Victoria

We are still snuggled beneath the blankets when I’m startled by the sound of the landing gear being lowered beneath us. “Oh, I think I’m going to be sore,” I mumble while hastily getting my thong back into place before slipping on my shorts.

“You were an animal.” He stretches, cracking his neck before retrieving his clothes from the floor. “I hope you got all your emotions worked out, because Old Duke here is going to need a little down time.”

“Old Duke? That’s funny. Sounds like a good name for a sad looking bloodhound.”

“Well, he’s open for renaming if you get the urge,” he says, tucking him into his briefs. “He prefers something manly though.”

“So is Old Duke is a tribute to John Wayne or something?” I ask, knowing how guys think.

“Maybe,” he quips, pulling on his pants and shirt. “By the way, he wants to thank you for the best flight ever. Now, I can honestly claim Mile High Club status. I never wanted to attempt doing something like that in one of those little bathrooms.”

“Me either, but I think I’m going to have to avoid shorts and summer dresses for a few days,” I reply, noticing the carpet burns on my knees. “It was worth it though.” I wiggle my eyebrows and blow him a kiss.

“Yeah, skin abrasions are a small price to pay for multiple orgasms.” He smirks before taking a seat for landing. “Come sit down. Who knows how rough the landing will be.”

I like the fact that those types of things concern him. I don’t think I’ve ever had a boyfriend who has looked out for me. Usually, it was me trying to keep them out of trouble. After a few minutes of reflecting on the most erotic flight ever, we touch down. It was just like any other landing as the sound of the tires screeching against the pavement is followed by the brakes being applied. We don’t stop quite as quickly, but it’s smooth nonetheless. Shortly after coming to a stop, the co-pilot shows up to retrieve us. “It’s strange not having any windows,” I admit as he leads us back through the narrow corridor. “I was starting to get a little claustrophobic.”

“Yeah, that and it gets pretty damn cold in here too.” He glances back at us. “The produce is supposed to stay between forty-three and forty-eight.”

“We managed to stay warm,” Devon quips, clearing his throat for effect.

The co-pilot doesn’t say anything in return but simply flashes a grin as he stops and directs us to take the stairs down to the tarmac. “You’ll need to go through those doors right ahead, marked USDA and Customs. They’ll scan your bag to make sure you don’t have any fruit or vegetables in there.”

“Okay, we should be good,” I reply with a smile. Just a small vial of neurotoxin as well as the antidote flashes through my mind, but I wisely keep my mouth shut. Of course, if my family can get an entire load of cocaine through customs, anything is possible. As we walk through the doors, I take the bag from Devon and hand it, along with my purse, to the scanner attendant. He barely gives them a glance as they move up the conveyor and through the x-ray machine.

“Okay, just show your passport to the TSA agent and you’re good to go,” he says, sounding like he could use a strong cup of coffee.

“Antonio told me to keep an eye out for you,” the agent says after seeing the name on my passport. “Flight 848 went down about ten minutes after departure. Everyone was lost,” he says with a solemn expression. “He thought that you should know.”

An enormous lump forms instantly in my throat, and I can’t even breathe, much less talk. “Thank you for letting us know. We’ll touch base with him and let him know we arrived safely,” Devon replies, seeing that I’m momentarily in distress. “How many people were on the flight?”

“Initial reports are that five crew members and one hundred and twenty-seven passengers were onboard. It looks to be a complete loss,” he adds with a grimace, handing our passports back to us and sending us through the gate.

I can’t even form a coherent sentence for the first thirty steps. I stop at a group of open chairs, not even able to figure out where we are supposed to exit this place. I remember Grandpa saying something about a helicopter to LaGuardia, but other than that . . . “I can’t believe he tried to kill us,” I finally say out loud, honestly unable to even comprehend it.

“We don’t know any of the details yet, so we can’t be sure.” Devon takes a seat and wraps his arm around me, offering consolation. He lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry, but I’m not very good at this.”

“Who is?” I can’t imagine that there is much that anyone could say to ease the pain of knowing that your own father just tried to kill you. “There really is nothing to say.”

“I do want you to know that in spite of the fact that I’ve been in more danger in the past ten days than the rest of my life combined, I still can’t walk away,” he says, his jaw clenched in an expression of steely resolve that makes me want to believe him. “No one has ever grabbed ahold of me like this. It’s kind of fucked up, actually.”

