The car drove off, leaving the three of us. I motioned toward the stairway. After a glance up and down the road, Gianna shuffled toward the pier. She wasn’t resigned yet, she’d look for any escape. Good thing we’d tied the tender close.
Even so, Gianna’s way too observant eyes examined every boat we passed. If some pleasure cruising Roman came into port at the wrong time, she’d take advantage of it. Between Oleg and myself, her chances of escape weren’t great, but we’d avoided making a scene so far.
At the tender, Oleg’s meaty hand grasped the sidewall, holding it steady for me and Gianna to embark. She glared at the small boat, dinghy really. Its aluminum shell held two bench seats and was powered by a single 9. 9 horsepower outboard motor.
“I take it back, you’d be lucky to make it down the coast to Naples in this thing,” she said, shaking her head. “Do you have dinner in a picnic basket I can’t see?”
“The harbor’s not set up for ships the size of my yacht,” I replied, holding out my hand to steady her as she embarked.
Her cheeks darkened and she glared at my hand. Instead of taking it, she grabbed the sidewall and swung her leg over and into the boat. Before her other joined, she paused as if she expected the thing to sink. Steadying herself with her hands, she dropped to the bench seat in the middle.
I stepped on board and sat next to her. She scooted as far to the edge as she could away from me. When Oleg, who had me by a few pounds, hopped on, the boat rocked. Gianna’s hand snatched at my arm. Almost immediately, she jerked it away, head wrenched as far from me as possible, cheeks dusted red.
The engine sputtered to life with a whine. Oleg spun us around. The boat passed dozens of others, packed close to each pier. He kept us closer to the boats on my side, just in case our guest decided to make a jump for it. Given how uneasy she seemed on the water, I doubted she’d even try. My intelligence report had nothing on her and water. Her fear only helped me. Less likely for her to try and escape if she didn’t like the water.
Once we passed the piers, Oleg gave the throttle a turn. Gianna gripped the sidewall when we accelerated. The mouth of the harbor approached. The Tyrrhenian sea tended to be calm in the spring and summer but would be rougher than the harbor. I watched my guest to see the effect.
Her free hand grabbed the bench seat between us. Our eyes met and her expression schooled. The boat rocked, and her neck tensed but no fear or worry appeared on her face. Smart of her to hide her emotions, keep me guessing, but damn annoying. She really was a worthy opponent.
Oleg aimed toward the yacht. Gianna hid her reactions well once she realized I’d been paying close attention. Still, her eyes widened a tick as we approached. The golden sunlight shimmered off the white sides of the yacht, reflected off the windows.
The engine cut after we’d slowed. I flipped one of the bumpers down and Oleg did the same. As we slowed to a crawl around the stern, he snatched the handrail at the edge of the stern swimming platform.
I sprang to my feet and hopped aboard. Like before, after I extended my hand to help her, Gianna ignored it. Her arm trembled when her white fingers grasped the handrail but once she stood on the dark wooden slats of the swimming platform, a deep breath filled her. The flat mask descended down her face, only cracking when the tender’s engine rattled back to life and Oleg spun it around, puttering back into the harbor.
“Alone at last,” I said, fruitlessly offering my arm to Gianna.
“Welcome aboard, sir,” boomed a familiar enthusiastic voice with a heavy Russian accent. “I’ve prepared a table for you and your guest. The chef is at the ready.”
On the deck above stood Pavel. A wiry man, tall but thin enough to squeeze into the engine room’s tightest spaces when performing maintenance. He always wore a ‘uniform’ of black slacks with a matching black polo shirt even though I explained he wasn’t in the navy anymore, didn’t need a uniform, simple as it was.
Tonight, he’d pressed the slacks and donned a new shirt. He’d worked on cruise ships before. He must have wanted to look his best for the first guest we’d had on board for a long time.
“Thank you, Captain,” I replied. “Shouldn’t you get back to the bridge?”
“Oh, we’re anchored right now, sir…” Pavel began before his jaw dropped. He nodded. “Right away, sir.”
Gianna had watched the exchange with a slight smile on her lips. Those eyes of hers, though. They wouldn’t miss anything. Every intricacy of my interaction with Pavel made their way into her calculations. If only I could see into that head of hers though that’d ruin the game.
“So you’re not the captain of your own ship?” Gianna teased, but with intent.
“It’s a lot of work, being captain.” I shrugged. “And Pavel takes his work seriously. He’s worth ten men for almost single-handedly running the ship. I’d rather enjoy the ride, and I already have a job.”
