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CHAPTER 1

L ea

I’m on a ferry that is taking me from the Sunshine State to an island paradise. Thanks to a small inheritance, and a promise I have no choice but to keep, I’m going to spend a week without a care in the world. Absolute luxury. Delicious food, mocktails by the ocean, maybe a sip of rum, if the mood feels right.

I’ll get to catch up on some reading, and if the mood is good enough for rum, I might even try to flirt with a cabana boy. I’m not actually sure if they have any cabana boys where I’m going, but my grandmother sure talked about the ones she flirted with an awful lot.

But first I have to get there.

Currently, I’m standing near the edge of this rocking boat, worried about keeping the contents of my stomach… well, in my stomach.

My hand flies to my abdomen when it spasms and I clumsily grab the rail. A jagged sliver of rust slices into my palm and I squeal, but turn it into little more than a peep, so I don’t draw attention to myself.

Great, now my hand is bleeding.

Then the boat rocks again and I fight to keep the Pina Colada mocktail I drank earlier from making a return appearance. A coconut and pineapple bubble that escapes my throat confirms it won’t taste nearly as good the second time around.

“Oh, no,” I groan, tightening my grip on the railing, despite the pain, and leaning forward. “Please don’t throw up. Please don’t throw up. Please don’t…”

I swallow a gag as the boat rocks the other way, which causes me to white-knuckle the railing and break off the sliver, but part of it stays embedded in my flesh. I should have bought the motion sickness patches like my friend Sarah suggested. But who gets sick on a one-hour boat trip to an island paradise?

Me. I do.

I should be taking pictures of the sun sinking into the Pacific, but I’m not even sure I can hold my phone steady, much less get a good shot.

“Excuse me, miss,” a voice with a hint of an Italian accent echoes behind me. “Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” I groan, not looking back. “Perfectly fine.”

“Motion sickness is as much mental as it is physical,” he comments, walking beside me, leaning against the railing, and offering a glass filled with an amber-colored liquid. “Try to find something to focus your eyes on and sip this.”

I glance at the drink he’s offering me. I don’t take drinks from strangers to begin with, but the last thing I need right now is a glass of beer. That’ll surely make me sicker than I already am.

“I don’t like beer.” I shake my head and feel another flutter of nausea as several crested waves rock the boat.

“It’s ginger beer. It’ll help, trust me,” he says, his tone more insistent. “Ginger soothes the stomach. Natural remedy.”

The thought of drinking beer makes my stomach churn, but I’ve heard ginger helps. I’d drink gasoline right now if I believed it would get rid of this nausea. I reluctantly let go of the railing with one hand and hold it out for the glass. The hand that offers it is tanned and inked, with thick, callused fingers. The pale outline of a recently removed wedding band catches my attention more than the tattoos as our fingers brush together, but my stomach forces me to divert my gaze to the waves below us. I quickly shift the drink to my other hand when I feel the coldness on my cut.

“Ow,” I whimper.

“You’re bleeding,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward him so fast I nearly lose my balance. “Hold on, I’ve got a first aid kit.”

He lets go of my hand and drops to one knee, hastily opening an expensive-looking black leather suitcase.

“We’re getting closer to paradise,” the man says, his voice becoming low and soothing. “Just look at that gorgeous sunset. You don’t want to miss that, do you?”

A wave of dizziness that makes my legs wobble sweeps through me as I force myself to look at the sunset. It really is picture- perfect. The kind of sunset you’d take a photo in front of and use as your profile picture on social media. The waves are calm on the horizon and clouds that will likely bring rain are a mixture of purple and pink. They blend together to make the sky almost look like it is on fire, with the sun gently grazing the surface of the ocean.

“It’s beautiful,” I relent, bringing the ginger beer to my lips for the smallest sip I can manage.

“They say everything is beautiful as far as the eye can see on the island,” he comments, gesturing in the direction of our destination. “I tend to agree. Ever been before?”

“No,” I reply, feeling another twinge of nausea, but my second sip of ginger beer seems to ease it. “You?”

“A few times,” he answers. “But it’s been a while.”

He stands back up with a first aid kit in his hand, which he pops open and motions to me. I let him take my hand, turn my palm over, and inspect the cut. His callused hands are so gentle. I can’t help feeling a slight shiver from the contact. The ginger beer seems to be helping. Or maybe it’s the beautiful sunset. Or… I swallow hard and take a quick sip of the beer before finally getting a good look at the man tending to my wound.

He’s wearing black chinos and a white button-down shirt. His sleeves are rolled enough for me to see more dangerous-looking ink and hints of what appears to be an impressive physique. His shirt is unbuttoned around his neck, revealing more ink that stops right below the collar.

“I’m Massimo,” he says, a brow raising above the dark sunglasses he’s wearing as if he’s expecting me to introduce myself. He leans closer to my hand, and with the swiftest of motions, plucks the piece of rust out like it’s nothing.

“Lea,” I mutter, taking another sip of the beer and wincing from the sting. I follow the beer with a deep breath when I see him tear open an alcohol swab.