“Believe me, we’re both out of our comfort zone here,” I reply before pausing to consider my words. “Now that’s fucked up. The fact that I consider having true feelings for someone as outside of my comfort zone.”

“All that matters is that I totally get it,” he says, pushing the hair away from my face. “But starting now, you and I are going to take control of things. No more fucking around, leaving things to chance.” He pulls his phone from his pocket. “I booked us a room at the Refinery Hotel before we left the plantation. It’s about ten minutes from The Syndicate’s offices. Also, I was reading that Blade has a helipad about fifteen minutes from there, so I downloaded the app.” He clicks on it and pulls up a screen that looks similar to Uber. “There is a ride about twelve minutes away, so I’m going to request it.”

“You kept your phone?” My eyes about bug out of my head. “Grandpa told us specifically to leave them behind.”

“Why the fuck would I ditch my phone? Neither your dad or anyone else at The Syndicate even knows my personal number,” he replies incredulously.

“Are you shitting me? You still don’t understand The Syndicate.” I shake my head in disbelief. “Now they know we’re here. Fuck!” I have to resist the urge to slap him upside the head. I know he isn’t savvy when it comes to technology, but I told him how easy they are to replace if they are backed up. “Download the Blade app onto the phone Grandpa gave you, and then we are going to smash your phone and destroy the SIM card. I just pray that somehow, they haven’t already tracked us. Otherwise, we probably won’t even make it out of here alive.” The death glare I give him makes him realize that I’m deadly serious. “Power down your phone, and I won’t smash it until you’re logged into Blade on the other one.”

He presses the power button and pulls the other phone from his pocket. “Well, Antonio will definitely be tracking us with these,” he scoffs. “You do realize that he is every bit as controlling and dangerous as your dad, right?”

“Yes, but right now, he’s holding the keys to your future, as well as mine.” I take his iPhone from him. “So for the moment, we’re going to have to trust him and do what he says.”

I can tell by the expression on his face that he’s not happy about the situation, but we’re going to have to follow through with the plan if we’re going to have any chance of gaining control. Despite the fact that we were naked the entire trip back, I still had plenty of time to figure out how I want to approach Dad. The fact that he blew up the plane that we were supposed to be on has only solidified my thinking. I’m not going to try get close to him. I’m going to get ahold of a couple of those tranquilizer guns. I would much rather be able to deal with him from thirty meters away.

Devon

Since I just set up my Blade account, I actually remember my username and password, so within a few minutes, I have it working on the burner phone. “Go ahead and smash my phone, but everything had better be backed up like you said it was.” I give her the same glare that she gave me a few minutes ago. “If I lose any of my contacts, you’ll be the one with red marks all over your neck.”

“Promises, promises.” She slips off the protective case and gives me a sexy wink before slamming my phone to the hard tile floor. The screen shatters with bits of glass spreading in all directions. “Score!” she says, picking up my phone, handing me the aluminum back, and pulling the SIM card from inside. “I’ll be right back.”

“The helicopter is going to be here in ten minutes,” I remind her. I’m not even sure where they are going to pick us up. It’s hard to find shit on this little old iPhone. It must be a five or even older.

“Okay, you have officially been sent into the Newark sewage system, so let’s get out of here before this whole fucking building blows up.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a credit card. “I want you to use this one to pay for the flight, the hotel, and anything else. It draws from an offshore account that’s setup in an LLC that’s domiciled in Bermuda. No one knows about it.”

“Impressive. I never thought I would need such a thing.” I examine the card, which appears to be a standard-issue credit card. “Who is Melinda Severson?”

“That’s the name of the LLC. Melinda Severson, LLC,” she says with a grin. “She’s an enterprising young woman who has a thriving online business. I pick up her mail a couple of times a week at the UPS Store on East 51^st. We should be able to catch a shuttle to the helipad at the customer service desk up here on the left.”

