LUCIEN

 

BY WAY OF a very light jet, we reach the Sicilian coast after about an hour in the air.  Add in another half-hour or so of driving, and we finally arrive at a small restaurant in Syracuse.  I choose a secluded table on the second-story terrace overlooking the sea and mainland, waiting for the man I'm meeting.

My driver, who is also serving as my pilot and bodyguard for the day, is somewhere close by, but remains unseen by even myself.  There's a reason that Jackson and I call him Wraith.  He's like a fucking ghost, managing to blend in with his surroundings so well that it's easy to forget he's even there.

I stare at the linen napkin-wrapped silverware and two glasses of water that the waiter just filled and cringe.  Even though I always meet Mr. Wepner at a restaurant, he's the only one out of the two of us who ever eats or drinks.

Sighing, I check my watch.  I'm early, of course, but I can't wait for this meeting to be over.  I haven't left the island since Adeline arrived, and I feel anxious about the whole damn thing.

I had to force myself to leave my sleeping beauty.  She looked so damn peaceful and angelic this morning that I almost cancelled my meeting.

That girl does something to me that I can't explain.  It's like I can't get enough of her.  Even when she's right beside me, I miss her.

And now that we're separated by land and sea at the moment, I crave her with an intensity I never felt before in my entire life.

Some people would call it love.  Some would call it obsession.

I have no label to put on what I feel for her, because no words would ever be able to describe how deep my feelings go or how she makes me feel.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I'm quick to retrieve it.  I left specific instructions to Jax to inform me of anything that happens and to keep me updated on Adeline.

Even though I wanted more of a minute-by-minute breakdown of her day today and her whereabouts, Jax clearly thought I would be okay with only updating me now.

I enter the lock code on my phone and frown.  My eyes scan over the text from Jax, and I hold back a growl.

Adeline isn't coping well with your absence, but don't worry.  I'm taking good care of her. ;)

Leave it to Jax to instantly piss me off with just a couple of sentences and a fucking winking emoji.

"Jax and his damn emojis," I grumble under my breath.  I swear he overuses them more than a teenage girl.

Moving my fingers across the keyboard, I type out a quick and angry response that I'll be home as soon as I can and to keep her safe…while keeping his hands to himself if he still wants to have hands when I return.

The last thing I need during this meeting is to not have my head in the right space.  And I'm already feeling the distraction just from that text, wondering what's going on with Adeline and why she's upset.

And it's that very distraction that has me not noticing the man coming towards me.

"Hello, Mr. Wolf," says a voice, breaking me out of my reverie.

My frown deepens as I stare up at the man standing a few inches from my table.  I'm mad at myself that I didn't even hear or see him approach.

It's not even safe for me to be seen in public, let alone letting my guard down and allowing people to sneak up on me.

At this moment I'm glad this is a planned meeting, because, fuck, I could be dead by now.

And who would take care of Adeline then?

Pushing that thought, and any thoughts about Adeline really, to the side, I stand and greet Mr. Wepner with a nod.

We've met several times before this day, but always on his turf — U.S. soil.  This is the first time that I've asked him to travel to see me.  And even though I feel uneasy about meeting so close to the island I'm currently residing on, I didn't want to take any more time from Adeline than what was absolutely necessary.

Henry Wepner is tall with gray hair and matching eyes.  He's wearing a casual suit, no tie with the top two buttons of his dress shirt undone.  He looks like a regular tourist or someone here on business.

When he holds out his hand, I stare at it, not returning the gesture and keeping my hands safe in my pockets.

After a few seconds of letting his hand hang in the air, he withdraws it and nervously chuckles.  "That's right.  I always forget.  You don't do handshakes."

I flash him a smirk as we both have a seat. 

"You know, I had a friend like you back in college," he remarks.

I want to roll my eyes, but I suppress the urge.  I've had many people tell me about a friend who cleans a little too much or an uncle who has to have his pens lined up on his desk just so…but none of them have ever compared to me or my eccentricities.

Consider me a unique, little fucking snowflake.

Wepner is quick to grab the menu on the table.  His gray eyes scan and squint, trying to decipher the Italian.

I'm not sure if the man across from me speaks any other languages.  I only know him on a business level and a need-to-know basis.

I first got in contact with Wepner over a decade ago when he was just starting fresh in the FBI.  He was younger then and eager to get any leads on any cases he could get his hands on, wanting promotions and bragging rights.

I happily supplied him with information on criminals, and he happily brought them down.  One by one.

We have a common goal him and I — make the bad people pay for their crimes.

And what do I get out of our little arrangement?  With all of my hard work in presenting criminals to him on a silver fucking platter, he turns the other way on my methods of doing so…and all my other non-law-abiding methods of how I make my own fortune.

With the crimes I've committed to get the information that I've given him and to live the lifestyle I currently do, Wepner could easily have me arrested and locked up for the rest of my life.

So our relationship has been tit-for-tat, so to speak, over the last several years.

I also sell codes and computer software to the government, codes that even their greatest hackers can't come up with.  They've tried to recruit the best of the best over the years, but none of them have compared to me.

And in exchange for the government not bringing me in and locking me up…or forcing me to do their dirty work in-house, I provide them with all the information they need to take the biggest fish in the underbelly of the world out.

Agent Wepner continues to scan his menu as he asks, "So why did you want this meeting here instead of in the States?"

"Don't tell me you don't enjoy billing the government for an all-expense paid trip to Sicily."

He chuckles, nods and takes a sip of his water that's been sitting at this table for exactly twenty-three minutes.  "Sure, sure.  But just so you know, you're paying for my lunch."