“I need to clean it. This may sting,” he warns, then he wipes the swab across my cut. “Have you had a tetanus shot recently?” he asks, a hint of a smile turning up the edges of his lips and accentuating his sharp cheekbones that are partially hidden behind neatly trimmed black stubble.

“W-what?” I stammer, my eyes getting wide. “No!”

“I’m kidding, it’s not that bad,” he says, ripping open a Band-Aid with his teeth and smoothing it across my cut with a touch that lingers and grazes my fingers as he pulls away. “Good as new.”

“Thank you,” I say, probably with a lot more gratitude than required. “I should have packed a first aid kit.”

“Never travel without the essentials,” he says, nodding and motioning ahead. “We’re almost to the island.”

I’m feeling well enough to wish I had declined the drink, considering all the horror stories I’ve heard, but I doubt he would have bothered to tend to my scrape if he had those kinds of intentions. Plus, I’m feeling much better. My hand, and my stomach. Standing this close to possibly the most attractive man I’ve ever seen isn’t hurting anything. There might even be some butterflies—although that could still be my stomach acting up.

“Yes, we are,” I say, feeling heat tint my cheeks. “That was very kind of you. But how did you know it was motion sickness? What if I partied too hard last night?”

“Same remedy,” he answers, his strong chiseled jaw flexing. “Best way to cure a hangover is to start drinking again.”

The ship rocks as it turns toward the island, but it doesn’t make me queasy. I let out a breath of relief, finally feeling like I’m on vacation. I glance at Massimo again. I’m usually wary of strangers, especially men covered in tattoos, but Massimo isn’t setting off an alarm bell. He seems rather pleasant. And he certainly knows how to take care of someone. He cured my motion sickness and patched up my hand before I knew what was happening.

“Is that so?” I question. “I wouldn’t know. I rarely drink.”

“Good. Alcohol is a poison. A delicious poison, sometimes, but still poison.” He motions to the island. “How long are you staying?”

“A week,” I answer, glancing toward the island for a moment, then back at him. “You?”

“Same,” he replies. “My last vacation.”

“Last as in… ever?” I tilt my head inquisitively.

“Something like that,” he sighs. “What brings you here? Boyfriend? I know a beautiful woman like you isn’t here alone. That would be… That would make things way too interesting.”

I feel the blush heat my cheeks again. “N-no boyfriend,” I reply, quickly taking a drink of the beer. A bigger drink than my last few. “I’m keeping a promise I made to my grandmother.”

“That sounds like a good story.” He turns and leans against the railing, so I do the same now that I’m not worried about adding the contents of my stomach to the blue water below us. This time, I find a spot with no rust.

“I don’t know if it’s a good story,” I sigh. “My grandmother came to Isola Selvaggia when she was about my age. She said it’s the best place to go when you have no direction in life. I’ve been rather directionless since she passed…” My voice trails off and I shake off the tears that glisten in my eyes. “Sorry. She made me promise that I’d come here at least once before I decided what to do with my life. So, here I am.”

“For what it’s worth, I think that’s a fantastic story,” he says, pulling his sunglasses off and revealing piercing icy blue eyes that I get lost in for a moment. “Most people don’t keep their promises. The fact you’re keeping one to someone who is no longer here is admirable. My condolences, by the way. For your grandmother.”

“T-thank you,” I stammer, breaking away from his gaze. “She was a wonderful woman. She took me in after… She basically raised me.”

I look away for a moment, but I can still feel his piercing stare. It makes my breath hitch when our eyes meet again. There’s something familiar about Massimo, like I’ve looked into his eyes before, but—that doesn’t make sense. I’d remember a name that rolls off my tongue like his does. Wouldn’t I? I’d certainly remember a gorgeous guy with an Italian accent, especially one covered in tattoos. Maybe he’s a doctor? On a billboard? No, that doesn’t make sense, either. I’m from a small town. He’s probably from somewhere much more interesting than Pine Grove.

“Well, she must have raised a fine young woman,” he says, nodding to me. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t care about that promise you made, right?”

“I suppose.” I smile fondly as I remember a few of my grandmother’s stories about Isola Selvaggia.

“Let’s carry our bags to the front so we don’t get stuck in line.” Massimo leans down to grab his. “Which resort are you staying at?”

“Uh, Twelve Palms,” I answer, following his lead.

“Excellent, so am I.” He smiles, offering to help with my bags, but I decline with a wave of my hand. “If you’re not doing anything later tonight, you should join me for dinner. There’s a nice restaurant that overlooks the ocean. Bellissima’s. I usually eat around six.”

I stare at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Is he asking me out on a date? Surely not. Not a guy like him. I’m just a nobody from a small town and nowhere near as attractive as the girls guys like him usually date. Plus, he’s older than me. He’s at least in his mid-thirties, if not older. I’m barely twenty-one.

I should decline, but something causes me to hesitate. The promise I made to my grandmother. I nervously glance at his hand where the pale outline of his wedding band still lingers. There’s a rose tattooed on the back of that hand. The vines wrap around his finger, like his missing wedding band is part of the design.

