Page 6

CHAPTER 6

L ea

Massimo leads me out of the restaurant and down the path to the hotel. I need to make a right to go to my bungalow. I don’t want him to walk me to my front door—don’t want to give him even as much as a hint that this could go further than that. But what if he tries to kiss me goodnight? My stomach flutters. I imagine his rough-looking lips against mine.

“I-I can make it the rest of the way on my own,” I stammer, motioning to the bungalows that adorn the private beach. “I’m down there.”

“You sure, bambina ?” he asks as he turns to me. “I don’t mind walking you the rest of the way.”

“I’m okay, really,” I manage with very little confidence. “Thank you for dinner. It was amazing, even if my stomach was a little off. So was the wine. It didn’t taste like poison at all.”

“I’m glad,” he says, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I like you, Lea. Can we do this again tomorrow night? I’ll take you somewhere even better than Bellissima’s. “

“I don’t know.” I look down, finally breaking from his gaze, but I still feel it.

“Because of my wife?” he questions with a sigh. “I understand.”

I should agree. That’s an easy way out. But I can’t. I don’t want him to feel like opening up is why I don’t want to see him again. I mentally stumble through several options, remembering the few times guys have asked me out on a second date, even after the first one went awful.

“That’s not it.” I exhale sharply. The truth is I like him even more, knowing that he’s capable of that kind of love—knowing that he loves so deeply, it lingers that long. That it hurts. I can’t even imagine being loved like that. “I-I just didn’t come here looking for something like that. I promised my grandmother I’d let the island guide me…” And it’s guided me here. But this isn’t what she meant.

“Where is it guiding you, bambina ?” he asks. “Tell me.”

He leans closer, his eyes darkening like he’s staring into my soul. I’m staring into his. A frozen tundra that just tasted sunshine for the first time in so long he doesn’t remember exactly what it tastes like. But he wants to. And I want him to.

No! Reality snaps me like a twig and I wobble, looking away.

“It’s guiding me to my bungalow,” I reply, meeting his gaze again. “Thank you for tonight. Really. But I need to go. I’ve got plans tomorrow and I need to get some rest. My stomach…” It feels hollow to keep going back to that excuse, considering he cured it.

He takes my hand, squeezes it, and nods. The expression on his face doesn’t radiate pain. Disappointment, maybe? I guess that’s fair. I’m feeling a little of that myself. Disappointed that the hottest guy I’ve ever met, the first guy to bring these strange feelings to the surface, is a criminal. And not just the bad-boy-in-his-troubled-teens kind of criminal. He’s probably killed people. Like, people , people. More than one.

Then the emotion just kind of drains out of his face, and his stare gets cold enough to make me shiver. Is this what his anger looks like?

“Goodnight, Lea,” he says, letting go of my hand and turning away. “I’ll never forget you. Or tonight.”

He starts walking toward the hotel and I’m frozen where I’m standing. Part of me wants to rush after him. Part of me wants to run away. I’ve never felt so conflicted. Every rational thought says I should not only run, but pack my bags, and see if I can still make it to the boat before it leaves tonight. Why am I hesitating? Why are my feet shuffling forward? Why is the word wait forming on my tongue? I bite the w to stop myself from calling out like some desperate girl who just got left wanting so much more than his goodnight.

“This is… ridiculous,” I mutter under my breath. “Why do I feel this way?”

I stumble forward on my heels, trying to will my feet to go in the opposite direction. Everything about this is wrong. I had dinner with Massimo. I let him down gently. He’s not going to come chasing after me. So why am I chasing after him? Why is the scent of his cologne a vapor trail I’m following in a daze?

He’s still quite a ways ahead of me when I walk into the hotel. I need to turn around. Anything that happens from this point forward is my fault. I can’t blame it on the promise I made or thinking he’s a great guy with a few too many tattoos.

I’m so conflicted, I don’t know what to do. I hesitate. I squeeze my eyes shut and walk after him, my pace quickening. What am I even going to say? Just when I’m about to force myself to choose, his cell phone rings. He stops dead in his tracks, pulls it out of his jacket, and answers. He glances over his shoulder and I dash around the corner I just came from before he can see me.

“Is this about the hit?” Massimo asks.

The hit? Oh, my god! Mafia , Mafia. Like the kind who doesn’t even kill people himself. He pays someone, or just orders them to kill people.

“Yeah, I don’t like the way that sounds either.” Massimo’s footsteps echo and he’s moving.

I can’t hear what he’s saying, so I let out a breath of relief. Then my duty as Sarah’s best friend zaps me like I’m hearing her voice telepathically, telling me to follow the Mafia prince, because that surely can’t go wrong.

“No, I’m not going to listen. No…” My hand is already in my purse. I pull out my phone, take a deep breath, and hit record. “If I die tonight because of this… what the hell am I doing?”

I groan and shuffle around the corner. I creep against the wall and around a few plants until I hear his voice again.

“The arrangements have been made,” Massimo growls. “You got the money, right?”

A hit? Arrangements? Money? Yeah, this is like he-will-kill-me territory. I end the recording, fire it to Sarah in a text, and start recording again.

“No, nothing else,” Massimo says. “Goodnight.”

Oh crap, oh crap. He’s walking back this way. I take a few steps back, and as I spin around, I trip over a plant I forgot was right behind me.

“Ah!” I squeal as I tumble forward, drop my phone, and see the carpet rising up to meet my face. I throw one arm out, and then a firm hand grabs my other one. My purse dangles on my arm and I manage to catch it before it hits the floor.

