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CHAPTER 3

L ea

I’m pacing back and forth in my bungalow in a panic. My heart’s beating so hard it’s making me dizzy. The nausea is back, and it’s got my stomach coiled into a knot so tight I’m struggling not to collapse.

“Sarah… Call me! I need you!” I mutter, staring at the last message I sent her, which hasn’t been read yet. “Please…”

I desperately wish I had paid closer attention when Sarah was rambling about all the guys on her true crime wall. Or more specifically, the ones on her Mafia true crime wall. She’s obsessed with true crime, especially modern-day mobsters. I like listening to the stories, but I don’t want to be a part of one. Why did I throw common sense out the window when I was staring into those icy blue eyes? The warning signs were there. Literally tattooed on his impressive, gorgeous…

“No! No, stop.” I shake my head. “I’m not having dinner with someone who is in the Mafia. That’s absurd.”

I tremble and send another message to Sarah, hoping the frequency will convey everything the frantic urgency doesn’t. This isn’t the kind of adventure I was looking for on Isola Selvaggia. I just wanted to sit by the ocean and catch up on my reading. See a few sights. Maybe, just maybe—and it’s a big maybe—flirt with a cabana boy. I haven’t even seen a cabana boy and I don’t want to flirt with anyone anymore.

“Maybe I should go home.” I turn and look at my bags. “The boat runs again tonight. By this time tomorrow, this could all be a weird dream. But I spent so much money to come here, and I promised?—”

My phone lights up. Sarah’s calling me. I decline it and immediately call her back on video. I need to see her face, and if she sees mine, she’ll understand how serious this is. I’m practically in tears.

“Sarah!” I say as soon as she answers. “Listen, are you at home?”

“Uh, yeah.” Sarah turns the phone and shows me the entrance of her mom’s house. “Give me a second. What do you need?”

“I need you to go to your room,” I say with as much urgency as I can muster. “And then I need to see your Mafia true crime wall.”

“O-okay,” she says, blinking in surprise as she turns the phone so I can see her face. “What’s going on, Lea? Are you crying?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I sputter. “Just hurry! Please!”

“Okay, okay, hold your horses,” she grumbles.

My hand trembles so hard I can barely hold onto the phone as the video bounces while Sarah rushes up the stairs. I close my eyes and mutter a silent prayer that I’m mixed up. That Massimo just looks similar to some Mafia guy and isn’t actually a dangerous criminal. If he is, I have no idea what I’ll do. Will he hunt me down if I stand him up? He knows I’m staying at this resort. Knows I’m all alone. Oh, god.

“Alright, I’m here. Mafia true crime wall.” Sarah flips the video and walks closer.

“Down. To the right,” I urge, then I see Massimo’s face. “No, oh, god, no. It’s him!”

“What are you talking about?” Sarah asks, flipping the image again as she turns around.

“The guy I met on the boat!” I point at the screen, aiming over her shoulder at the Dirty Vegas Mafia. “It’s the guy on the wall behind you! Massimo Morandi!”

“What?” Sarah’s face pales. “Are you sure? He’s like a Mafia prince, next in line to run the Morandi Crime Family if my wall is still accurate.”

“I’m sure!” I answer. “He’s older than in that picture, and he’s got a beard now, but that’s him! I swear it is!”

The video shakes and Sarah scurries toward her desk. She puts the phone down and I’m staring at her ceiling.

“What are you doing?” I ask, tilting my head like it would somehow give me a better view.

“I’m checking the message boards. Just a second,” Sarah mutters, then I hear her typing.

My legs wobble and I stagger over to the couch, barely making it before I collapse. This is a nightmare. Definitely not what my grandmother had in mind when she said I should let the island guide me.

“Anything?” I ask, the knot in my stomach nearly doubling me over.

“Okay. Morandi Crime Family… Dirty Vegas Mafia…” Sarah’s fingers tap on the keyboard. “I haven’t done a lot of research on them, but they run Las Vegas, obviously. Oh, god! Lea!”

“What?” I ask, feeling a surge of panic—as if I’m not already panicking enough.

Sarah grabs the phone and turns it so I can see the startled expression on her face. “He murdered his wife!”

“No!” I shake my head. “He… He murdered her?”

