Echo, p.1
Echo, page 1
Copyright © 2023 by Sybil Bartel
Cover art by: CT Cover Creations
Cover Photo by: Wander Aguiar
Cover Model: Soj M.
Edited by: Hot Tree Editing
The Ryter’s Proof
Formatting by: Champagne Book Design
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
Warning: This book contains offensive language, alpha males and sexual situations. Mature audiences only. 18+
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Books by Sybil Bartel
ECHO
Dedication
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Part Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Epilogue
WHISKEY
DELTA
KILO
Acknowledgments
About the Author
BOOKS BY SYBIL BARTEL
The Alpha Elite Series
SEAL
ALPHA
VICTOR
ROMEO
ZULU
NOVEMBER
ECHO
WHISKEY
DELTA
KILO
BLADE
GHOST
The Alpha Bodyguard Series
SCANDALOUS
MERCILESS
RECKLESS
RUTHLESS
FEARLESS
CALLOUS
RELENTLESS
SHAMELESS
HEARTLESS
The Uncompromising Alphas Series
TALON
NEIL
ANDRÉ
BENNETT
CALLAN
The Alpha Antihero Series
HARD LIMIT
HARD JUSTICE
HARD SIN
HARD TRUTH
THE ALPHA ANTIHERO SERIES: BOOKS 1-2
The Alpha Escort Series
THRUST
ROUGH
GRIND
The Unchecked Series
IMPOSSIBLE PROMISE
IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE
IMPOSSIBLE END
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ECHO
Navy SEAL.
Mercenary.
Ghost.
Joining the military wasn’t a choice. It was survival. The Navy was the last place they’d think to look for me. Hiding in plain sight, I lived in the shadow of deployments… until an off-the-books mission put me in the crosshairs of my past.
My cover blown, I walked away from the SEALs and sought refuge at the one place where I’d be more invisible than on the Teams—Alpha Elite Security. As a black ops government contractor, AES was the world’s leading provider of security solutions. High stakes, higher price tag, and complete anonymity. Trained to kill long before the military put a gun in my hand, I fit right in.
But then I made a mistake. A single misstep, and I was face-to-face with the one woman who could kill me faster than a bullet.
Code name: Echo.
Mission: Evade.
For my only child, my beloved son, Oliver.
You were my greatest gift. The world was a better place with you in it.
Everything in my life was better because of you.
Thank you for teaching me unconditional love, perseverance, and compassion.
You are and will always be my entire world.
I love you, Sweet Boy, and I miss you beyond measure.
Oliver Shane Bartel 2004–2020
For my readers, thank you for all of your love and support.
Gratefully yours, XOXO
Nine years ago
Erico
Palermo, Sicily
Sighting, I exhaled.
Then I pulled the trigger.
A second later, my round hit the stronzo, the fucker’s head exploded, and bystanders in the crowd across the piazza screamed as they dispersed.
Quickly unscrewing the stock and folding the bipod, I broke down my TAC-50 as my cell vibrated. Stowing the sniper rifle in my bag and zipping it shut before shouldering it, I answered Giancarlo’s call. “What?”
“Is it done?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you do it how I asked?”
My oldest brother was an asshole. He was also the Don of our famiglia. I was a lot of things, none of them good, but a walking death wish wasn’t one of them. If Giancarlo told me to pull the trigger, I fucking did it. Not that I respected him or his methods, but it was kill or be killed in this life. “Don’t I always?”
“You need to learn some respect,” Giancarlo warned.
“You need to earn some,” I shot back, descending the stairs.
“I am Don Mantovani. I fucking have it.”
No, he didn’t. He had a reputation. A violent one thanks to me. “Fear isn’t respect.”
“‘It is better to be feared than to be loved,’” he spewed, citing the quote our father had drilled into us.
Ignoring his bullshit, I quickly glanced around a corner, checking the hallway on the first floor of the residential building. Empty. “You never bother me when I’m on a job.” The arrogant prick demanded I call him and report in once my hits were executed. “What do you want?” Leaving the stairwell, I headed to the alley behind the building.
“Get back to the estate. You’re coming to a dinner with me tonight.”
