The cameras had caught the young girls as they stood around, talking in low, animated whispers while the teachers with them, guided them to and from the hall, where the play had been staged. At one point, a few young women, all in their distinctive uniforms, had been led to the restrooms by a teacher. O’Grady and St. Just had one of their techs go through the footage. The man had pointed out the obvious; seven girls accompanied by a chaperone had entered the restrooms. Only six of the students had stepped out.
The chaperone had vanished too.
O’Grady swore. He knew that Cahill’s people were behind it-no great guesses needed for that one. Cahill had a grouse, a bone to pick with O’Grady who had killed Simmons. So, he had chosen to target the weak link in O’Grady’s life. The lovely young Pet. Not directly. They had tried that and only ended up killing an unfortunate innocent.
Consequently, he had gone for the next best thing.
He had targeted Bianca’s sister.
St Just looked at his phone.
He had been at the kink club he frequented. Somehow, the charm of flogging a girl and making her obey him seemed to have vanished.
Even after subjecting the girl to all kinds of violence, St Just had been unable to come.
Bleakly, he realised that he only cared to be with young Bianca. She had spoilt him for other women. When he looked at the brunette, he had chosen earlier in the day to subjugate, he had seen that she was eager for play but there had been a wordiness in the girl’s eyes and he had lost the desire to take her.
Strangely, he wanted just Bianca.
The f*ck was happening to him?
He roused himself. His brother was on the phone, talking to Claude Delano.
“Delano, I needed help…”
He did not hear the reply but the look on his brother’s face hinted at some problem. “What’s up?” snarled St Just as his brother flicked open his second phone abruptly.
‘He’s leaving for Europe, Bratva business,” snapped O’Grady, sweating heavily as he knew that time was running out.
“He’s asked me to speak to his elder brother, the dude who runs the mob now. Piers Delano.”
Bianca was almost in tears. Beth had been dropped off at the apartment too, on O’Grady’s instructions. One look at her pretty strawberry-blonde sister made Bianca hold out her arms and the sisters clung to each other. Beth sobbed,
“She was having cramps, Bee. That’s why… she had to go a second time…” And then Beth wailed, “I should have gone with her!”
Bianca led her sobbing sister to the couch and Sylvie appeared, enfolding the young girl in her arms saying,
“Ah, babe…”
Between them, they were able to calm the near-hysterical Beth. But Bianca gazed out of the window, her eyes wide in apprehension. Where was poor Anna?
Would O’Grady be able to bring her back safely?
The headquarters of the Delano mob was in a building that looked like a financial establishment.
They were met at the doors by a burly man who escorted them to the upper floors.
Although it was past eleven at night, the place still buzzed with activity, a low-key kind of energy running through the entire place. Walking along the heavily carpeted corridors, the two men were led into a large office.
A man sat behind the desk, slim and elegant, a cigarette in his hand. The overhead light from the lamp above his desk fell on his face. He was beautiful, thought O’Grady, with the face of an angel. Long lashed grey-blue eyes, narrowing speculatively as they watched the two brothers’ approach, a firm mouth and the trade mark blonde hair as the man cooly assessed them.
No doubt, this was Lucien Delano’s oldest offspring. A man to be reckoned with. He nodded and indicted the chairs in front of him.
“How can I help you, gentlemen?” he spoke, his voice almost a replica of the great Don’s baritone.
A shape materialised from behind him, someone who had been so skilfully blending into the background, that neither O’Grady nor St Just had noticed her.
A woman stepped up, her blunt, fingers resting lightly on Piers Delano’s shoulder and O’Grady felt a sliver of apprehension as he looked into the hard black eyes of the slim woman, her short cap of black hair moulding her skull.
With a firm mouth, she looked dangerous and O’Grady knew he was looking into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer.
Hila Ziadi. The deadly Israeli assassin. The one they called the Ghost.
Piers Delano moved back, his fingers steepled, amusement flickering lightly across the wide, sensual mouth. Yes, he had inherited that from his gorgeous mother, thought St Just.
“Is it to do with Cahill? And your mistress’ sister?” he asked, his voice flat, emotionless.
Piers Delano was not a man who wasted time in platitudes.
O’Grady nodded, clearing his throat uneasily as his eyes flickered again to meet the unwavering gaze of Hila Zaidi.
He explained in short, terse sentences, what had happened to Bianca’s sister.
Piers Delano said little. Another man had entered the room. A big, hulking Latino, his hair tied back in a ponytail.
“My Underboss, Philippe will help you track her,” said Piers after he had listened carefully, his eyes moving between the two brothers.
The finality in his voice suggested that they should leave.
The man named Philippe stepped forward, his handsome face, with a long scar on one side, and nodded, “Come with me.”
As they walked to eh door O’Grady could not resist looking back.
Piers Delano was regarding him steadily and Hila Zaidi, who had said nothing, was stroking her husband’s sleeve as she bent to say something to him.
The Mafia Boss and his Wife. A formidable pair, aright.
Such an intimate gesture, thought Liam O’Grady, so much love, in that one touch.
And all of a sudden, he knew that once this whole thing was over, he was going to get Bianca Cruz a ring and make her theirs, formally, ambitions be damned.