Page 54 of The Broker
I nearly climax at the sight, at his words. I keep my eyes on my phone, transfixed by Dante’s hand rhythmically pumping his erection. I thrust the dildo in and out, matching his pace, muscles quivering, my skin covered with goosebumps. My breathing is shallow and uneven, and I feelfeverish.
My toes dig into the mattress. I clench my eyes shut and throw my head back. Dante’s voice sounds in my ears, praising me, calling me his good girl, his precious sparrow. And then ecstasy takes me. My muscles spasm around the dildo, and I explode.
It takes me a few moments to regain my wits. Finally, I sit up. “This is agreatway to wake up,” I tell Dante with a satisfied smile.
“I agree.” He uses some tissues to clean up his cum and tosses them in the trash.
“What time is it?”
“One.”
“Shit.” I need to shower, check in on our firewall, and then pick up Angelica. “I’m late.”
“I’ll let you go then.” He smiles at me, a warm, happy smile that lights up his face. “See you this evening, sparrow.”
I pick up Angelica, and we walk to the dock. “How was school?”
“Okay,” she replies. “Mama, Mariana walks home by herself, and she’s my age.”
“Mariana isten.”
“That’s the same thing,” my nine-year-old daughter replies with a roll of her eyes. “Can I walk back by myself?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because I stole a hundred and ten million euros from a hacker, and he knows my name. And until we catch him, I’m in danger, and by extension, so are you.
Guilt fills me. Last night, I told Dante that I love what I do. That’s true, but there are moments when I can’t help feeling like a terrible mother. For Angelica’s safety, maybe I should quit being a hacker. Maybe I should work as a bank teller or something.
Angelica is protected, I remind myself. There are three bodyguards around us, staying discreetly out of sight. If trouble breaks out, they’re only a moment away. I don’t know how they can distinguish between a threat and a tourist, but Leo assures me they can, and he’s very good at his job.
“Maybe next year.” She looks like she’s going to protest, so I hastily add, “What kind of puppy would you like? A little one, like a Chihuahua?” Shamelessly using Angelica’s favorite topic to change the subject? I am awful.
The bait works. “No, not a Chihuahua.”
“A poodle?” I ask hopefully. “Something small and manageable?”
“No, Mama. I want a rescue dog.”
“You do?” I’m not surprised. I took Angelica to the animal rescue on the mainland in August when my father died, and she was having a hard time processing his death. Playing with the puppies there helped her a lot.
“I already know which one.”
“Show me.” I hand her my phone. She navigates to their website and pulls up the picture of the dog she wants.
I glance at the picture. “Angelica, there are two dogs here.” Two dogs with sweet eyes and adorably floppy ears.
“They’re brothers, Mama,” she says. “Nobody wants them because there’s two of them. They’ve been there formonths. Can we get them?”
“I don’t think we have enough space for two dogs, honey,” I say gently, feeling like a jerk for breaking my daughter’s heart. She looks shattered. “What about if we—”
“There you are.” A man’s voice makes me jerk my head up. “You’re a hard person to get a hold of,” Neil Smith says, smiling widely at me. “How are you, Valentina?”
Oh, God. After the disaster that was the date with Neil last Saturday, he sent me an email saying we should get together again. Rosa must have given him my email address, but thankfully, she knows not to give out my phone number. I replied that I was really busy at work, but maybe sometime in January or February. I thought it was a polite way to let him down easily and that he’d get the message.
Evidently not.