The Bossy Prince (Rugged and Royal #3) - Lili Valente Page 0,56

appear. Beatrice pads after me, chatting about her decision to become a pescatarian and how guilty about it she felt at first, until she found a shop that only sells sustainably raised fish.

The seconds drag on for minutes, and minutes feel like hours, but when I finally let myself check my phone, only a quarter-hour has passed. As I tuck my cell back into my bathing suit strap, the extraction boat is pulling up to the dock, but there’s still no sign of Nick.

I’m about to text him again when a burst of familiar laughter drifts my way on the wind.

Hope clutching at my throat, I turn back toward the resort to see Nick, laughing hard as he emerges from behind a row of short, squat palm trees. Chest buzzing with relief, I lift my arm to wave him over, but my fingers go numb and his name dies on my lips.

Because he isn’t alone.

And we aren’t going to make a clean getaway, after all.

Not with Stefano right behind him.

Chapter Twenty

Nickolas

In my experience, missions rarely go to shit, but when they do, they do so swiftly, sloppily, and with minimal warning.

I’d spotted Thom doing pull-ups on a set of metal bars beside the volleyball court and was about to head over to ask him if he knew where Stefano might be hiding when Zan’s text pinged on my phone.

Her warning that we need to evacuate came just in time. I was able to slip back onto the shaded trail and disappear around the corner before Thom laid eyes on me.

It was a lucky break.

Too bad my luck didn’t hold.

Five seconds later, I jogged around another corner and straight into Stefano. Our eyes locked, something unspoken—and dangerous—passed between us, and I was certain I’d been made.

But then he smiled and reached out to thump me warmly on the back, insisting I join him for a walk on the beach so we could “chat about the unique trials and rewards of dating princesses.”

It’s where I was going anyway, and I couldn’t, on the spur of the moment, think of a reason to decline without arousing serious suspicions—or confirming any he already had.

So…I invited him to go fishing with us.

On the extraction boat.

And he said yes. And I started thinking…okay, this might work out. We don’t have a warrant yet, but what we saw in that warehouse is enough to get one. Arms trafficking is frowned upon by most European governments, including Stefano’s home country of Italy and his chosen home of Greece. And he wouldn’t want to stay and be tried in Bali, even if Union Ten allowed him that option.

The Balinese are brutal with their enforcement of drug trafficking laws. One word to the authorities, a quick raid of the resort, and the Balinese police would have everything they need to seek the death penalty against Stefano and probably several others in his organization.

So yes…

Bagging and tagging Stefano now, even before we have all our ducks in a row, seemed like an acceptable risk.

And then we arrived on the beach to see Beatrice standing beside Zan, and the complications multiplied.

Yes, Zan and I outnumber Stefano, but Beatrice is a wild card. If Stefano threatens her safety, Zan and I will have no choice but to stand down.

Not that he appears particularly menacing at the moment.

As we cross the sand toward the women—Zan seeming unfazed by the unexpected company—Stefano is positively jovial.

He laughs as he extends his arms toward Zan. “You look fabulous, Alexandra. So glad to see you have recovered. I’m deeply sorry for that nonsense last night.”

Zan smiles and leans in, air-kissing his cheek. “No lasting harm done. I feel wonderful this morning.”

“Delighted to hear it,” Stefano says, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “But I promise you, the rest of your stay will be nothing but smooth sailing. I made an example of those responsible. The pranksters among us will think hard before they pull something like that again.”

“I’m just so glad no one was seriously hurt,” Beatrice says, curling an arm through Stefano’s with an easy sigh, oblivious to the tension simmering between Zan, Stefano, and myself.

I don’t know what he’s playing at, but the look he shoots Zan over the top of Beatrice’s head as he pulls his fiancée in for a hug is…odd.

And…smug.

Like he has a fistful of aces.

And I suppose he does. The resort is packed with his people, and I’m sure most of the staff are in his pocket as well. The