Page 10

9

ISABELLA

I tug my brush through my hair, pulling a little too hard.

Pent up energy, frustration of two very different flavors, has me wound up tight. Stupid girly crap. Stupid buff, god-bodied, strong-jawed stronzo ! Stupid movies and stupid romantic lodge!

First off, I shouldn’t be fraternizing so openly with my enemy. I shouldn’t like him as much as I do.

He’s becoming too real, too human.

And too irresistible.

The more time we spend together, the more likable he is, more charming. It’s completely unfair.

Making it all too difficult to keep focusing on the fact that I am here to take him down. And confusing, because it gets harder to reconcile the man I am getting to know with someone who could have killed my brother.

Not to mention, from what little I’ve dug up, the time frames don’t necessarily line up. It’s becoming apparent that there’s almost no way to know for sure if Alessandro was in Italy when Gio was killed.

They keep some records, but clearly he has people clean up after him.

I got a brief peek of his laptop when I was certain that he and Adriano were occupied—a rare occurrence that both of them would be showering around the same time. But all I've turned up is a handful of paperwork, some snapshots of dummy corporations, and possible money laundering.

I need more time to look, and better places to look in.

Alessandro’s desk drawers are still an option, as well as the east wing, where I am sure Adriano has to have some files or a computer I can get something from.

Or I could just ask Alessandro.

Yeah. Right.

So I wait for a phone call to the land line, the phones I was able to bug. Not a single call has come through in my stay here, so far.

And Adriano is really tight-lipped even when they talk. Listening through conversations I’ve recorded between them in the gym, the office, and the study, have turned up very little.

It helps me contextualize their lives and puts perspective on some of my research.

But that’s a far cry from incriminating evidence.

So, leaving my room, I time my venture down to the landing with Alessandro’s morning run, checking to see that Adriano isn’t around, and head to the office.

It’s horribly dangerous, trying this during the day.

The drawers are unlocked, and I quickly rifle through the files, papers, assorted junk.

Everything is relatively organized, leading me to a series of files folders with a few documents.

And one photo.

It immediately grabs my attention because Alessandro doesn’t have a single picture of anyone in the house. No family. No friends. Almost nothing to show that he has any close relationship with anybody.

But this photo, it seems to be some sort of inner circle, Alessandro and Adriano maybe a few years younger. I easily pick out the twins, although they look fairly different from one another, the family resemblance to the older two is uncanny.

With no other findings, I snap a shot with my phone and sneak back to my room, letting my heart rate drop.

One more spot checked. Not caught.

It’s a bit disappointing to check another search off my list with nothing to show for it. Until I study the photo I took. Despite the crinkled edges, it’s still in good condition.

Most of the faces are strangers, run of the mill men and women, all dressed nicely.

But there in the back row, almost unnoticeable…

That hairline. Those eyes. That nose.

I realize I haven’t taken a breath and gasp.

It couldn’t be my brother. Not Giorgio. It must be someone else.

My brain can't reconcile that he would be anywhere with these men, with these terrible people.

Shaken, I close my phone and pace my room for a few minutes, wringing my hands.

There has to be an explanation.

And I need to know right now if Giorgio knew Alessandro. I need to know if the man I am staying with—the man I am developing feelings for—killed my sibling.

“There’s gotta be something. Some evidence here, dammit!” I hiss, running my fingers through my hair.

The simplicity of my plan, trailing them to a vacation home seems so foolish, now.

Plus, all this sneaking around is wearing thin, making my time here stressful. I have to rise early, go to bed late, sneak around in the dark of night and hope that the staff doesn't catch me doing so.

Something snaps inside of me.

I have to get into Adriano’s room.

Two steps down toward the landing I get a thrill, hearing two male voices coming from the game room.

“You keep practicing and maybe one day you'll beat me, Alessandro.”

“Bullshit. I was drunk and I want a rematch.”

“Fine. I’ll even let you break.” The pool balls clack, echoing up through the house.

“Thanks, I was going to.”

The pop of the balls breaking sends me scurrying toward the east wing door. It’s now or never.

I slow as I reach for the doorknob and to my surprise, it’s not closed all the way.

“Deep breaths, Isa,” I whisper, praying the door doesn’t creak. “Calm. Get in, get out.”

Slipping inside, I push the door closed in case Carla or Ava pass by.

Inside it’s dim, light coming into the hallway from a window at the end of the walk. Two doors on each side are closed, except for the far door.

Otherwise, it's like a time capsule from more than twenty years ago.

Photos of a family, more than two generations in some, decorate the walls. An old buffet houses frames filled with pictures of couples, children.

Alessandro is front and center, his beaming smile catching me off guard.

He was adorable.

They all were.

The first and second door lead to rooms swathed in old sheets, covering the furniture. Rooms that have clearly been unoccupied since the Diamantes came here as a family.

Two sets of bunk beds line the walls of the third room, an old toy chest and colorful wallpaper and rugs visible in the faint light glowing around the closed curtains.

Shaking myself and making sure that my footfalls are silent, I get back on task, heading to the last room.

It’s stark, simple.

This was probably their parent’s room. A queen bed. A desk, TV, and its own bathroom.

Frames that once hung on the walls form a lean-to against the far wall, and I’m tempted to inspect them.

No. Focus.

Assessing the rest of the room, the only things out of place are the suitcase that Adriano is clearly still living out of and his leather laptop bag sitting by the desk. A quick search reveals the drawers are empty, except for some dust and old pencils and paper.

