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Spike was on his feet the second the plane drew to a halt, eager to be out of its confines. The pilot took his time leaving the flight-deck, and made his leisurely way back to where Spike stood glowering by the door.

“Did sir enjoy his flight?” he asked as he began to unfasten the jet’s door.

Spike glared at him. “Just open the door,” he said through gritted teeth.

The pilot gave a slight smile. “Ah, vampires. Always so charming.” He opened the door to a draft of warm, soft night air and gave a short bow to Spike. “Thank you, sir. Please, have a good unlife.”

Spike glared at him again for good measure then stepped out of the plane and down onto the tarmac. He closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. OK – all calm. Ready to face whatever Rome has to offer, which by all-pervading smell of expensive aftershave, was waiting for him right here. He opened his eyes. Two very large men wearing black suits straining over clearly muscular bodies were standing patiently beside a black limo.

“Buano sera, signore.” The largest of the men opened the car door. “Please. Signora Costa Bianchi sends her compliments.”

“And that takes two Reservoir Dogs rejects?” Dark sunglasses at night? Please!

“Per favore.” The man gestured to the car. “We take you to Wolfram and Hart.”

Spike eyed them suspiciously then sighed. Well, he had to get there somehow. But he wasn’t convinced he trusted Ilona or her goons. He climbed into the back of the car and the two men got into the front. They drove on in silence until they hit the busier streets of the city. Eventually the man in the passenger seat turned to look at Spike.

“So. You are Spike.”

“Yeah…” He frowned suspiciously.

The two men exchanged a few whispered comments in rapid Italian, and then began to laugh.

“What?” Spike glared into the amused eyes of the driver in the rear-view mirror.

“You are much smaller than we expected.” The man in the passenger seat turned back to him with a shrug.

He thought about that for a moment. “What the hell does that mean?” he said eventually.

“Well, you know… William the Bloody… you and Angeloos cutting a swaff..”

“A what?”

“A swaff!”

“Swathe, we cut a swathe.”

“Ecco. A swathe through Europe… we ‘ave ‘eard much about you. We just thought…” Again the expressive shrug.

“Well, you don’t want to believe all you hear, do you?” Spike gazed nonchalantly out of the window. “Listen, mate. It’s been a long old flight. Guy gets kind of peckish. You’d be amazed how much blood it takes, even for someone not built like a brick shit house. And you know, given I’m over here working as a favour for the boss, I don’t suppose she’ll mind one little bit if I stop for a snack on whoever’s closest.” He looked back at the man and slipped into game face with a growl. “Lei capisce?”

The man flinched and gave a nervous nod.

“Bene.” Spike shrugged back to normal and turned to stare out of the window. There was silence in the car after that.

******

Spike stood in reception with the same sense of unreality he had felt the first time he had been here. Bloody hell! Wolfram and Hart must have got a job lot from Evil is Us Design Consultants. Could just as easily have been in Los Angeles, except for…

“Spike!” And there she was. Ilona advanced on him, arms out-stretched, cleavage struggling against the bounds of a tight fitting black dress. “Come sta? Did you have a good flight?” Ilona grasped him and pulled him towards her, enthusiastically kissing him on both cheeks. “I’m so sorry we could not send you our jet. We still do not have it back.” She gave an exasperated snort. “You know ‘ow it is ‘ere - this is a civilized country. We do these things all the time. Somebody steals a plane, somebody pays the money. Everybody goes home happy. Grazie. Prego. Kiss-kiss. Only this time no kiss-kiss. They take the money, but they do not give back the plane. Is so dirty tricks, no?” She raised her arms. “Dirty tricks by dirty people. Like gypsies. Pah! We will speak of them no more.”

She took a step back and looked at Spike with a wide smile. “Let me look at you. Oh, so ‘andsome! You define ‘andsome!” She pressed her hands to her chest. “Still you take my breath away! Still I ‘ave no breath! So good of you to come over to help us with our leetle problem. You come so far to help us! Such a gentleman! You are the very meaning of the English gentleman!”

“Yeah. Right.” Spike was once again reduced to bemused incoherence.