"Like always," I remark, grinding my teeth as I stare at the glass of water in front of me.  I haven't even attempted to touch the liquid that must be pooling with all sorts of germs and dead skin cells, fibers and maybe even hair.

Just the thought makes my stomach roll, but I force myself to focus on something else while simultaneously fighting the urge to start counting something, anything to get rid of the dark thoughts clouding my mind.

Fuck, I need to just breathe.

And so I do.  I take a calming breath, and then I take another.  I think about Adeline, her beautiful face and instead fixate on when I will get to see her again.

It's an instant calming sensation that washes over me, and I'm truly beginning to believe that she is the cure for all that ails me.

The man across from me doesn't seem to notice my mini mental breakdown, as he's too busy looking at the menu, no doubt looking for the most expensive thing he can order.

Clearing my throat, I tell him the name that has been rolling around on my tongue for weeks now.  "Salvatore Valenti."

Wepner's brows shoot up as he looks at me over top of the tri-fold, laminated menu.  "I'm listening," he says cautiously.

"I have enough information to bring down his entire empire including his right-hand man —."

I don't even get to finish my thought before Wepner whispers, "Giovanni Morello."

The waiter appears then, and we both fall silent.  Wepner orders the swordfish with a blood orange and fennel salad.

When the waiter looks to me, I tell him in Italian that I'm not hungry, but I will take a bottle of his most expensive wine.  That seems to please the young man, and he smiles before taking the menus off the table and leaving to go downstairs to put the order in.

"So you bring down powerful crime syndicates and speak Italian.  Is there anything you can't do?" Wepner asks with a hint of sarcasm.

"Shake a man's hand apparently," I tell him with a slight grin, which causes the agent to belt out a hearty, deep laugh.

"I think that's the first time you've ever told me something funny…or ever smiled, for that matter."  His fingertip and thumb caresses his chin as he studies me for a moment with narrowed eyes.  "There's only one explanation for that," he states.  "Do you have a new lady in your life?"

I school my features, but keep the smirk on my face.  "Women are trouble," I tell him nonchalantly, neither answering nor denying his question. 

"You got that right!" he says, letting out another chuckle.

The less Agent Wepner knows about me, the better.  And I'll never tell him I have the daughter of the man I'm planning on destroying.

A few moments later, the waiter returns with the wine and pours two glasses.  I stare at the glass in front of me and grimace.  A few thousand dollars down the tube, and I can't even take one sip.

But I enjoy watching Wepner gulp the expensive liquid down with no problem whatsoever.  "I'm not much of a connoisseur or anything. But I know when something's good, and that's damn good wine," he remarks.  After draining the glass, he sets it down and asks, "Why now?"

I raise a brow, silently asking him to explain.

"You know we've been after Valenti for quite some time, but you were never willing to give me the information before.  So…why now?"

His question is, of course, valid and reasonable, but I have no interest in telling him the truth.  The truth involves Adeline and keeping her safe; however, she's innocent and doesn't belong in the middle of this.  So instead, I answer him by saying, "I was trying to collect as much as I could."  Then I add, "And now I'm done."

He slowly nods in understanding, but I'm not sure if he actually believes me.  Either way, it's not like he can doubt me on anything really.  Hell, Wepner doesn't even know my real name.  That's why he refers to me as Mr. Wolf.

The Big Bad Wolf.

That is my code name on the dark web.  It's also the name I use for all my business transactions, legal and otherwise.  I use the alias because Mr. Wolf doesn't exist.  And neither do I technically.  Years ago, I eradicated any existence of Lucien Morrow when I hired one of the greatest hackers alive.

Lucien Morrow was a scared, little boy, the victim of abuse.  I refused to be a victim after my uncle saved me from my own personal hell.

And after my hacker friend and I were done eliminating my former self, I hired him to teach me everything he knew.  We spent many days, weeks, months working on code after code, hack after hack until I learned every possible thing he could instill upon me.  And then, once the student eventually became the teacher, we parted ways.

Eventually, I wanted a new identity, one that I could be proud to be associated with.  My uncle's last name was the only clear choice, and so I became Lucien Sterling, for all intents and purposes, to my closest friends and allies, which happen to be very few and far between.

Reaching down to the briefcase in my lap, I snap open the latches and retrieve a thick set of folders.  I set them on the table between us and close the briefcase.

Wepner pulls his eyeglasses from his shirt pocket and slips them on his face before he grabs the first folder and flips through the pages.  A low whistle escapes his lips as his eyes greedily peruse the file.  "You know, even my best agents don't compile data like you.  It really is a work of art."  He gathers another folder and then another, looking through the evidence that took me a lot of time to gather.  "You ever think of working for the good guys?" he asks, eying me over the rim of his glasses.

"Then who would you get all your information from?" I ask him with a small smile.

He snorts.  "You got me there.  I definitely need someone on the outside looking in like you, Mr. Wolf."

The waiter brings the salad and the swordfish just then, and Wepner sets the folders aside and tucks his glasses back into his pocket.

When we're alone again, I stand and grip the briefcase in my hand.  "Well, I really must be going, Agent Wepner.  I'll settle the bill downstairs on my way out.  Enjoy your meal."

"One more thing before you go…" he says, causing me to pause by the table and meet his stare.  "Word on the street is that Valenti's youngest daughter, Adeline, is missing," he tells me slowly, letting the words and their meaning hang in the air for a few moments.

I give him a small smile and tell him, "Now, I wouldn't know anything about that," before walking away.