Lucien was furious with Schwartz; it was obvious that he had kissed his Woman and he sat in his car, clenching and unclenching his fists.
Schwartz had got into his own vehicle but Lucien could see that he was distracted, had seen the way the man who was his best friend, had avoided Proserpina’s confused brown eyes.
She had looked hurt and unhappy, not the expression of a woman who was cheating on her husband, he knew.
So it had been Schwartz who had got carried away.
Now he got out of the car in silence, his body stiff with anger and strode into the Club.
Schwartz followed, his long legs striding beside the Don, head hanging low, morose and repentant.
*
Once in the study, however, Lucien indicated that he wanted to be alone with his mate. His guards and valet trooped out silently.
And the moment Schwartz stepped in, Lucien swung his fist, connecting with Shwartz’s jaw. The tall man lurched back, his hand going to his face, stumbling, a crystal vase crashing to the floor and shattering.
‘If you ever touch my Woman again,’ the Boss growled hoarsely, his eyes glittering with madness, I shall…’
‘Mate,…’ replied Schwartz, his hand cupping his tender jaw, as he ran an exploratory tongue over his teeth to check if any were broken,
‘ She would not notice me even if I stood before her stark naked. She only loves you, has only ever had eyes for you, Boss.’
Lucien’s shoulders slowly straightened….’ He knew that his friend was telling the truth. The misery and defeat on his friend’s face confirmed it. He grunted and the men looked at each other, uncertainty in Schwartz’s green, dull eyes. With a hoarse oath, Lucien pulled his friend of decades into his arms and they embraced. Schwartz murmured hoarsely,
“Boss, I love her, you know that but I would never try to…’
Lucien clapped him on the back, effectively stopping him. His Woman belonged to Him, only. And he wanted to remind her of that too, although he would never doubt her.
But it always felt good to have her under him, panting, sobbing mindlessly as he teased her body, till he could stand it no more and then exploded in a rush of lust.
He smiled to himself.
He wanted to get his hands on her.
*
The door opened and Piers entered in a hurry. Lucien frowned. Why was his son here at this hour? He looked unnaturally flustered, almost excited.
“Pappa,’ said his son and then he saw that Schwartz was standing, his hand on his swelling jaw.
“Pappa…?’ asked Piers in confusion.
“Nothing, son. Go on,’ growled the Boss, effectively silencing his eldest son.
Piers looked handsome, his hair mussed up, his jaw unshaven. But he still managed to look rakishly elegant, thought Lucien fondly.
Claude would have looked like a thug, more like his father, if he had stumbled in , with just a few hours of sleep.
‘Pappa, I know who the woman who calls herself Ava Morrison is,’ he burst out excitedly. As his father stared at him in confusion, he went on, ‘One of the women here at the Club.’
Now Piers had his father’s full attention and that of his uncle Schwartz.
“Who is she?’ growled Lucien, his fists clenching as a slow rage burned in him.
*
Hila woke up, alert. Something had brought her awake.
She sat up, pushing her black hair away from her face, and froze at the sound of a gun. Clicking. There was no time to reach for the gun she always carried with her; the one beside her on the nightstand by her bed.
The safety catch had been drawn back. A hoarse drawl came from the darkness,
“Good morning, Ava Morrison. Or should I just say Hila Zaidi?’
*
Hours ago, Piers had been sitting up almost all night.
Once he had been able to use some of the sophisticated face recognition software that Paddy had installed in a computer in his large basement apartment, he had been able to zero down on the identity of the woman who had successfully transformed herself into the humble Ava Morrison. As he drove to the apartment where the unfortunate Ava used to stay, he asked him absently what had happened to the woman, the original Ava. Was she alive or dead?
It had been the way the woman had moved after attacking that creepy guest Sanz, which had alerted Piers. The familiar, confident way she walked, striding out fearlessly, head high, jaw set, a fighter. he had thought back to the footage of the attacker, the night nurse, who had tried to kill Paddy, the same woman who had attacked Claude.
And he had examined the face again, using the highly sophisticated app to help him out. yes, the same face, with padding on the cheeks to flesh out the face. the color of the eyes was different but it was no doubt, the same woman who had brazenly entered the premises of their top-notch Club. But what was her mission this time? Piers was determined to find out.
And he had rushed over, his men with him, armed to the teeth. For this was a wily assassin they were about to encounter.
He needed to find her Achilles heel. And he did just that.
*
It had been easy to piece together the information he had managed to lay his hands on;
Hila Ziad had been sent by the Monk. But Piers Delano was going to make sure that the woman was used by the Delano family to suit their purposes.
A few late-night calls and he had tracked down Moshe, her ill-fated brother at the hospital in Jerusalem. Not a big deal, although the Monk had squirrelled him away, having underestimated the Delanos. Arranging for him to be shifted had not been an easy task but Piers had done it, sitting up all night, hell-bent on getting his hands on the woman who had attacked Claude. Now he stood before her, his gun trained on her beautiful face, watching her black eyes narrow ominously as she realized that she was well and truly trapped.