“Not happening.” I was the trigger. “I don’t do bullshit dinners.” I didn’t show my face anywhere I didn’t need to.
“You are not a guest. You’re reinforcement. Dinner is at eight, but we need to leave at seven. You’re driving.”
Scanning the alley and the street beyond, I tossed my bag into the back of my Mercedes AMG G63 and got behind the wheel. Glancing at my watch, I turned the engine over. “Won’t make it. That’s in less than a half hour. Get Ademaro to drive you or, better yet, Caio. That asshole lives to drive.”
“That stronzo is your brother, and Caio drives like he is on the racetrack no matter the circumstance. I’m not stupid enough to get into any vehicle with him behind the wheel. Ademaro is attending the dinner with me. I need you there.”
Translation, he needed someone intimidating and willing to pull the trigger, and he didn’t want this leaking beyond immediate famiglia. “What kind of dinner is this?” I pulled onto the busy city streets of Palermo.
“The business kind.”
Business my ass. “You said extortion wrong.”
“I am Don Mantovani,” he spit out, as if I needed a reminder of who the fuck my brother was.
“Say no more,” I deadpanned.
His anger hitting as fast as his temper, he brought up the one thing he thought he could hold over my head. “If you don’t like your last name, then go swear omertà to the Arcuri or Vincenzo famiglias.”
In other words, become a pussy. “You done?”
“Get back to the estate,” he ordered.
Driving out of the city proper, already on my way, I lied. “Like I said, won’t make it. We have dozens of soldiers you can call last minute. Use someone else. I need to handle some shit.” Mainly my rifle and clothes. Never trust anyone to clean up after you. I not only needed a shower, I needed to destroy trace evidence of both gunshot residue and blood because my last bullet hadn’t been my only target today.
“Your affairs can wait. I am not asking,” Giancarlo warned.
“I’m covered in blood.” Not technically untrue.
His pause was only a fraction of a second, but it was enough to tell me he was strung tighter than usual. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you bloodied?” he demanded.
“Another day in the life.” What the fuck else was new?
“You are hit?”
“Would you care?”
“I would call in the dottore.”
I snorted. “I don’t need a doctor.” Asshole. “But good to know you got my back.” He didn’t, not unless it benefitted him. I didn’t give a damn what he or anyone else in this life said, loyalty was an illusion.
“I will have Consigliere waiting with a clean shirt. Meet me in the driveway of the main house.” Giancarlo hung up.
Cursing, I turned down the dirt lane that cut through the vineyards on the back half of the sprawling estate that overlooked the Mediterranean.
Not giving a shit about kicking up dust on Giancarlo’s prized grapes that were ready for harvest, I drove too fast toward the house that had been in our famiglia for over a century.
Sancia
I stared unseeing at the pages of the book in my hand.
I did not need to read it.
Same as most of the books in the library, I had read it a dozen times already.
But I needed a distraction.
Papà was not doing well.
He had woken up noticeably worse.
His cough was heavier, and his voice was hoarser, but he would not let me call the doctor. He would not even let me help him. Saying he had a dinner to get ready for, he had banished me to my room and told me to stay upstairs, and I knew what that meant.
Stay out of sight no matter what.
It was a directive had given me many times, but tonight I had not liked the tone in his voice. Something was wrong. More wrong than… I could not bring myself to finish the thought.
I did not want to.
I was only glad that we had come to the country villa yesterday. That meant I did not have to deal with Papà’s horrible house staff, especially one maid in particular who had been hired a year ago. I hated her. She was awful to me. But despite my complaints to Papà, some as fresh as yesterday before the driver had brought us out here, Papà had sternly dismissed them and said she was “needed.”
That had not sat right with me either.
Papà had never sided with house staff over me before.
It was only me and him, and Papà was rarely harsh, let alone dismissive of my concerns, which only made me that much more upset with his stern behavior earlier when he had banished me to my room.
Overly aware of every moment, wondering each day if it would be my last with him, I dropped the book and stood.
I could not allow things to remain how our last conversation had ended. Dinner or not, I needed to speak to him.
Going to my door and slipping my flats on, I opened it and rushed across the carpeted hall to his room.
Before I could knock, his door opened and Papà blinked, showing a moment of surprise. “Cara mia.”