I motioned toward the steep staircase that curved up the starboard side. Gianna hesitated. Her eyes scanned the water around us. They remained on the shore a few hundred meters away. If she’d considered swimming for it, she gave the idea up quickly and stepped closer.
“A job in… finance, yes?” she asked. “Now that we’re alone and in private are you going to be straight with me? Tell me who you really are?”
“I guess.” My hand slipped into my pocket. I extended it, business card in hand. “Alexei Lebedev.”
She plucked the card from my fingers, avoiding any contact. Not sure why that had my smile faltering. Her eyes narrowed when she read it, her head tilted.
“Alexei Lebedev, Executive Vice President of the Bank of Sliema, Malta,” she read, not that seeing it in print would have made her believe it any more than if I’d spoken the words. Smart girl. “So what do you do for this ‘bank?’ Break legs? Collect protection money?”
“Nothing so barbaric.” I mocked offense as we reached the next deck of the yacht. I directed her to the steps to the next. “As executive vice president, I handle the issues of the bank’s most selective clientele.”
“A clientele that needs legs broken and protection money collected?” she asked, even more skeptically.
“I’m afraid the confidentiality agreements I’ve signed preclude me from divulging any information on my clientele,” I repeated the rote sentence.
“Yeah, you seem like such a stickler for rules,” she replied. “How many times have you said that verbatim to the cops?”
“Discussing that would break my NDAs,” I said, following her up the next level of stairs, up to the rear sun deck.
Pavel and Oleg moved the usual loungers to the sides, leaving a small table with two chairs right at the railing. A bottle of wine chilled next to the table with the setting sun and endless sky and sea on the far side.
Gianna frowned between me and the table. Her head shook.
“I should be offended, you know,” she said before snorting, “more offended than for the kidnapping, itself. What kind of woman do you think I am? Shuttling me off to your little yacht for a sunset dinner is your big pitch? You trying to buy me?”
“Little yacht?” I shook my head.
“I’ve seen bigger,” she shot back.
Her cheeks dusted red. Worked up as she’d gotten, her mask had slipped. Not much; she kept control, but enough for another entry in my intelligence file.
“And all this is prelude to my pitch.” I waved to the table. “Would you like some wine?”
She shook her head, blinking rapidly before turning to the chilling wine. A giggle escaped her lips.
“Rose? That’s a little girly, isn’t it?” she said, shaking her head. “I think I’ve had enough with men trying to give me drinks today, thank you very much.”
She was testing me, probing her opponent to learn how I’d react, hunting for weaknesses with insults and snide comments. A lot of guys had macho hang-ups, doubly so in my line of work, maybe even worse for her people. The Italians’ machismo was legendary.
For a moment, I considered a harsh reaction. If she thought I cared about any of that bullshit, she’d start down the wrong path. In this case, with my ultimate goal, that’d be counterproductive. I stuck to the truth.
“I’ll have you know this comes from my own winery in Tavel,” I replied before pulling the bottle from the silver chiller bucket to show her the label, “and rose goes best with our entree.”
“Kidnapper, pickpocket.” Gianna counted each on her fingers. “And now wine snob? It seems you have at least one good quality. Fine, I’ll have a glass, a small one.”
She sat at the table and kept her eyes on the horizon. The sun had half disappeared behind it by now. A layer of marine clouds splashed with pink hues in front of the orange sky. I couldn’t have timed it better. Nothing like the sunset on the water for a backdrop.
I dropped into the other chair and poured the wine. She glanced away from the sunset when I pushed her glass toward her. Narrow-eyed, she studied it but didn’t touch it. Only after I sipped mine did she pick the glass up.
Like a sommelier, she swirled the pink wine. Trails of liquid trickled back to the pool at the bottom of the glass. She sniffed it and swirled again. Finally, she took a sip, eyes narrowed in judgement.
“I’ve had better,” she replied, but she didn’t push the glass away. “What’s on the menu?”
“When you travel as much as I do, you find there are certain dishes that just can’t be reproduced the same way as the place that made them famous. The lahmacun in Istanbul, the bouillabaisse in Marseille,” I said right as the chef ascended the stairs behind Gianna, plates in hand. “Fernando here owns one of the finest restaurants in Rome. He let me persuade him to come cook his signature dish for us tonight instead, his cacio e pepe.”
“Anything for you, Mr. Lebedev,” Fernando said with a nod before setting the plates down.
“Shall we?” I asked when the chef retreated.