Five

The satellite phone wouldn't stop ringing.

Shrill. 

Annoying. 

Demanding.

Tony cursed under his breath.

Still sitting on the bed, he snatched the phone off the nightstand and answered.

Someone was already yelling on the other end.

But Tony’s mind and attention was elsewhere.

His eyes were burning holes into the spot where his wallet should have been.

The pretty stranger must have taken it.

‘I never took him for a thief,’ he thought, his jaw tightening.

His fingers ran through his dark disheveled hair as he tried to make sense of it.

‘His scent alone probably costs a thousand dollars…’ he tried to sniff the air, involuntarily.

‘And those violet eyes—so goddamn beautiful when crying.’

Something stirred inside him.

‘And his clothes—designer, it’s expensive as hell.’

An expensive, pretty thief.

He clenched the phone tighter.

Plans were already forming.

Tony wasn't just going to find him—he was going to own him.

So he better run as far away as he can.

‘I love a good chase.’

It’s a mad thing to do.

Exactly the kind of madness Tony was capable of.

‘Once I get you back,’ he vowed to himself. ‘I’m keeping you prisoner in my bed.’

Then he stilled.

What’s this?

Why was his reaction like this?

And why was he so bothered by the pretty thief?

‘Where is he anyway?’

His eyes scanned his room.

Is it because of the wallet?

Or something else?

‘Well, I don't know.. But chasing him sounds pretty good,’ he thought.

‘Like it was the most natural thing to do.’

The why and the how doesn't matter anymore.

‘Don't overthink it, Tony.’;

Then, feeling satisfied with his dark plan, he grinned.

“Hello?” Tony finally said aloud.

“@%$!!!” came a string of shouted expletives.

He blinked. 

Brows furrowed.

Whoever was on the line was still cursing.

But the words blurred into a white noise.

He looked at the phone as if it was a crazy cat trying to claw him.

The shouting buzzed like a migraine behind his eyes.

So he ended the call with a sigh.

Not curious on what the caller wants.

Or whoever the hell he is.

Tony can't seem to focus on two things at once—especially not now.

Not like this.

Still slightly high from the great sex last night, and the now gentle nagging throb in his head, he stood up.

The rough hotel sheets fell down from his body, pooling down his feet.

Revealing his nakedness to the cool air.

‘What time is it anyway?’

He stretched.

Every muscle moved in perfect synchronicity—like a damn Michelangelo sculpture coming to life.

His body looked like sin sculpted in flesh.

Broad shoulders.

Defined abs.

A V-shaped torso that made women weep and men seethe.

His physique?

Mouthwatering.

And his face?

Dangerously attractive.

It possesses a raw, almost rebellious allure that syncs to his rebellious nature.

High, sharply defined cheekbones that cast intriguing shadows.

Hinting at a hidden intensity.

A strong, square jawline anchored his features with a touch of defiance.

Especially his eyes.

They were sexy.

Captivating.

Deep set and darkly expressive.

Pronouncing his silver eyes.

They held a magnetic quality—promising both mischief and a profound depth.

The kind of eyes that could peel you back of your defenses with a single knowing glance.

Eyes that could undress you in a second, without laying a single finger.

He looked in the mirror.

Stubble was beginning to form beneath his chin.

He ran his fingers across it.

“It’s time to shave,” he muttered.

**

The phone rang again.

And again.

Ten more times while he was in the shower.

Each shrill ring echoed through the hotel room.

Bouncing off the old walls and tile floors.

‘Persistent bastard,’ Tony muttered under the cascading water.

He already had a general idea on who it was.

And honestly?

He wasn't in the mood.

It had been two whole months since he ‘left’ the CIA.

He wasn't ready to crawl back—especially not now.

‘My team was dead,’ he reminded himself.

“And it's all my fault.”

He shooed the guilt away as he stepped out of the shower.

Still wet and dripping and newly shaved.

Droplets of water traced the defined lines of his chest and stomach.

It glistened under the already hot and bright morning sun that filtered through the dusty curtains.

He stood there next to the phone.

Towels on hand.

He wrapped one around his hips.

And used the other one to dry his hair.

He waited for the phone to ring again.

Sure enough—

RING

Sighing.

He reached for the phone, finally irritated beyond measure—he clicked the answer button.

A fresh line of curses greeted him.

“Yeah?” Tony answered nonchalantly, a towel slung over his head.

“You son of a bitch Tony!”

“I love you too, Nick,” he replied dryly, rubbing the water from his face.

Another explosion of expletives tore through the receiver..

He winced and pulled the phone slightly away.

All he could hear was static lines and curses.

“Jesus, my ears,” he grumbled, cleaning one with his pinky finger and blowing on it.

“I can't understand a damn thing you’re saying, Nick. Maybe it's about damn time for you to relearn your english.”

“Goodbye—” he started to say, his fingers dangerously close to the end button.

“Hang on!”

Nick's voice halted Tony.

His desperation was breaking through the static.

Tony paused.

“Whew.” Nick started to say.

Panting slightly.

“My blood pressure just shot through the roof, you bastard.”

Tony smirked.

“Uh huh. That’s cute.”

Silence.

Just the sound of Nick’s breathing on the other end.

“You’re so lively today,” Tony said. Amused.

Pushing Nick’s last button.

Another few curses.

But this time, it was quieter.

“You’re so excited.” Tony continued.

“Listen.” Nick’s voice finally dropped, suddenly serious.

“They contacted me from above.”

Tony’s amusement slowly faded.

“They?”

“Someone wants to talk to you today. A higher up.”

“Well tell them that's impossible,” Tony said coldly.

Heading back to the bathroom.

“I'm a million miles away from caring.”

“They’re in Florence. Right now.”

Tony stopped.

“This isn't just a debrief, Tony.”

A pause.

“I think it's bigger than that.”

A long long pause.

He looked up at his reflection.

“You really are CIA..” he muttered.

“You’re one too,” Nick snapped back.

Tony sighed.

‘It’s inevitable,’ he thought.

“Piazza Navona. In thirty minutes,” Nick said firmly.

“The cafe with the red awnings. Don't be late.”

Click.

The line went dead.

Tony sighed.

Debating whether to go or not.

Then without any preamble, he gets ready.

He shoved aside his plan to chase down the pretty stranger—for now.

Tony wore another Hawaiian shirt.

But this time it was red.

Then darker walking shorts.

Took his hotel keys and a new bottle of wine.

His usual accessories.

He stopped moving and remembered how he went out yesterday like this too.

He grinned.

Then furrowed his brows.

‘I have no fucking wallet.’

Sighing he came back and tried to remember where he threw his cards.

‘How much was in there in my wallet anyway?’

He can't seem to remember but he knew there was a lot.

Since he rarely used cards.

It was on purpose.

So that ‘they’ couldn't track him down.

But it proves to be useless now.

They already knew where he was.

‘So, might as well use those cards now.’

And with that, he went out of his hotel room.

Unaware that somewhere in scenic Florence, someone was waiting—armed with a bombshell from his past that would change his life forever.

**