I have been thinking that I had met my match, but as we get on the shuttle to meet our chopper, I’m starting to think that I’ve outkicked my coverage. It’s a phrase my old man always uses when he sees a beautiful woman who is married to a dork. As far as looks and sexual chemistry are concerned, I think we’re a perfect match, but beyond that, I’m afraid I’m at a disadvantage. A Harvard attorney who graduated at the top of her class and was raised by Victor Riccolo is definitely in a league of her own to begin with. But now I find out she is running online businesses using aliases and having the money diverted to off-shore accounts. “What other surprises do you have in store for me?” I ask as we pull up to the helipad.

“You and I are going to make a talented team,” she says, patting me on the arm. “You have your strengths and I have mine. I grew up trying to hide things from my father. It didn’t take long to realize that I had to be pretty damn creative to get away with anything. But, I eventually figured it out.”

“Your name is Victoria though . . . right?” I ask facetiously. “I’ll put up with some bullshit, but I won’t go into business or anything else with someone I can’t fully trust.”

“I assure you, I am Victoria Lynn Riccolo, the only daughter of Victor, and apparently, the current target of his omnipotent Syndicate,” she says, pulling at my arm. “Trust me. You might be on the verge of being one of the most powerful men in the world. Besides, I haven’t gotten you killed yet, have I?”

“No, but you just killed my cellphone and flushed my SIM card down the toilet.” Before she can respond, I hand our shuttle driver a twenty and take her hand, leading her over to the waiting helicopter. “I trust you!” I yell over the whirl of the helicopter blades. She smiles and gives me a nod before climbing aboard the helicopter. In fewer than ten minutes, we will be in mid-town.

* * *

A Few Hours Later

After sharing a Greek salad and grilled shrimp, we head up to the rooftop bar for cocktails and dessert. It’s a beautiful night in the city and the views are amazing from up here. “I keep fighting the urge to call Dad,” she says, still clutching the iPhone that Antonio gave her. She hasn’t used it yet, except to let him know that we made it okay. We checked into the hotel under Melinda Severson, and so far, neither of us has run into anyone that we recognize. I chose this hotel completely at random, so I can’t imagine anyone could find us here.

After ordering a couple of Manhattans in honor of the city, Victoria leans in and whispers, “I’ve got a plan for how we’re going to get to Dad.” I see the first twinkle in her eyes since finding out that our plane had been blown up. “I’m not going to try to poison him.”

“Whew.” I breathe out a sigh of relief. “My concern was that you would end up poisoning yourself or both of us with that crap. You can’t inhale it or get it on your skin.”

“There’s an antidote,” she replies, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, there was an antidote for the one that killed your grandfather’s partner too,” I reply with an equally smug look. “We don’t even know for sure what that stuff is.”

“It doesn’t matter at this point.” She abruptly snubs the topic. “I’m going to shoot him with one of those tranquilizer guns. Where do you think we could get a few of those on short notice?”

“That’s a good question.” I laugh at the thought. “How soon do you need them?”

“By tomorrow afternoon.” She tilts her head and takes a sip of her drink. “Mmm, these are really good.” I love the way she is able to just move past something like where to acquire tranquilizer guns in the next eighteen hours as if it’s part of normal conversation.

“I would think a hunting store might have them. Are there hunting stores in Manhattan?” I ask, finding it a bit odd that there would be.

“Well, I know there are gun shops,” she replies with a shrug. “That would be the place to start, I guess.” She does a Google search, pulling up several shops in the area. “They’re all closed now, but we’ll call them first thing in the morning.”

“And then you’re going to show up at your dad’s office with a tranquilizer gun?” I tease, acting like it’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard.

“Well, I don’t want to shoot him with a gun.” She holds up one finger. “I don’t want to get close enough to poison him.” Finger number two. “And he’d be pissed as hell if I used a taser on him, so I think it’s perfect.” She shrugs, taking another sip from her glass.

“Okay, and how do you get within thirty meters without him noticing you?” I ask, wondering if she has really thought this through.

“That’s why we need them by tomorrow afternoon,” she replies excitedly. “I have watched Dad for years and he does nothing routinely. He eats lunch at random times and at random places, and he keeps a very flexible schedule so that no one truly knows where he will be at any given time. With the meetings coming up, it’s going to be even harder to pin him down. But there is one thing that he does religiously, and that’s get his hair cut. He always leaves the office at four thirty and has a five o’clock appointment at the same barber shop on the corner of 35^th and 5^th.”

“That’s not very far from here,” I reply, thinking that maybe our luck is turning for the better.

