SLEEPING WITH THE DEVIL

MANILA

*CHAPTER 13: MANILA*

Manila smelled like gasoline, fried garlic, and rain about to come.

We landed at NAIA Terminal 2 at 9:47 AM Manila time, after 16 hours — Milan to Dubai 6 hours, Dubai to Manila 9 hours, plus 1 hour refuel. I didn't sleep on the jet. Killian didn't sleep. His eight men didn't sleep. Everyone watched me because I was shaking the whole flight.

My NBI badge was pinned to a new black dress Signora Russo packed — a simple black sundress that cost probably $500, not Valentino, but nice, with pockets. My bandaged feet were now in white sneakers Signora Russo also packed — size too big, but better than barefoot. Killian's mother's diamond necklace was still on me — I refused to take it off, even for the flight, even when the flight attendant said "Ma'am, please take off jewelry for sleeping."

Killian wore all black — black t-shirt, black jeans, black boots — with his Glock hidden under t-shirt, and a new tattoo showing: On his forearm, next to the rosary dagger, a small blue wave, fresh, done on the jet by one of his men who used to be a tattoo artist in prison. For Leyte sea blue. He did it while I was sleeping for 10 minutes and woke up to see him wincing.

"What did you do?" I asked.

"Warm blue," he said, showing the blue wave. "For your sea."

"Pervert who gets tattoos at 35,000 feet!"

"Yes."

Now in Manila, hot, humid, 34 degrees, my sweatpants and t-shirt from Italy were killing me, but I was in black sundress now, badge, necklace, white sneakers too big.

At the arrival gate, there were 20 NBI agents waiting for us. All in blue NBI polo, guns, serious faces. And one woman in front — tall, short hair, my boss.

Director Maria Santos. NBI Director, my direct superior, the woman who sent me to Italy to kill Killian Blackwood off-record.

She saw me and her eyes went wide. Then she saw Killian behind me, tall, foreign, black, with eight foreign men in black suits behind him, all with diplomatic bags that obviously had guns, and her hand went to her own gun.

"Elara Cruz! What the f**k are you doing with Killian Blackwood! I sent you to kill him, not to bring him to Manila as your boyfriend!" she shouted in Tagalog, then in English for Killian: "Mr. Blackwood, you are under surveillance by NBI and Interpol Philippines! Hands where we can see them!"

Killian raised his hands slowly, calm, used to guns pointed at him.

Director Santos looked at my neck — diamond necklace.

"Is that... is that real diamond? Elara, did he buy you? Did you sell the mission for diamonds?"

"No, Ma'am! It's his mother's! It's a long story! Ma'am, Luca Moretti is here! He landed 7 hours ago, fake passport Enzo Russo, he went to Angeles City, he hired a fixer to take my mother and sister from Leyte to Manila! We have to go to Leyte now!" I said in Tagalog fast, mixing English, crying a little.

Director Santos stared, then lowered her gun.

"Luca Moretti in Philippines? That Italian who killed your brother Marco? That asshole?"

"Yes, Ma'am! Killian has confession! Enzo Rossi confessed! Vittorio Blackwood is arrested in Italy this morning! Interpol Rome has him! Now Luca ran here to take my family hostage!"

Director Santos looked at Killian. Killian nodded and took out the USB and confession papers from his duffel and handed them to her.

"Agent Sofia Conti from Interpol Rome sent copies to your email 2 hours ago. Original signed confession is here. Plus pier video. Luca shot Marco Reyes three times on old pier of Villa Bianco on August 15, 2021, 11:47 PM, on order of Vittorio Blackwood for $50,000. Thrown in Lake Como with stones. Enzo drove. All signed."

Director Santos took the papers, read first page, face dark.

"Son of a b***h," she whispered. "Vittorio killed his own driver?"

"Yes, Ma'am. And now his son wants to take my mama and my sister," I said.

Director Santos closed the papers and shouted to her 20 agents: "Okay! Change of plan! No arrest for Blackwood today! Blackwood is now witness protection! We go to Leyte! Now! Two teams! Team A with me and Elara and Blackwood to Tacloban, then Palo, Leyte to secure Cruz family! Team B to Angeles City to find Luca Moretti and his fixer! Contact Interpol Angeles! And get NBI chopper ready at Villamor Air Base! We fly to Leyte in one hour!"