I start hyperventilating and gasping for air. That doesn’t make sense. Massimo—the outline on his finger. The pain I saw in his eyes. That didn’t look like the face of a man who killed the woman he supposedly loved. That pain looked real.

“Wait, maybe he didn’t,” Sarah continues. “This happened like five years ago. The police responded to a call about a domestic dispute. They found her on the floor, and she had been shot multiple times. He was holding her and covered in blood. They never recovered the gun… But it looks like he was the only suspect.”

“Why did they think he killed her?” I question.

“It’s always the husband, Lea,” Sarah sighs. “It doesn’t look like he was ever charged, but he refused a polygraph. Refused to give a statement without his lawyer present. Then… that’s it. Nothing else. It’s a cold case now.”

“Were there any theories?” I ask, unsure why I care. I should be planning my escape from Isola Selvaggia. “You have theories about everyone on your wall!”

“Yeah, the true crime cases I follow,” she says, glancing over at her wall. “Delphi—they finally got that guy. Asha Degree. Laci Peterson. Ask me anything about serial killers and I can talk your ear off with theories. It’s a little harder with Mafia guys. There’s not a lot of information available about those cases unless they’re really old and everyone is dead.”

“Yeah, but you’re obsessed with them!” I rattle, trying to get my breathing under control. “Your podcast about the Mafia Prince Murders got over a million hits!”

“That was a huge case, Lea,” she says. “The Dirty Vegas Mafia is good at keeping things secret. I’m searching all the major true crime podcasts. I can’t find any about the Morandi Crime Family, except for a few after his wife was murdered. There’s not much here.”

“Sarah, I’m supposed to have dinner with this guy in less than two hours!” I tense up and squeeze my eyes shut. “What the hell do I do? I can’t get off this island until later tonight! He’ll know I stood him up!”

“Hold on, relax,” Sarah says, biting the inside of her lip like she does when she’s contemplating something. “He’s not a serial killer and he may not have murdered his wife. Mafia guys never talk to the cops, and they generally don’t kill women unless there’s a damn good reason.”

“I-I don’t want to give him one!” I stammer.

“Then go to dinner with him and play it cool.” Sarah leans forward. “After it’s over, just tell him you’re not feeling a connection or whatever. There’s no reason to ruin your entire vacation over this. I’m sure he’s not going to waste his time with someone who isn’t interested. He’s on vacation too, right?”

I consider Sarah’s words and feel some of the tension easing. That’s probably the best option, even if I don’t like it. If I stand him up, that’ll give him a reason to come looking for me, even if he just wants to make sure I’m okay.

“I-I guess so,” I sigh apprehensively. “Okay, I’ll go to dinner. I was seasick earlier, so I’ll put in an appearance, tell him my stomach is still bothering me, and get out of there as fast as possible. He can’t fault me for that. It’s not like I came to Isola Selvaggia looking for some kind of fling.”

“Virgins rarely do,” Sarah retorts, a slight grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “Except for your grandmother.”

“Yeah, that promise is out the window,” I mutter. “I’m going to tell him I don’t feel well, make it clear that I’m not interested in seeing him again, and get back to my bungalow as fast as possible. I’ve got an excursion planned tomorrow, so I won’t be at the resort. I doubt Mafia guys go on excursions.”

“Unless they’re trying to find a place to hide a body,” Sarah jokes.

“Sarah!” I shake my head angrily. “Don’t say that! I’m just going to treat him like any other guy.”

“Then it should be easy to turn him down if he asks for a second date,” she says, still trying to joke with me. “You never go on second dates.”

“Exactly!” I nod, although I’m not happy that she used that as a frame of reference. “I’ll let him down—gently. Then I’ll never talk to him again. Never even think about him again!”

“I’ll keep looking into the Morandi Crime Family and the Dirty Vegas Mafia. If I find anything interesting, I’ll text you,” Sarah offers.

“Thank you,” I say. “Now I need to get ready for my date…”

Sarah and I say our goodbyes and I end the call. I sink into the couch and stare at the ceiling. This is why I don’t take drinks from strangers. This is why I don’t agree to go out with guys I just met. This is why I stay away from guys covered in tattoos—they’re always bad news. I should have listened to my gut. Maybe I sensed danger and that’s why I was seasick to begin with.