“Yeah, that’s why when you said we were staying here, it kind of triggered my thoughts.” She wiggles her eyebrows and smiles.

“Like the universe telling you it’s a good plan,” I wiggle mine back at her.

“Anyway, there is a coffee shop right below the barber shop. I used to go in there while Dad was getting his hair cut. It’s one of those where you go down the concrete steps to get to it,” she explains, using her hands. “So I was thinking we could hang out down there, and when his limo shows up, we could come up the steps and we would have a clear shot before they even noticed us.”

“And we’re going to shoot him with a tranquilizer,” I confirm, still not feeling it.

“Actually, he will have three bodyguards with him. One driver and two others,” she explains, using a napkin on the table to simulate the car. “The guy in the back will get out and come around, opening the door for him. At the same time, the guy on the front passenger side will come around the front of the car. After they both do their scan up and down the street, the front guy will nod to the back guy, who will then open the rear door, cuing Dad to exit the car. Dad will take the ten steps or so into the barber shop while the two bodyguards continue scanning the street.”

“So when are you going to hit him with the tranquilizer?” I ask, still wondering if she’s really thought this through. “What about the three bodyguards?”

“We’ll have to shoot the two outside the car first, then with a second gun, I’ll shoot Dad while you take care of the driver with your second one,” she says as if it’s going to be a piece of cake. “Each gun can only hold one dart at a time, apparently.”

“Okay, so now we each have to carry two tranquilizer guns that look like something out of Star Wars down 34^th street without drawing any suspicion?” I lower my head and look at her, thinking she may be losing her mind.

“I can’t think of any other way to get to him. I can’t imagine trying to distract him long enough to put poison in his food. Besides, we always meet at restaurants. How the hell would that work? Oh, my dad just collapsed. You stand aside while we drag his lifeless body out the back door. I don’t think Grandpa understands it’s a whole different world here than in Colombia.” She takes a bigger gulp of her drink, a sign that she’s becoming agitated.

“We’ll think on it overnight and then we’ll call around to a few gun shops in the morning,” I suggest using my calm voice. “Hopefully, we’ll find someone who can help us figure it out.”

“Yeah, like I’m trying to sedate my dad and his bodyguards without actually killing anyone. What would be the best way to do that?” she flippantly tosses out there in a voice that is much too loud. Several other patrons turn to see who is saying such a thing.

“We’re working on a scene for a new script I’m working on,” I announce to everyone. “I’m a screenwriter and she’s my assistant. We’re not actually crazy or anything.” Everyone chuckles and bobs their heads in acknowledgement before going back to their discussions. I smile at Victoria and motion for the server to bring us our check. “I think we could use a little more privacy. Do we need anything for a nightcap?”

“Do you like cognac?” she asks as the server approaches the table.

“Sure, why not?” I’ve tried cognac, but I never acquired a taste for it. Maybe she has better taste and can turn me into a connoisseur. After all, before I know it, my taste buds will be wearing out like Antonio said. I’m pretty sure cigars will still taste like shit though. I chuckle to myself.

“I would like a small bottle of Remy Martin XO sent up to our room, please,” she tells him, showing him the room number. “You can also put these on the room, along with a twenty percent tip.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, lighting up at the thought of twenty percent on a nice bottle of cognac. “I’ll bring it up myself,” he adds before scurrying off to fetch a bottle.

“That was generous of you,” I tell her, impressed by the gesture.

“I’ve always tipped servers well because most of them are working hard toward something else or trying to get through college,” she explains with a sullen look crossing her face. “And if they aren’t, they still deserve a little extra.”

“Good point,” I agree, reaching over for her hand. “You are one of the biggest dichotomies I’ve ever run across. On one hand, we are discussing how to take down your father, and on the other, you’re concerned about the wellbeing of the server. I have to say, I love both sides of you.” I raise her hand to my lips, giving it a kiss.

“Thank you, but now who’s the one talking too loudly?” She pulls back her hand and pans the room. Several of the same people again have bewildered looks on their faces.

“We’re just working on the dialogue,” I announce with a laugh. “The movie will be called Dirty Deeds and it will be out in the fall of twenty-eighteen. Don’t miss it. It’s going to be great!” I give the small crowd a gracious wave before quickly making our way to the exit.