Page 71 of Dark Alliance
Connor
Cat mumbles in her sleep. Coos like a little dove. I’d like to stay and listen to those noises all night.
But work is work, and I’ve got a job to do.
I slip out from under the covers, rearrange the blankets beside her to mimic my body, and head for the window.
The wind howls against the side of the house, rattling the glass and shutters, so I’m quick. Last thing I need is Mother Nature waking Cat up and blowing my plans. I slide the window up just enough to grab my black duffel, where I have a change of clothes and the other paraphernalia necessary to accomplish the task that brough me into Cat’s life in the first place.
I change into a tight long-sleeve shirt, well-fitting jogger pants, and gloves. I need clothes that stretch with my strides and won’t snag on anything. And in black. For the sake of the mission, all black is key, including a balaclava.
Rory, Finn’s IT guy, helped me hack into the blueprints for the estate a few days ago.
I told him we needed to know the Ricci estate as if it were our own. Just in case Belinski and his crew attack once they learn that Russians are out because the Gallaghers are in.
No more free entry into the Blue Hook Port, no more cozy talks with the Ricci higher-ups. The Bratva won’t take kindly to these changes. They’ve been paving the road for New York domination on the backs of the Italians for weeks, maybe months. Something tells me they don’t like surprises.
With Brody nodding his agreement on every point like a good little brother, Rory broke into the plans, printed them, and distributed copies.
As a result, I now know exactly where they stashed the Bonasera diamond.
This is my best chance to get the gem and head home.
Cat stores a vault key inside a smutty book in her desk. It’s a primo spot, as most people wouldn’t think to inspect her trashy paperbacks for treasure. Most wouldn’t consider that she’d hide a key like that practically in plain sight either.
Of course, most people also haven’t bugged her room and monitored her every move for two weeks.
Changed, weaponed up, and with the mask sitting like a cap on top of my head, I go to Cat’s desk and inch the middle drawer open. Next to her SIG 9mm—a fine little lady gun—I recognize the novel immediately, though I’ve never read the title.
I pull out the book and squint.Let’s Talk About Rex.
I’m guessing the bare-chested douche on the front with the eight-pack is Rex.
I kind of want to rip the cover off and bury it in the snow.
What the hell? Am I…jealous of a fictional character because Cat’s gotten off to him?
That’s a thought for another day.
I’m not judging Cat, of course. I imagine this is her form of escapism, similar to scrolling social media, binging reality TV, or playing pickleball. Her way of combatting the monotony of life.
I find the key tucked into the middle of the book. Nabbing it, I replace the book and spin to go.
Except I can’t help gazing at her one last time.
She’s adorable in that flimsy, off-the-shoulder t-shirt she somehow considers acceptable nightwear. A piece of her hair keeps catching her breath as she exhales. I’m waiting for her to swat it in her sleep. Though the sight causes my nose to itch, she doesn’t seem to mind the feather-like distraction.
She’s soft when she’s sleeping, her face younger and free of worry. Gentler. I’m flooded with the urge to crawl back into that bed.
I’ve been fighting many such urges since I met her. What man wouldn’t be?
She’s beautiful, brilliant, and full of surprises.
The more pressure I exert, the less she gives in, and I enjoy the game probably a little too much. The push and pull we engage in lights me up like the Times Square Christmas tree.
Dangerous, I know.
If I steal this diamond for Declan, I’ll probably never see her again.
