Page 102 of Savage Justice
“I don’t like the uniform. It looks silly.”
She has a point. The bottle-green skirt and straw boater hat wouldn’t be out of place in the last century. Or the one before that.
“You can take the hat off, once you get inside,” I assure her.
“But I—”
“Three more mouthfuls and finish getting ready, then we can play chess if you like.” Ethan makes the offer as he helps himself to toast.
Lucy beams from ear to ear and guzzles three large forkfuls of the eggs, then a fourth for good measure, which clears her plate. “I’ll go get the chess set.” She scampers from the room.
“Neat,” I mumble. “Thanks.”
“I’ve always found bribery to be an effective strategy,” he replies. “Especially with children.”
“I don’t suppose you can always resort to pulling out toenails,” I observe as I sip my tea.
“No, you’re right. Cristina would never stand for it. And, talking of coercion and retribution…”
“Were we?”
“Well, I was. Kristian Kaminski has requested a meeting.”
“Requested?”
“Demanded,” he clarifies. “He’s coming here this afternoon.”
“Here?” I gape at hm. “You invited him here? To Caraksay?”
He shrugs. “Home soil.”
“We’d better hide the painting, then.” Death of Atalanta is still on the wall in the hall.
“I don’t think so. I want him to see it and know exactly who shafted him.”
“He’ll have worked that out, surely. That’s why he wants to talk to you.”
“Probably, but he can’t be sure. He will be by the time I’m finished.”
“But why?”
He smiles at me. “Justice needs to be seen to be done, Miss Lowe. Which is why I’m inviting you to sit in on the meeting. So you can see it, too.”
Mr Kaminski arrives by helicopter. Not one of ours, the chartered service circles the island twice before descending to land in the courtyard. I’m watching from the tower room window when the man I assume to be Ethan’s rival mob boss hops down onto the cobbles.
He’s not what I was expecting. He’s much younger, to start with. Around thirty, I’d say, with wavy dark-blond hair and a slim but athletic build. He’s immaculately dressed in a charcoal-grey suit, expertly fitted so the bulge of his concealed handgun is barely visible, and black leather shoes which gleam, even from this distance. Handmade, Italian, would be my guess.
He’s too far away for me to make out the details of his features, but I get the impression he’s a handsome man, and he certainly bears himself with a commanding presence to rival that of Ethan Savage himself. And Nico, obviously. He may have stepped into the lion’s den, but he strolls towards the castle with the elegant, confident grace of a Regency rake entering a ballroom.
Nico emerges from the main entrance to greet him. He looks up and catches my eye just before he ushers our guest inside.
Time to go downstairs. I wonder if I should have made an effort to smarten up. Too late now. I smooth the wrinkles out of my chinos—well, some of the wrinkles—and make my way down to the hall.
Aaron is already there, along with Tony. Nico offers me a smile when I join them and pulls out a chair for me. Cristina follows me in and takes a seat beside her husband. Mr Kaminski places himself opposite Ethan, directly below the famous masterpiece hanging on the wall.
If he’s spotted it, he gives no sign of it.
Ethan scans the room while Mrs McRae and her assistant, Janey, bustle around laying out coffee cups and fancy little biscuits. Seemingly satisfied that everyone is here who should be, he sits and fixes Kaminski with a steady gaze.