Page 120 of Jude

I tracked the elevator indicator lights until the carriage cleared the lobby floor.

Swiveling around with wariness, my eyes locked onto the familiar yet unexpected face.

His face still bore a jagged scar across his cheekbone earned during our stint together inside state pen.

He and I shared an eight-by-ten cell for four months; the bleakest, most broken chapter of my youth.

Back when I was a raging, rebellious mess trying to outrun my own guilt.

I left him in the joint and was at a loss to imagine why he was here now.

‘Judah,’ my unexpected visitor rasped, his hoarse timbre cutting through the quiet reception area. ‘You’re a hard man to track down when you’re on the road.’

‘Ignazio,’ I gritted, leaning into caution, eyeing the man setting my senses off. ‘You’re a long way from the block. When did you walk?’

‘A few weeks back.’

I stood in front of him, hands crossed over my chest, wondering what the heck his play was.

‘What are you doing in Italy?’

‘Helping a friend with a favor, delivering a message.’

My skin prickled with warning.

‘What kind?’

‘I’ve got an urgent matter that concerns your new domestic setup, rock star,’ Ignazio muttered, his mouth twisting into a slick, greasy smile that made my stomach turn. ‘You might not want to discuss it out here where guests or perhaps even the paps might hear the details. Let’s take a walk.’

Puzzled, I raced through possibilities as I followed him to a secluded corner table.

It was in the rear lounge, far from reception, security cameras, curious eyes and ears.

We sat down on the mohair cushions, the tension between us thick enough to slice.

I crossed an ankle over my knees and gripped my boot, sensing I was not going to like what I was about to find out.

‘How’d a con like you get a visa?’ I joked.

He grinned. ‘I may or may not be traveling under my name. How d’you travel so much as a con too?’

‘Special waivers based on good behavior, mate,’ I growled. ‘Plus a kickass team of lawyers.’

‘Of course, Mr Money Bags.’

When had he become so disenchanted with life, I thought to myself, noting the lines of dissatisfaction on his face and a thinly veiled sneer.

Ignazio didn’t waste any time revealing his nefarious mission.

He leaned across the small table, his breath reeking of cheap grappa and stale cigarettes, and tapped his fingers on his knee.

‘I was finishing up my parole stint in Vermont when I ran into an old associate named Dario inside the county holding facility.’

Fuck, that was one name I did not want to hear.

‘He knows who your new wife is, Judah. He has a mountain of evidence on her past identity.’

‘As what?’