Chopper? We were going to Leyte by chopper.

Killian leaned to me and whispered: "I have never been in a chopper in Philippines. Is it safe?"

"No. But it's fast. And my mama sells fish at 10 AM market. If Luca's fixer goes to Palo market at 10 AM, my mama is there."

He squeezed my hand. "Then we go fast."

At Villamor Air Base, the NBI chopper was old, noisy, shaking. I had been in it twice before. Killian had never. His eight men plus me plus him plus Director Santos plus two pilots crammed inside, guns everywhere, duffel bags with guns, my pink suitcase with blueberries still.

The chopper took off, Manila traffic small below, then clouds, then sea. Warm blue sea. Not cold blue lake. Warm blue, with islands.

I looked out the window and saw Philippines from above for first time in three months since I went to Italy. Green islands, blue sea, white clouds. Leyte somewhere there.

Killian was next to me, holding the handrail tight, pale, not used to shaking chopper.

"You okay, Boss?" I shouted over noise.

He shouted back: "I am not okay! This chopper is going to fall! In Italy we have jets, not this... this flying tricycle!"

"It's safe! NBI chopper is safe!"

"Safe! You call this safe! It shakes like my nonna's old washing machine!"

I laughed, even with fear for my family, because Killian Blackwood, mafia boss who shoots people in rose gardens, was scared of a Philippine NBI chopper.

We flew for 1 hour and 20 minutes. Tacloban airport, small, hot.

At Tacloban, another NBI van waited, plus two local police cars. We drove fast to Palo, Leyte, my hometown, 20 minutes, sirens loud, people looking.

Palo market, 10:23 AM. Crowded. Fish, vegetables, chickens, kids running.

And my mother.

I saw her from the van window before we stopped. Small, thin, 52 but looks 60, wearing faded blue duster, sitting behind a table of bangus and tilapia, fanning flies, shouting "Bangus! Fresh bangus!"

And my little sister, 16, in high school uniform, helping, braiding fish gills.

They were safe. Still there. Luca's fixer had not come yet.

The van stopped. I jumped out, white sneakers too big flapping, bandaged feet hurting, black sundress, diamond necklace, NBI badge, running through market, shouting:

"Mama! Ate? No, Bunso! Mama!"

My mother looked up, saw me, dropped the fan.

"Elara? Elara! Anak!"

My sister screamed: "Ate Elara!"

They ran to me, fish hands, hugging me in the middle of Palo market, with NBI agents and eight Italian mafia men in black suits and Killian Blackwood in black behind me watching, with guns.

My mother saw Killian and whispered to me in Waray, our dialect: "Elara, who is that tall foreigner with tattoo? Is that your boyfriend? He looks like mafia in movie! Is he mafia?"

I whispered back in Waray: "Mama, yes, he is mafia, but good mafia, he saved me in Italy, he arrested his own father for killing Kuya Marco!"

My mother looked at Killian, then at my diamond necklace, then at my bandaged feet and white sneakers too big.

"Anak, why are you wearing diamond necklace with fish market dress? And why your feet bandaged? Did he hurt you?"

"No, Mama, he... he carries me because my feet cut from champagne glass when he shot a man in a rose garden!"

My mother fainted. Just a little, in my arms. My sister caught her.

Killian ran over, picked up my mother bridal style — he likes picking up women bridal style — and carried her to the NBI van, shouting in English: "Water! Water! She fainted!"

In the middle of Palo public market, at 10:24 AM, Killian Blackwood, heir of Blackwood mafia, carrying a Filipino fish vendor mother in his arms, while eight Italian men in black suits held guns and bought all the bangus from her table for $100 to make it look like they were customers, while NBI agents secured the perimeter.

And I stood there, in black sundress, diamond necklace, NBI badge, white sneakers too big, bandaged feet, crying and laughing, because my mama and bunso were safe.

But Luca was still in Angeles City, 700 km away, with a fixer, with $200,000, with a fake passport, wanting my family.

And we were in Palo, Leyte, with a fainted mother, a screaming little sister, a chopper waiting in Tacloban, and a devil who just bought all my mother's fish.

Day 4 in Philippines, started.

26 days left in contract, but contract now was in warm blue sea, with fish market and fainted mama.

And Luca was coming.

END OF CHAPTER 13