“I’ve got you, bambina ,” Massimo says, hauling me back onto my heels and steadying me with both hands. Then his gaze drifts to my phone. “I’ll get that for you.”

I freeze on wobbly knees. There is absolutely no way to explain why I’m standing right here. No way to hide the fact I just overheard him say something that would land him in prison.

Massimo holds me steady with one hand and leans over to retrieve my phone. It’s face down. My stomach does a somersault as he flips it in his hand and I see the recorder still going. Massimo presses his finger on it and meets my terrified stare. I just made the worst mistake of my life. A series of them. I’d be the girl the audience yells at in the horror movie.

“You followed me?” he asks, his eyes flickering like icy embers connecting dots that I don’t want him to connect. “You recorded me?” He looks down at my phone, and swipes his finger across it, showing the text message to Sarah. “Why?”

Why? Yes, why? That’s the question he should be asking. That’s the question I should already have an answer to. Uh, okay. Feminine charm? You’ve never worked for me before, but—I did actually follow him for a different reason than recording him talking about a hit.

“I, um, didn’t want to be alone tonight,” I whisper, like I don’t spend every single night alone. Like my bed hasn’t been ice cold on that side every day of my life. I tremble harder, and he can feel it, because his hand is holding my arm.

“Don’t lie to me, bambina ,” he growls, flicking his finger on the messages to Sarah and reading them.

Feminine charm was not the right way to go.

Massimo doesn’t listen to the recording, but there’s enough in those text messages to sign my death warrant. I’ll be on Sarah’s podcast, alright. I’ll be the star of the show. I look around desperately. I’m in a hallway and it’s completely deserted. It actually looks like they’re doing renovations ahead, because that part is closed off. Which means there’s absolutely no reason for anyone to come down this hallway—unless they wanted to talk about something in private.

“So, you think you know who I am,” Massimo rumbles, looking up from my phone. “But you didn’t on the boat, did you?”

“N-no,” I squeak out.

He nods like he’s considering something, clicking his tongue. His grip on my arm tightens and I wince.

“How did you find out? Did someone approach you?” He narrows his eyes, staring into my soul again. I don’t feel like I’m staring into his. I don’t think he has one. “Tell me, bambina . If you know who I am, then you damn sure know this isn’t the time for silence. Unless you’d like me to get answers out of you another way.”

Tears well up in my eyes, then stream down my face. I shake my head desperately. “N-no,” I squeak again, my entire body clenching. “Please don’t kill me. My friend really likes true crime. She has a podcast. And a wall… a Mafia wall. Modern day mobsters, you know. I saw your picture on her wall and I didn’t realize why you looked familiar until I got to the hotel. That’s all there is! Other than what you read!”

His jaw tightens menacingly. This is what his anger looks like. It’s almost enough to take my breath away. It’s also what genuine fear tastes like. Wine. Chicken. They’re bubbling with every tremor.

“A fucking podcast,” he sighs. “Mafia fangirl bullshit? Fuck. How stupid am I? Of course my brother is…” He lets go of my arm abruptly. “That’s all dinner was? You wanted information? Didn’t get what you were looking for, so you followed me? I should have known better.”

It actually doesn’t sound like he’s planning to kill me. I should try to walk away slowly to see if he stops me. Kick off these heels and run once I’m far enough way. But I can’t. The anger is relaxing and the pain is back. It still makes my heart ache and flickers something inside me.

“I-I enjoyed having dinner with you,” I admit. “I didn’t want to go, that’s true. I wanted to pack my bags and get back on the boat when I found out who you were.”

“Who you think I am,” he growls. “Trust me, bambina , if you’re getting your facts from a fangirl, you have no fucking idea who I am. I’m the villain of a lot of stories. But I wouldn’t have been the villain of yours.”

“A-are you going to kill me?” I ask, trembling.

“I don’t kill women or children.” His eyes bore into mine. “I do have standards, you know. A code I try to follow. Sometimes an exception has to be made, but I’d never actually hurt you. You do need to be taught a lesson, though.”

A tiny whisper of relief pushes through pursed lips. I’m not going to die, but what kind of… lesson is he talking about?

“Of course, the phone call you just overheard makes this a bit more complicated,” he continues. “And you sent this to Sarah, which means she’s a problem, too. Or she would be, if my phone didn’t emit a frequency that interferes with recording devices.”

He presses the recording I sent to Sarah and it begins playing. The only audio I hear is a slight hum that makes my ears tingle. I tilt my head like a dog and he stops the recording.

“I-it didn’t record,” I say, my lip trembling. Another tiny whisper of relief. “Okay, so… Can I have my phone back? Can I go? I promise I’ll never say a word about any of this. Ever!”

“Yeah, everyone says that,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Then as soon as they get somewhere safe, they’re calling the cops.”

“I wouldn’t!” I shake my head frantically. “I swear! I won’t do Sarah’s podcast! I’ll make sure she never does one about your family!”

“Easiest thing to do would be to get rid of you. Sell you to someone in a foreign country where you don’t speak the language.” He nods slowly as if he’s considering it and I shake my head even harder. “But I don’t sell women, either, so you’ll be coming with me. For the rest of this week, at least. It won’t matter after that.”

Coming with him? For the rest of the week? That does sound a lot better than being sold. Much, much better than being killed.

“Come on, bambina ,” he growls, taking a step forward, pocketing my phone, and motioning for me to follow him. “Your bungalow just got upgraded to the penthouse suite. I’ll have someone bring your bags.”

Am I… his prisoner?

I swallow hard and do the only thing I can.

I follow him.