Rhea Valtieri
Those eyes—dark depths of cool black, in which unspoken suffering and mystery were hidden. The sharp end of the jaw, the short-cut hair, and the distinctive tattoo of an eagle caught a moment before attack. Even though the photo had been taken from an industrial camera, the details after zooming in were enough for me to recognize the man.
“Just don’t fall in love.” A male voice reached me from behind my back.
I pretended to focus, taking a slow sip of the now-cold coffee from my favorite faded mug. The last few hours before my flight had been spent going over the final pages on Renzo Castellani—my first mission.
I looked up at him, my face giving nothing away. My gaze flicked to his badge, catching his last name.
“Did that come with difficulty to you, Agent Frost?”
He smiled bitterly, letting the snide remark pass by.
“They always said redheads are nothing but trouble.” He shook his head with a shadow of a mocking grimace. “I’m here to give you as much information as you’ll need,” he stated, patting me on the shoulder. “The top has allocated a considerable sum of money for this mission. They’ll keep paying you for as long as you deal with it. But there is one condition…” he pointed out, stepping toward the panoramic office windows.
“What?” I looked at him from under my lashes.
“If you screw up this case, you’ll be suspended, and all your privileges will be taken away.” He found my gaze in the reflection of the glass.
I leaned over the table, raising my brows in complete astonishment.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I’m not laughing, not in this case, Valtieri,” he said, and several expression lines appeared on the man’s forehead. “If the guy preferred his own sex, we’d send one of ours there, but in this case we’re forced to rely on a woman for obvious reasons.”
“Frost—”
“You always have the right to refuse the assignment, but then you can pack your things and not come back,” he cut in, crossing his hands behind his back. “I believe you’re no worse than your father, so allow me to explain a few matters about our Brazilian Al Capone.”
“Surprise me.” I let out a hissing breath, then crossed my arms over my chest. “We know only as much about him as he allowed us to know. They hide their identity very carefully.”
“That’s true,” he agreed in a low voice. “Even if here they are listed as a transnational criminal organization with terrorist potential, back there they are treated like the saviors of society.”
“Carter said they sponsor education and take care of feeding the civilian population,” I noted, squinting my eyes.
“Touching.” He snorted, clearly irritated. “All that’s missing is for them to hang his portraits in their homes.”
“He’s kind of a Robin Hood of our times,” I teased with a minimal smile. “He takes from the rich, gives to the poor.”
“This guy has more blood on his hands than a butcher at a meat shop,” he rebuked me with harshness in his voice and an equally dry look. “And he knows exactly what he’s doing. Why do you think people eat out of his hand?”
“If they obey him, he’ll continue showing altruism and giving them things they need. They won’t oppose him because they know how much they would lose by doing so,” I concluded, winding a strand of hair around my finger.
“Keyword: lose.” He snapped his fingers in the air. “He gives them something they’re afraid to lose, and thanks to that he has them in his grip.”
“And that’s why they won’t give him up?”
“More than that—if you go at him with a weapon, within moments you’ll be surrounded by a cordon of cartels, or actually by anyone in those favelas who has a gun.” An unpleasant smile formed on the man’s face. “We’ve been through that.”
“That’s why you’re sending me there?” I raised a brow, not because of inborn curiosity, but because of how absurd the circumstances looked.
Let’s be honest: a freckled Pippi Longstocking was in no way attractive to a man drunk on power, who could send me to my death with the snap of a finger—not to mention that he probably showed no small amount of brutality while doing it. And on top of that, he had most likely just lost the woman he intended to marry. So how exactly was I supposed to enter the circle he surrounded himself with, while avoiding the issue of human trafficking in the process?
Definitely too many thoughts were flooding through my head.
Frost stayed silent for a moment longer. Maybe he didn’t know why the boss had picked me for this.
“You’re a rookie, hardly anyone knows you,” he continued, making me want to roll my eyes. “The agency trained you under the best; they checked how you handled the cartels, and they were only waiting for the right moment to release their ugly duckling to conquer.”
“How exactly am I supposed to catch his attention?” I pressed my hands to my chest with a gloomy groan. “The guy looks like fucking Jeremy Meeks! He needs a Victoria’s Secret model, not a punching boy.”
“Did no one tell you we don’t give a shit?” he snorted, throwing me an indifferent look. “It’s your mission. No one is going to give you operational tips. Do your job, you’re not a child, Valtieri.”
That was how most people treated me—not like a woman, but like a buddy, a guy for dirty work. Though maybe that was exactly how I wanted to be seen, so they wouldn’t look at me through the prism of my sex, but of my skills?
“My head is splitting at the very thought of this shit.”
“Wonderful, there’s never enough information,” he said humorlessly, walked around the desk, then perched on its corner right next to me. “Let’s repeat this once again. Renzo Castellani is the firstborn and only son of Xavier Castellani, with the right to inherit the family legacy. The old man hasn’t appeared in public for two years, and it’s clear to us that he fell seriously ill,” he began, pointing a spoon stained with coffee marks in my direction. “The mother is dead; she died six years ago under unexplained circumstances. After the father disappeared, it was Renzo who was supposed to take over authority over the family business, but for that to happen officially, he first had to marry the woman promised to him. The man protected her identity, but somehow the Mexicans managed to get to her. Rumors say she died a week ago during the shelling of the residence in Fortaleza, a port city on the Atlantic Ocean “Since then, Renzo hasn’t come out of hiding.” he recalled from memory. “Xavier also has a daughter, Michelle Castellani, who separated from the family and married a DEA agent, Adam Sallinger. You need to keep in mind that he is their informant, although we plan to press him to the wall.”
“How sure are you that he won’t sell Castellani information that I’ll be watching him?” I leaned back in the chair to see Frost better.
“Simple. Only our team knows about it, so don’t you dare let a word slip to your old man,” he warned in a stern voice. “The flight to Rio lasts twelve hours, and that’s how much time we’re giving you to memorize your new identity.” He jumped off the desk, walked around it, and reached for a folder from the top shelf of the bookcase. He handed it to me like a university diploma. “Here is your new passport, social insurance, even a fucking library card. From this moment on your name is Arabella Jones, and the rest of the biography was written out for you from A to fucking Z on pages that dissolve in water, so don’t forget to flush them down the toilet before you leave the plane. Is that clear to you?” He braced his hands on the desk, leaning threateningly toward me. “If they catch you, you’re supposed to play as big an idiot as they’ve never seen in their lives. A typical American woman who suddenly changed her life plans. Got it?”
“You’ll have satisfaction seeing me in that version, huh?” I raked him with my eyes, allowing myself a theatrical eye roll. “What about a wire? Any bugs?”
“Are you fucking insane.”
In surprise I arched my brows.
“But what?”
“Do you want him to fucking kill you?” He looked at me like I was a real idiot. “If they find anything on you that raises their suspicions, may the earth rest lightly on you.” He patted me on the head like a naive child.
“So how am I supposed to gather information on him?”
“This is your only weapon, Valtieri.” Saying that, he pressed his finger to my forehead. “After every day you’ll report to the agency what you found out. Well…” He clicked his tongue, showing how little faith he had in me. “…if you survive.”
