None of them appeared to be their target.
“Let’s go,” Roman said, reaching out his hand and smoothly twining his fingers between Wyatt’s. It sent a flare of heat directly through his chest, like an arrow dipped in flames shot from atop one of the many spiraling gold columns surrounding them. He tried not to overthink it. This was part of the job—they were meant to act as if they were married; any auxiliary feelings that came along with their act only enhanced the lie. Perfect. Then, once they had the page in their possession and this leg of the job was over, Wyatt would go back to keeping his hands tucked firmly in his pockets, away from Roman’s perfectly firm and slightly calloused and deliciously warm grip.
But for now, he just had to suck it up and hold Roman’s hand in his. However would he survive?
…
Just fine, apparently. They walked all throughout the packed Hall of the Galley, named because of how the castle was built to resemble the bow of a sailing ship, hand in hand and eyes peeled for their target, not spotting him anywhere in the throng of dancing kids and slightly drunk adults. Wyatt spoke to a handful of people in hopes of getting any wind of where Giovanni might be, but none seemed to have any clear answer. They did one more spin around the main room before looking into the three adjacent ones without any success.
They stepped through an arching side door and into a poppy-filled garden, the mountains looming in the distance, the cracked stone walls surrounding them pocked with bright green moss. “Where the hell is this guy?” Wyatt asked, Roman taking his hand back and leaving Wyatt’s with the outline of his warmth. He didn’t like how much he immediately missed it.
Roman tapped the earpiece. “Boys, updates?”
Moments later, Phantom replied. “Nothing, boss. The only person here with a private chef is the birthday girl. No one knows where Giovanni is.”
“Alright, I need you two to grab a platter of hors d’oeuvres and walk around. Get lost and look around the restricted areas. Maybe he’s slipped away for some reason.”
“Got it.” The mic gave a little buzz of static as the connection cut.
“He is here, right?” Wyatt asked, arms crossed and eyes tilted up, squinting against the sun and locking onto Roman’s crystal-green gaze.
“All our intel says he is, unless he got scared off by the high-alert status the guards seem to be on.”
“What if we can’t find him?”
“We will. One way or another. We need that page.”
Wyatt decided to poke a little harder. “Why? What’s so special about a couple of pages?”
Roman’s sea-glass-green eyes tilted upward, away from Wyatt. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. What the hell was he being so cagey about? It frustrated Wyatt, who was the one who should have his guard up around the charismatic but double-edged personality that was Roman Ashford. Wyatt was the one who deserved an apology on hands and knees from the man who’d fucked up his entire life, and yet that same man couldn’t even be fully transparent with him about what they were after?
Such bullshit.
The anger bubbled up to Wyatt’s lips, forming a string of words without any proper thought behind them. “Why are you such a secretive asshole? Out of everyone working this job, I should be the one you trust the most. Yes, we’ve had some fucked-up crap happen to us, and that’s made me wary but not untrustworthy.”
Roman licked his lips, eyes narrowing, his thoughts swirling as clear as the flecks of bright emerald in his eyes. “I just have to be cautious about certain things, that’s all. Nothing to do with how much I trust you.”
“Really? Because you’re acting like you trust me just as much as a dog trusts a vet holding a rectal thermometer.”
Roman cocked his head and smirked. “I think you’d like that a little more than the dog would.”
“Oh, shut up,” Wyatt said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. He was about to rebut with a joke about Roman needing more than a thermometer but swallowed his joke with a surprised jolt, his eyes nearly bulging out of his skull when he realized who he’d just spotted.
“Roman,” he said, hushed. “Look. It’s him.”
Roman followed Wyatt’s gaze. Sure enough, standing there all by himself in his navy suit with his pink rose, swirling a flute of champagne underneath an ivy-covered gazebo, was Giovanni Gorga. The man of the hour, the target for tonight. Wyatt’s pulse spiked, his heart kicking off a race against no one but himself.
“Let’s go introduce ourselves,” Roman said, reaching for Wyatt’s hand again, encasing it in his. It did nothing to help with the anxiety. The pressure mounted with every step they took, bringing them closer to an oblivious Giovanni. Yes, Roman had made it clear he could take the page with force (and would if his back was against the wall), but that wasn’t the way this was meant to go. Roman wanted to talk his way through this without needing to draw a gun or throw a punch, and that meant Wyatt would have to think on his toes and improv his way through whatever conversation came next.