That was how I knew he did not feel good. “Nothing surprises you, Papà.” He always heard me coming. I used to think his hearing was so good, he could detect my movements through the walls.
“Sancia.” In a rare display of frustration, he grasped my upper arm. “I told you before—stay in your room.”
Tears welled. “You were stern with me, but I was only worried about you.”
“I know, cara mia.” His shoulders deflating, his thin arms did not look half as strong as they used to. “Forgive me.”
I wanted to tuck my head against his chest to make sure I could still hear his heart beating, but I did not dare. Papà was not an affectionate man. I could not remember a time when he had ever embraced me. “Always, Papà.”
“That’s my Principessa.” He forced a smile before quickly dropping it. “Now, please, do as I ask. You do not need to worry about me tonight. I am merely having a business dinner. You can fret over me after it is over and my guests have left.”
I did not ask who was coming. I had learned a long time ago that Papà did not discuss anything related to business or his colleagues. I was not even sure who his colleagues were. I had caught glimpses of different men coming and going over the years, and of course I had heard the whispered rumors from the house staff, but I had always dismissed them. Papà only relegated me to my room because he was protective of me.
Especially since the accident.
I did not remember Mamma or my brother. I was too little to walk when it had happened, but I felt their loss, and I saw it in Papà’s haunted expressions when he thought I was not looking. The car accident that had taken them both weighed on Papà like the heaviness of the dirt pressing down on their graves.
He took time every day to give me his attention, but no matter how many times he smiled, I always saw it in his eyes. He missed them.
So I missed them.
But in truth, the only life I knew was Papà and the house staff, and I had been content—until two years ago.
That was when Papà’s cough had started.
The cough that was worse today.
“When will your company leave?” Normally, I would never ask, but we were alone out here in the countryside. As much as I loved this villa over the bigger home in the city, I could not deny that it worried me that we had come up here with only the driver and the cook. Papà’s doctor was an hour away. Everything was an hour away. Surrounded by rows and rows of lemon and olive trees as far as the eye could see until the horizon dipped into the Mediterranean, it was beautiful, but it was isolated.
“When we are done conducting business.” Papà gently grasped my arm and gave me a little push back in the direction of my room. “Now go, Sancia. Read your books or draw me a picture as beautiful as my only daughter. But keep to yourself, and I will let you know when we are alone again.”
I still could not let it go. “But you are tired today. I think you should postpone your dinner.”
“Cara mia, I am about out of time to postpone business dinners.”
Alarm rang through my nerves like an unexpected sharp toll of a bell tower. “What does that mean? What did the doctor say to you last week?”
Papà straightened his shoulders and posture. “Bedroom, Sancia. Now.”
“Let someone else from the bank handle the business.” Surely there were other people who could step in.
His small grunt was tired but no less authoritative. “I am the bank.” He turned toward the stairs. Then he did something he had never done before. He threatened me. “Do not make me send Vittorio up here.”
Before I could cover my surprise, Papà was descending the stairs and calling out for the driver. “Vittorio!”
Papà’s too-tall, too-big driver appeared almost immediately in the grand entry hall that was more suited to a city palace than a country villa. His steel gaze focused on me, letting me know he had heard our conversation, he replied to Papà. “Signore?”
I did not linger.
Quickly retreating to my room and closing the door, I leaned against it, pressing my ear to the cool wood, but it was of no use. All I could discern was the faint, muffled sound of their voices, neither distinguishable from the other, let alone what was being spoken.
Worried, resigned, I pushed off the door and glanced at my small desk and the open window overlooking the front courtyard. The cook had come up earlier, leaving a plate with cheese, bread, olives and figs. I knew whatever she was making for dinner would be much more elaborate, but I did not mind my meal. I preferred my food the same way I preferred my life—simple.
Warm sun, the libraries in each home, a sketchbook, and Papà healthy.
That was how I liked things.
But life had not been that simple for two years.
As it if were a forewarning instead of a spectacular golden-peach and pink-hued sunset, the last of the waning rays slipped away beneath the dusk and succumbed to the night. The artfully arranged architectural lights came on in the courtyard below and cast an artificial glow that made the sky even darker by contrast.
