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“There have to be some rules.”

“Sure.” He leans against the desk. “The woman consents by putting out the red bulb. She wears white, goes barefoot. The man wears the mask, doesthe whistle. After that?” He shrugs. “It’s primal. That’s why people do it.”

“And they use the maze?”

“It’s one of the favorite spots. Hidden, complex. The thrill of the chase.”

I try to imagine it—people running through the hedges at night, the masked hunters pursuing. All of them potentially stumbling over a fresh grave.

“We need to move him,” I say.

“Not an option. Too risky.”

“More risky than someone literally tripping over his body?”

“We buried him deep, with plants that mask the scent. The dogs couldn’t find him today. Hunters won’t either.”

“You can’t know that for sure.” I step closer to him, frustration building. “This isn’t just your problem. It’s my property. My party. My hands that—” I’m unable to finish.

His expression shifts, anger giving way to something more complex. “I know, but moving him now, with Viktor watching everything? That’s suicide.”

“So we just hope for the best? Hope no one notices the freshly turned earth or the new plants?”

“The maze has been there for decades. Tourists and locals have been screwing in it for just as long. No one’s going to question one more patch of dirt.”

“That’s not good enough.” I move even closer,challenging him. “I need a better plan than ‘hope no one notices.’”

“Well, that’s all we’ve got right now, princess.” The nickname comes out sharp-edged. “Unless you’ve got some brilliant idea you’re not sharing.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What? Princess?” He smirks. “Isn’t that what you are? Daddy’s little girl, used to getting her way, thinks she can just walk into anywhere?—”

“You don’t know me at all.”

“No?” He narrows his eyes. “I know you well enough. Rich girl looking for a thrill, slumming it with the hired help. First Damiano, now showing up here.” He steps closer. “Was that your plan? Work your way through the island’s bad boys for a little vacation excitement?”

“That’s not?—”

“You seemed pretty comfortable letting the gardener fuck you last night. Didn’t take you long to come looking for me next, did it?”

The words hit like a physical blow. I see the regret in his eyes immediately, like he knows he’s gone too far, but it doesn’t matter. I slap him. Not hard, more a reflex than an attack, but the sound seems to echo in the small room.

For a second, we both freeze. Then something shifts in his eyes.

“Feel better?” he asks.

“No.” My hand stings. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Any of this.”

“Join the club.”

We’re standing too close now, close enough that I can smell the faint scent of whiskey on his breath, see the small scar near his jawline. He drops his gaze to my mouth for a second.

“I should go,” I say, not moving.

“Yeah, you should.” He doesn’t move either.

I’m not sure who leans in first. Maybe me. Maybe him. Maybe both of us at the same time, drawn together by the same reckless impulse that’s been pushing me since I returned to this island.