“But there is time for that later. You must come and eat and drink. It is midnight – the night is young! There is plenty of time for the problems domani. Come – let me show you Italian hospitality. My home is your home.” She paused and then laughed. “Or in this case, my office is your office! Come! Pietro?” This to the man at the desk as they passed “Non osare disturbarmi a meno che non sia un'emergenza. Capito?”

“Si, signora.” Spike didn’t much like the knowing smirk the man gave him as he followed Ilona, a little nervously, into her office.

******

“Please, make yourself as though you were at home. You like some blood, maybe? You want, we will get it for you. You prefer particular type, maybe? Maybe a leetle virgin blood? I hear virgin blood, she is a bit of an aphrodisiac, no?” Ilona gave a seductive smile. “Italia is a good Catholic country so - if you want a virgin, we give you a virgin. We give you two virgins, in fact, because this is our way…”

“No!” Spike interrupted hurriedly. “Beer would be just fine.”

“No virgin blood?” Ilona looked slightly disappointed. “Oh. OK – beer then.” She opened the fridge door and peered inside. “We have a leetle drink.” She picked out a bottle and turned back to Spike with a wide smile. “And we have a leetle… ‘ow you say… chin wag.” She chuckled. “Ah, English! You are so funny!” She handed the beer to Spike, poured herself a large glass of wine and curled up next to him on the sofa. “Now,” She took a sip from her wine. “Tell me all about yourself…”

*******

Ten minutes later, Spike was beginning to feel as if he had been run over by a steamroller, and the conversation, if it could be called that given Ilona did the vast majority of the talking, had somehow moved on to Angel.

“So.” She took another sip of her wine. “You and Angeloos… sorry… Angel...” she muttered under her breath “Zinagri! Pah!” and then smiled at Spike. “You ‘ave been together for many, many years, yes?”

“Off and on.” Spike watched her suspiciously.

“But you know him well, huh? After all, you and he, you were frocio, no?”

“Froc…?” Spike searched his limited Italian vocabulary for that one - and didn't much like what he found. “Hell, no!” he blustered.

Ilona shrugged. “Is no problem, you know. A ciascuno il suo. To each his own.”

“Yeah, well maybe, but not me and Angel…!”

“Oh?” Ilona gave a shrug. “Va bene.” She smiled and raised an eyebrow at Spike. “But ‘ow he could resist, huh?” She moved closer to him and rested a hand on his thigh. Spike pressed himself further into the corner of the sofa and took a deep swig of his beer.

“We were all…” Ilona paused, and looked down at her hand, her fingers tracing small circles on Spike’s leg, “…a leetle surprised, you know… when the Senior Partners offered Angel his position,” her voice was low and seductive “But even more surprised that he took it.” She looked up at Spike from below lowered lashes. “You must have found it surprising too, huh?”

“Well, wasn’t exactly around…” Spike continued to watch her uneasily, intensely aware of the ever upward moving fingers.

“No, no, but you and he… you must talk, huh?”

“Not so much…”

“Ah, but you are his right hand man, no? Where Angel go, you go, too. So…” the circling finger was moving perilously higher. “What you think, huh? What you think Angel…”

The ringing of the phone was a welcome interruption. Ilona frowned. “You must excuse me. They know not to disturb unless is important.”

Spike breathed a silent sigh of relief as Ilona removed herself from the sofa and went over to her desk. A rapid, low voiced conversation ended with a muttered curse from Ilona as she hung up. She stood frowning at the wall for a moment, then shrugged and turned to Spike with a smile. “I’m so sorry!” She came back to the sofa. “There is, as you say, no rest for the wicked.” She gave a seductive smile and placed one finger under Spike’s chin. “And I am a very, very wicked woman.” She dropped her hand. “So. You stay here, huh? We have rooms – the penthouse is free and we give that to you for your stay. Please, make yourself as though you were at home.” She took Spike’s arm and ushered him from the sofa as Pietro came into the room. “Pietro will take you, and I will see you tomorrow.” She gave him a lingering kiss on the cheek. “Sogni d’oro, Spike. A domani.”

******

Up in the lavishly decorated penthouse, Spike was left feeling uncomfortably uncertain as to whether it was his body Ilona was after, or information about Angel. He kind of hoped it was the information. More than happy to give that. Nervously, he looked around for a chair to wedge under the door handle.





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