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“What are you talking about?” My hands start to shake, and I wish I could shove them into pockets. I settle for interlocking my fingers in front of me.
Corrado walks toward me, and I walk back until I hit my bottom on the chair.
Corrado rounds the bar. “You can’t escape unless you throw yourself from the terrace, but I don’t think you’ll do that. Have a drink with me. Cooperate with me. Convince me my brother is right about you.” He’s fixing another drink.
I sit at the bar. “What did he say?”
“That you are innocent.”
“I am. I’ll take some ice, if you don’t mind.”
Corrado makes us Kahlúa. Mine over ice.
He sits across from me. “Gio and your father were lifelong friends, weren’t they?”
I nod, sipping the drink, oddly comfortable sitting in a white shirt with no bra across from this violent man. Corrado has no interest in me whatsoever, and that makes him “safe” to be around in my current state of undress and distress.
“Would you say what one did, the other must’ve done as well?”
“I really don’t know.”
“Have they ever worked from your father’s office?”
“Rarely.”
“Do you mind if I search his office?”
“Be my guest.” I breathe a sigh of relief as I rise. He’ll take me home and away from this villa, where I can wear my clothes and move on with my life. Or whatever is left of it. Wait? Whatisleft of it?
I’m supposed to be married to Gio for another few months, after which we were going to file for separation, which would be no easy thing if we actually married in the Catholic Church. We didn’t. The fake marriage would dissolve itself, and we could have gone our separate ways even if we stayed on the island.
Now I’m a widow?
If so, I’ve lost the deal Gio and I made, which means when I get home, I must hide the hotel deed. I can only hope that Gio separated the hotel from the resort property before Severio came in and took everything.
Corrado jerks his head toward the door. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”
“I came here in my wedding dress with a cape covering it.”
Corrado walks into the spare bedroom and comes out with my coat. He drapes it over my shoulders, and I notice he smells different from Severio. More woodsy. Sandalwood?
When he opens the door, I move toward it. “Wait. What about my wedding dress?”
“Severio burned it.”
I watch him for a sign that he’s joking, but all he does is jerk his head again. “Come on.”
The man with the devil tattoo over his jugular, Jesse, I believe, walks in as we walk out. He’s carrying plywood and ahammer. We move out of his way and, after he passes us, close the door behind him. Corrado descends the steps, passing more guards.
He’s fast and long-legged, and I struggle to keep up with him. When we get to the street, he puts on sunglasses and offers a local boy on a bicycle money for his ball cap. The boy happily obliges, and Corrado dons the cap, looking around us as if assessing threats.
“Are we in danger?” I ask.
“Always.”
“Jesus. How do you live like this?”
“I carry two Walthers.”