My fingers shake as I lift the briefcase, unzipping it carefully.

His laptop would be ideal, likely full of work-related files.

Assuming he’s an idiot and doesn’t have it password protected.

In the other pocket, I find what I’m looking for.

Spreadsheets. Accounting.

Dock numbers and manifestos.

Most of those are worded in what must be code, but I can tell immediately from terms my brother and father taught me to look for that it’s all illicit materials. Guns. Drugs.

The last packet is full of names, dollar amounts tracked down a list beside them.

Pay outs?

Or debts?

I start to snap a few shots of the pages, trying to keep my hands from quivering. This is it. Everything I need to break them wide open. Or at least enough to get the cops involved properly.

On the last page of the spreadsheet, I stop short.

Rossi, Giorgio/$765,000.

What the hell?

Was he in debt to the Diamantes?

My speculation stutters to a halt when I hear the thump of feet on the stairs.

“Shit!” I choke, setting the briefcase back by the desk and hustling from the room. In a panic I realize I still have the packet of names in one hand, so I dash to the room with the old furniture and boxes, cramming the papers into a box on the bottom of a stack just inside the door.

No sooner do I turn back—patting down the front of my shirt nervously—than Adriano pushes open the door to the wing. He slows as he notices me standing in the hallway, looking guilty as sin.

“Hi.”

“Uh, hi, Adriano.”

“What are you doing in here?” His tone is cool, quiet. Deadly.

My knees almost give out at the implication of murder in his blank stare.

Adriano's voice is huskier than his brother’s. Less smooth and baritone, but still deep. It would be attractive in any other circumstance.

I inhale, acting as innocent as I can. “I’m so sorry. I just really, really wanted to see what was back here. The door was open and I…”

The shrug that pulls at my shoulders is real, apologetic.

I really am sorry.

That I got caught.

“Don’t worry about it. Alessandro just didn’t want you to disturb me. He’s sensitive about…this stuff, too.” He waves toward the photos, the rooms. “Just where our parents and the cousins stayed when we came here.”

“I hope it doesn’t make him mad.”

“He's a little sentimental sometimes. I won’t say anything.”

Adriano is so different from Alessandro. He’s cool and collected, doesn’t appear to be tense and poised to attack like his older sibling. There’s a looseness to his stance that puts me at ease, even though I know I shouldn’t fool myself.

He’s still a Diamante.

There’s that same intensity in his gaze, but even more thoughtful than Aless.

More calculating.

“Isabella, right? We haven’t really had a chance to speak since you arrived. I’m Adriano.”

“It’s nice to be formally introduced.” I shake his hand, begging my body to stay calm, to not shake. “You’re one of his brothers, right?”

He smiles tightly, nodding.

Pleasant and polite. As if he hadn’t been outright avoiding us this entire time.

“Yes, our younger brothers are back home.”

“What’s the age gap, if you don’t mind me asking?” I can’t seem to keep my damn mouth shut to save my life.

“Seven years. Another four between me and the twins. Aless raised us.”

“That’s what I gathered. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It was a long time ago.”

He's candid, upfront, but he's careful about what he says, gauging my reactions just as carefully. His eyes take note of everything, they remind me of my dad, of me. Always taking stock of every detail in a situation.

Which tells me Adriano might very well be more dangerous than Alessandro.

“So, Isabella, what brings you up to the mountains anyway?”

“Didn't Alessandro tell you?” I skirt around the question.

“He mentioned it a bit in passing.”

“I was researching my family. Visiting old homesteads. My distant relatives lived near here.”

“Hmm. Getting in touch with your roots. I get it. Good to get back to the old country, too.”

“Yes, it was foolish of me to come on holiday at this time of year, apparently.” I gesture toward the window and he nods again, waiting for me to say more. “And then I was out a little too late and tried to drive back to where I was staying. I got lost on the road. Followed your taillights and…”

“Just lucky you found your way here. And that your little rental car made it.” Adriano smirks.

“I'm grateful. I have no clue how I’ll get it back to town.”

“Oh, I'm sure we'll find a way.” Something about the way he says it makes me tense up.

“I do appreciate everything the two of you have done for me. It's definitely something that I don't know how I'll ever repay.” I glance to the side, the sentiment feeling as hollow as my excuses. I mean, I am thankful they let me stay.

“Well, I'm sure you’ll think of something.” He looks at me, watches me lock up. “I’m kidding, of course.”

I join him laughing, even if mine is a lot more nervous.

“Well, I’ll see you around, I guess,” I offer.

“Likewise. I’m sure we’ll talk again.” I can’t decide if it’s a statement of goodwill or a threat.

“I understand if not, you like your privacy. And I don't blame you. We're kind of in close quarters here, unable to escape.”

“Right. Still, I suppose I should’ve been a better host in my own home. Even so, if you wouldn’t mind?” He points toward the door, inviting me to leave.

“Ah, um, yes. Sorry again.” I shuffle awkwardly toward the entryway.

“I don’t want Aless to get upset with you, that’s all.”

It’s an excuse for getting me to go and I take it gladly.

“Right. Thank you, Adriano.” This time, I mean it. The last thing I want to do is piss off Alessandro Diamante.

“No worries. It will be our little secret.”

And like that, he ushers me out and shuts the door. A strangled sigh escapes me as I hurry back down the stairs toward the landing, turning the corner.

Where I run smack dab into Alessandro.