“Okay.” I take a few deep breaths and try to gather what is left of my composure. “I can do this.”

Dwelling on my regrets and what I should have done won’t get me through this evening. I’ll treat it like any other first date. I’m an expert at terrible first dates. Granted, they usually aren’t my fault.

I walk over to my bags and open my suitcase. I brought several dresses with me. I put them all on the bed and take a step back. I’d normally wear the black dress my grandmother bought me. That’s my every-first-date dress. But that’s what I wear when I want to impress the guy across the table. I don’t want to impress Massimo. The exact opposite, actually.

“Massimo probably wants some sweet, submissive girl who fawns over him,” I say, picking up my red dress. “That’s what guys like him usually want. I think. I’ll be the exact opposite.”

Sassy red, as my grandmother used to call it. I wish she was here. I don’t have any sassiness in me right now. My grandmother would march right up to Massimo, grab him by the ear, and throw him in the Pacific. Then again, maybe it’s best that she’s not here. That might get both of us killed.

“Sarah better do a podcast about me if I go missing tonight,” I mutter, taking a deep breath as I sit down to do my makeup. “And she better not let me turn into another cold case!”

My facade of bravery sounds hollow, even to me, but I’m better at turning guys off than turning them on. It should be easy enough to convince Massimo I’m not worth the effort. He’s not going to murder someone because they were a terrible date. I hope. I wish I wasn’t thinking about that right now.

I mentally and physically stumble my way through getting ready. Despite my nervousness, my reflection doesn’t look half bad. Under different circumstances, I’d be happy walking into a restaurant looking like this for a date.

As soon as I leave the bungalow, I get a message from Sarah.

Sarah: Hey, so I’m looking into the murder of Layla Morandi. Nobody has ever gotten so much as a statement from the family about it, except for the one their lawyer released. It’s extremely vague.

Lea: If there was a confession, he’d be in prison right now instead of waiting for me, right?

Sarah: Yeah, but I think you’re missing the point. You’re having dinner with him. It might come up in in conversation.

Lea: I don’t plan on staying long enough to get into any conversations like that.

Sarah: You should ask him about her. He might let his guard down and say something useful. I could have you on my podcast after you get back. All the Mafia fans will go crazy for that kind of content!

Lea: You want me to ask him if he killed his wife? So you can get some hits on your podcast? Are you crazy?

Sarah: Well, no, don’t ask him if he did it! Just ask what happened! Do it casually, like normal conversation. Anything he says will be more information than anyone else has. It’ll basically be an exclusive.

“Ugh!” I say angrily, squeezing my phone so hard the case bends before I start typing again.

Lea: If it comes up in conversation. I love you, but I’m more worried about staying alive than getting an exclusive for your podcast.

Sarah: You’re the best! Love you, too!

My best friend.

Of course she’s already figured out how to turn my misfortune into content for her podcast. And she knows I’ll do it, because I’d do anything for her. I’d like to believe that goes both ways. But maybe I can use this to my advantage. I doubt anyone wants to spend their first date with someone new talking about their dead wife.

I’m probably foolish for thinking this, but I don’t believe Massimo killed his wife. That wasn’t self-inflicted pain I saw on his face. Why would he have worn his wedding band for so long if he killed her? The outline is still on his finger. Sarah said it’s a cold case now, so it’s not like anyone is investigating it. Well, except for true crime podcasters like Sarah. She’s probably salivating right now.

I take a deep breath when I get to Bellissima’s. This would be an incredible place for a first date if my date wasn’t in the Mafia. More than just in the Mafia. He’s next in line—in Las Vegas, at least. A Mafia prince. That’s what Sarah said. I don’t know how any of that works and I’m not eager to find out.

“Get in, get out,” I mutter as I step into the restaurant. “And if it comes up, I’ll… try to get something Sarah can use for her podcast.”

A flicker of confidence radiates inside me as I scan the restaurant. Massimo is seated at a table in the back. He’s got a glass of wine in front of him, and an empty glass in front of my seat. He lifts his head and I force a smile when he spots me.

Then I’m trapped in his piercing gaze, and something more primal than fear makes my knees wobble.

This was a really bad idea.