body, another pulse of desire washing over him. With a deep breath he turned and headed back to his guests. No, he didn't want Aldo to go to Spain. At least not tonight.