“Are you married?” I ask point-blank, gesturing to his hand. “If you are, I’m not that kind of girl.”

The easy way out. If he’s married, that’ll erase all my hesitation. I won’t be breaking my promise to my grandmother. I don’t care how attractive he is, or how his icy blue eyes are making my knees weak. I’ll shut him down right now if he’s just looking for some kind of vacation fling.

“No,” he says, lifting his hand and tracing the pale circle. A pained expression haunts his face and makes his eyes dim. “My wife passed away five years ago.”

“Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry!” I take a step back, feeling a pang of regret for asking.

“It’s okay.” He swallows hard, lowers his hand, and shakes his head. “I like that you asked. Your grandmother really did raise a fine young woman.”

My heart aches when I see the pained expression etched on his face. He loved her. Is that why he wore his wedding band for so long after she passed? That’s admirable. I guess there’s no harm in having dinner with him. He seems genuine, even if his tattoos suggest he’s got an edge hiding behind his mountainous physique. I promised my grandmother I would let Isola Selvaggia guide me, rather than overthinking everything like I normally do.

“Bellissima’s? Six o’clock?” I repeat. “Okay, I’ll join you for dinner.”

“Excellent,” he says, putting an arm in front of me so I don’t lose my balance when the boat moves close to the dock. It’s a kind, almost protective gesture. “Maybe I can even convince you to try the wine from my family’s vineyard. It’s one of Bellissima’s most popular selections.”

“You want me to drink a glass of poison?” I question, unable to hide my grin.

“Delicious poison,” he chuckles.

“I’ll consider it,” I say, moving away from his protective gesture once the boat stops rocking.

“See you tonight, bambina ,” he says, the inflection on the last word stirring something strange inside me, even though I don’t know what it means.

I have a silly grin on my face as I leave the boat and walk toward the shuttle. I glance back to see if Massimo will be riding the same shuttle, but he’s already getting into the back seat of a black sedan. He has his own ride, and his own driver. He must be important. Or wealthy. That would make sense if the wine from his family’s vineyard is one of the most popular ones at the resort—or at least at Bellissima’s, where I’ll be joining him for dinner.

“I’m keeping my promise, Grandma,” I say under my breath. “I’m letting Isola Selvaggia guide me on this adventure. I really hope I don’t regret this.”

I say his name a few times once I find a seat on the shuttle. There’s something so familiar about him, but why can’t I figure out what it is? He’s too old to be someone I met at school. He’s definitely not a professor. Not with those tattoos. I don’t know anyone with that much ink.

But then we get close enough for me to see Twelve Palms and I let out a gasp. “Oh wow,” I say, the sight of the resort taking my breath away and making me forget about the attractive stranger for a moment.

My grandmother didn’t stay at a resort. She found a hotel near the beach and let the island do the rest. I’m not that brave. Isola Selvaggia is a tourist destination, so it’s relatively safe, according to what I read online. Still, I’m a woman traveling alone, so I have to be careful. I planned a few excursions away from the resort, but I plan to stay safely within the walls most of the time I’m here.

Once we pass through the gates of the resort, I pull out my phone and confirm I have a signal before sending a message to my best friend.

Lea: I made it.

Sarah: Good! Meet any cute cabana boys yet?

Lea: I haven’t made it that far. I did meet someone on the boat, though…

Sarah: Is he hot?

Lea: Very. He asked me to dinner tonight.

Sarah: And you said no, because you’re afraid of dicks.

I shake my head and start giggling, which draws the attention of a few others on the shuttle, so I quickly stifle my reaction. I’m not afraid of dicks—just wary of doing something I’ll regret. I really hope I don’t regret agreeing to have dinner with Massimo.

Lea: You’ll be very proud of me. I’m following my grandmother’s advice.

Sarah: Oh, you’re definitely getting your cherry popped this week! I want all the details!

Lea: There won’t be any details. I’m going to have fun, but I’m not having that kind of fun.

Sarah: Details!

The shuttle arrives at the front of the resort hotel, so I put my phone away and gather my things. The hotel is a lot more luxurious than I expected, but considering what I’m paying, I’d be upset if it was a dive. I follow the line of guests and when I step into the lobby, there’s a band playing island music with some grass-skirted dancers that the men in line seem to enjoy staring at. Much to the displeasure of a few girlfriends and wives.

After I make it to the front desk, I decline the offer for someone to take my bags and collect my keycard. I’m staying in a bungalow on the resort’s private beach. Another luxury I’m treating myself to. I’ll have dinner with Massimo, because I’m letting the island guide me, but I’ll be spending most of my time on the beach, catching up on a few books that have been sitting on my Kindle for far too long.

I leave the hotel and follow the signs toward the bungalows. The sights are impressive, but my mind wanders back to the attractive stranger from the boat. Massimo.

“Massimo, Massimo, Massimo…” I say, racking my brain. “Why do you look so familiar… Where would I—Oh, my god!”

Then it hits me like a lightning bolt. I know exactly why Massimo looks so familiar.

He’s on Sarah’s true crime wall.

Her Mafia true crime wall.