Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Eight
Bexley

I woke up alone in a warm bed, then hastily washed and dressed to search for my husbands. There they were around the huge kitchen table, sitting with Emilio, Uncle Ted, and a man I hadn’t seen in ages, Uncle Ulrich. The battle-scarred grump glanced up at me and nodded once in acknowledgement, his mouth too full to speak. The smell of eggs and bacon caused my stomach to rumble, letting me know just how hungry I was.

“Good morning, Mrs Wolfe,” Cruz greeted me, leaning up for a kiss.

Asher, Dominic, and Braxton all craved the same intimacy, passing me around like a cuddly toy.

Ulrich rolled his eyes and flicked his gaze to Teddy.

“Let the woman eat,” Uncle Teddy said, motioning for me to sit. “We have a lot of planning to do.”

I filled my plate with toasted bread, bacon, sausages, and scrambled eggs, then set to work on devouring it. Asher poured some fresh coffee into a mug and placed it beside me. Cruz returned to the newspaper he and Braxton were reading, scanning his eyes across the headlines. Braxton scowled at the article, his face reddening with outrage.

“Congratulations, guys, we just made the top of the most wanted terrorists list,” he fumed.

Suddenly, I didn’t feel so hungry. My throat refused to swallow the mouthful I was chewing, so I nudged the scrambled egg with my fork, pushing it around my plate.

How were we ever going to get out of this mess?

“We knew they would pull this shit. There's corruption in the chain of command, and they know we're capable of bringing them down. We have them backed into a corner and this is their desperate reaction. I'm not losing any sleep over it and neither should you. How about we do something useful and go over tomorrow’s plan?” Asher asserted. “The Secretary of State will be present at the ball; Dad wants us to plant a bug on him, so he and Uncle Zane can hear what they’re planning next.”

Ulrich produced three tickets from an envelope and handed them to Dominic.

Asher glanced at them and continued, “So, here’s the plan. Bexley will accompany Emilio to the ball.”

Emilio looked surprised about that.

“You’ll both be wearing masks, so no one will recognise you. It’s too much of a risk for you to be seen with us,” Asher explained. “They’ll be expecting that.

Braxton will pose as a masked waiter. Cruz will dress as a member of their security team, and will be on standby in case we need a diversion. I’m taking the place of Count Graff, who is currently indisposed thanks to Dad and his questionable connections in the Maldives. We don’t have to worry about him ratting us out because he’s not leaving the island anytime soon. Don't worry, Bexley," he assured, noticing my concerned frown. "They won't recognise us thanks to the art of prosthetics.”

“And where will Dominic be?” I probed further.

Dominic’s eyes sparkled with mischievous intent. “I’ll be controlling everything from the nerve centre with Ted, making sure it all runs smoothly. Uncle Ulric is your chauffeur.”

I massaged my temples to mitigate the pounding pressure in my head. This was dangerous, but what other choice did we have?

“How are we going to plant the bug? We’d need to get close, and that’s such a huge risk. What if they do recognise us?” I questioned, voicing my fears aloud. “I’m not comfortable with dragging Emilio into this. I’ll compromise his safety, and I’m not okay with that.”

Emilio grinned as he forced down a mouthful of coffee. “I appreciate your concern, senora, but I’m a big boy. This isn’t my first rodeo, you know?”

His admission made my husbands and Uncle Teddy chortle. Here was me being all noble and protective, yet they somehow manage to swing it around so that I was the one who needed protecting. I guess I’ll just need to prove my worth to them, then they would see just how wrong they all are.

“Don’t send a man to do a woman’s job,” I spoke out, realising what needed to be done. “If you think I’m attending the ball as a piece of arm candy, you’re gravely mistaken. I’ll plant the bug.” I shrugged.

Asher’s eyes twitched with intrigue. “How would you manage that?”

