a powerful man. He’s got security on him at all times.”
“Hence, why I’m asking for advice.” Maybe I shouldn’t be a smartass right now, but I was losing my focus.
He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t stand a chance. If you have no men and no money, capturing someone like him isn’t possible. You only have one option, and even then, it probably won’t work.”
“What?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.
He stared at me for a few seconds, his eyes steady and wide. He didn’t blink often, adding to his aura of constant hostility. “Fuck him. Fuck him hard.”
There was a coffee shop across the street from one of Cato’s banks, and he’d been seen grabbing a cup of afternoon coffee there once in a while. He had been dressed in his suit and tie, and it seemed like he’d spent all morning talking about money until his brain was fried.
I sat at one of the tables outside with a latte and a book, hoping he would stop by sometime that week. A few days passed and he didn’t make an appearance, and I was almost done with my book and would soon have to replace it. Thankfully, the gallery had been slow for the past two weeks, so my boss didn’t need me as often as usual.
I could keep stalking my target.
Finally, Cato Marino showed up. It was two in the afternoon when he crossed the street and stepped inside the bakery.
I could watch him through the windows. He was in a gray suit and black tie. His trousers hugged his rock-hard ass, and he held himself with perfect posture. He stood in line and waited to order as he casually glanced at his expensive watch. Then he rubbed his fingers across the shadowy beard that started to pop up along his chiseled jaw.
I wondered if he’d gone home with all three of those women from the bar.
Wouldn’t be surprised.
He moved up to the front of the line and gave his order. He dropped a hundred euro into the tip jar when no one was looking then stepped away to wait for his coffee to be prepared.
So the guy was generous.
I didn’t know what these stalking sessions would accomplish. It didn’t seem like I was gleaning any helpful knowledge in the process. So far, all I’d uncovered was that he was getting laid constantly and he looked damn good in a suit. He was also a generous tipper. But none of those things would help me get him into Micah’s hands.
And regardless of how hot he was, I was not screwing him.
I’d have to find another way.
The barista handed him his coffee, and he took a sip before he walked out and crossed the street. He didn’t look at me once because he didn’t notice me in the center of filled tables. That worked out in my favor, because if he did notice me, I wouldn’t be able to follow him anymore.
I watched him as he opened the door and stepped inside the bank, over six feet of muscle and pure masculinity. The suit fit him so well, clearly designed just for him, and he moved like a god rather than a human. The door shut behind him, and he was gone from my sight.
How was I going to do this?
I pulled up to Barsetti Vineyards and left my car in the gravel parking lot. The sun was high in the sky, and out in the middle of Tuscany, there were iconic views of the land that made it so famous. The smell of olive trees was in the air, along with the succulent scent of grapes in the vineyard.
I walked onto the property then made my way into the main building. A friend of my father’s ran the vineyard, and from what I could recall, he wasn’t just a winemaker. His hands were just as dirty as my father’s.
I checked in with his assistant before I stepped inside.
The last time I saw Crow Barsetti, I was just a child. His features weren’t easy to remember because I was just too young, but I did remember his eyes. They were unique with their green and hazel color. Now decades had passed, and he was a different man from the one I’d met all those years ago—but his eyes were still the same.
He rose from behind his desk and joined me near the door, examining me like he was trying to place me in his mind. “Siena Russo…are you