Maja watched them out of the corner of her eyes; the man had gripped her small wrist and drew her to his body, saying something in a low undertone that made Proserpina blush prettily as she tucked her hair behind her ear. She sank down onto a chair that one of the men had drawn up for her and Maja saw how Proserpina turned to give the man a smile of gratitude.
Even as all the people gathered around the huge table were eating and Maja was tucking into the delicious repast, the security men, omnipresent as they were, stepped to Lucien Delano. A look of panic went over Proserpina’s face and her husband reached out to hold her hand as he took up the phone that one of his men had brought him. His hard grey eyes immediately locked with those of James Schwartz, who had also stopped eating.
With an oath, Lucien Delano rose to his feet, wiping his lips and flinging the napkin down,, all in one movement. Schwartz had also risen to his feet as did Proserpina, a look of bewilderment and fear on her face.
The Don was already out of the room, striding briskly, purposefully, as James Schwartz joined him, giving Maja a quick, almost apologetic look. The elder Delano children had also stopped midway through their meal and they rose as one, to follow their father. Proserpina was awkwardly hurrying to catch up with her husband.
“What could have happened? wondered Maja, feeling a chill. She did not know the family very well but from what she had seen, she knew that they were close-knit and something had happened to one of the children.
*
Lucien Delano turned to his wife who was rushing to him, her large brown eyes round with fear.
“Lucien?’ she whispered and he pulled her into his arms roughly.
“Woman,’ he growled and met the eyes of his eldest children over the top of her head. The look said clearly, ‘Take care of your Mumma.’
Then he was striding out of the door, followed by Schwartz and the men. A moment later, Proserpina heard the sound of the cavalcade of cars as they roared out of the underground garage and down the drive.
What had happened, she wondered, a wave of fear flooding her.
Ria was beside her, ‘Mumma, Mumma, come on. Pappa is there to take charge of whatever has happened. Don’t worry.’
Proserpina sagged against her.
Piers met his sister’s eyes.
The messages had been landing on his phone and he felt a cold rage course through his veins; another attempt on Paddy, Claude had been attacked once more.
And he asked himself for the hundredth time just what had Paddy discovered that made it so vital to silence him permanently.
*
Lucien Delano was listening to Tony Beston who had already gone through the camera footage from the CCTV at the hospital. he turned to Schwartz who was riding with him, busy on his own phones.
He turned to Schwartz, his face tight with rage.
‘Paval has hiked up the game. He has brought in a professional. A hired assassin trained by the Mossad no less.’
Schwartz tensed as the name of the assassin landed on his phone as well.
Hila Zaidi.
*
Miles away, in a small motel room, Hila Zoabi or Zaidi as she was known, studied herself in the mirror. She had peeled off the mask she had worn to hide her face and no longer looked like a middle-aged woman. The layers of cloth she had wound around her waist had also been discarded and would be burnt at a distant location. The face that stared back at her from the mirror was that of a young woman, twenty two years of age.
Like most beautiful Israeli women, Hila had pale skin, dark curly hair, and dark, captivating eyes. Her plump lips, beautiful nose and gorgeous facial structure were highly deceptive and most men fell for her looks. By the time they realised that she was anything but the soft beauty she appeared to be on the surface, it was of course, too late.
Brushing out her hair which she had bound in a bun and concealed under a wig, she pursed her lips and thought that she needed to get away as soon as possible. She had not succeeded in her mission and the Monk was going to be furious. But the sudden appearance of the young man had unsettled her more than she would admit. She would deal with the old man and his disgusting nephew as well, Hila knew how to handle such people.
Hila Zoabi was not afraid of men. On the other hand, she was very strong and men who worked with her felt threatened at times.
She had been around men all her life; she was used to men in authority. her father and later, the man she had loved, all of them had been Army men.
She sighed and dipped her head, massaging her neck.
*
Hila was not tall but her fit, curvy figure more than made up for her petite height. As she scrubbed off her makeup and the adhesive that she had used to keep the mask on her face, she stared at her reflection dispassionately.
She was aggressive because she had served in the military and later in the Mossad; because she had learned how to shoot guns, and served under a commander who had been ordering others around. And Hila had learnt from him, observing him, watching how he managed to manipulate and at other times, crush any opposition brutally.
But that had happened in another lifetime, she told herself as she swiftly slipped into her new clothes, the jeans and jacket making her look like any other college student, which was the role she played.
Wryly, she thought that she was one of the women who lived up to the stereotype of an Israeli warrior woman; that they’re in control, powerful, confident, and effortlessly equal to men in all things. The illusion was just skin deep.
She pushed the dark memories away and took deep breaths, fighting down the pain, the shame and the anger. After a while, she was back to normal, only her clammy palms bearing any evidence of her past memories resurfacing.
The sight of that young man had been her undoing; he reminded her of the men who went through life, taking women as they wished, never stopping to think of the damage they left behind in their wake. His startling grey-blue eyes and that body, like a fighter, pure muscle, had reminded her of a man she had trusted once, long ago…
*