“It’s a masquerade ball,” I uttered with sarcasm, lowering the pitch of my voice. “People drink, dance, and mingle, do they not? It’s amazing what a little drunken flirting can do; not that I’ll be intoxicated because I’ll need a clear head. But hands can roam . . . especially into pockets . . . providing his costume has one; if all else fails, I’ll improvise. I will find some way to distract him, pickpocket his phone, then attach the bug, and sneak it back before he notices.”

My men released nervous exhales all around.

“Are you sure?” Asher checked.

I couldn’t afford to doubt myself. We had one chance to find out what we were up against, who the traitor was, and their connection to the Chameleon. Too much was at stake.

“Yes,” I replied. “I’m ready to do this.”

“Good,” Braxton responded, scrubbing a hand over his face. His stubble was starting to poke through his skin, casting a dark shadow across his jawline.

I listened as the boys relayed their recent experiences, trying hard not to laugh at Dominic who went into great detail, or Braxton who shuddered at his encounter with a much older woman. These were stories that I couldn’t wait to tell my grandchildren, and it was that positive mindset that made it seem worthwhile. Bugging the Secretary was just a pitstop in our plans, but it would enable us to stay one step ahead of the authorities. If the European leaders had been cohered into believing a web of lies, we can only assume they’d hired mercenaries to hunt us down.

After breakfast, the boys gave me the space and freedom to roam the vineyard alone. With my bare feet on the warm, yellowing grass, it enabled me to find anchorage among all the instability. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves, lifting my hair around my shoulders. I sucked in a lungful of nature and exhaled the fears from my thoughts. It was like standing on a cliff edge, preparing to jump, but not knowing what to expect as I reached the bottom.

“Hey . . . is everything alright? You’ve been out here for hours,” Asher alerted me to his presence after I’d lost track of time.

My mind snapped back to the present and the daydream faded.

“I’ve been raking over all the clues over and over in my head, trying to piece them all together,” I told him, turning my gaze back to the open fields.

Dominic loped over the parched lawn, followed by Cruz and Braxton. I began a slow stroll down to the stream, allowing them the chance to catch up to us.

“Me too,” Asher confided. “I have no doubt that aunt Safi was trying to send us a message, maybe even a warning.”

The others caught up to us at this point, keeping in step with us.

“What’s up?” Braxton asked.

“We we’re just going over the clues and trying to make sense of them,” I informed them all, keeping them up to speed. “It’s no coincidence that Mum chose places with the name ‘Sofia’ in them. She was referring to herself. Asher and I discussed something when we were searching the art museum. We think the church symbolised a desecration of faith, trust, or a betrayal of something sacred. The doll represented a child, maybe the illegitimate child theory, or a deceased infant. We’re still on the fence about that. The garden represented a female spy. The art symbolized a game of chance, and that two similar artists diverged onto separate paths. I’m inclined to think that Mum was betrayed by someone she considered a friend and a close personal ally. Maybe they had the same goals, but went their separate ways. Mum wanted to protect the information, and the other wanted to use it for other purposes.”

We stopped several feet from the lazy stream and took a moment to absorb that theory.

“What if, whoever it is, knows how to crack the code, but never knew where Safi hid the flash drives?” Dominic commented.

Asher exhaled a shaky breath, his face draining of colour. “The Chameleon killed Aunt Safi. That must be the ally-turned-traitor. But who could they be? Our fathers have been trying to track he or she down for years. They devoted their lives to hunting him or her down. If it’s someone they know, they would have told us.”

“Unless they didn’t know,” I added, thinking outside of the box. “What if they assumed that person was dead? A chameleon can blend in as good as a ghost.”

The fragmented pieces of what I thought to be an impossible jigsaw slotted together in my mind. I had tried everything, lost countless nights’ sleep going over it. But the answer had been staring us right in the face the entire time.

“Spain,” I checked each country off on my fingers. “Ukraine . . . Sweden . . . Austria . . . Norway. My mother did reveal the identity of her killer.”

I watched through teary eyes as the horrific news contorted their faces with horror.