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Fresh out of the shower, her hair is combed straight down and covering most of her upper body. She’s wearing a pink pinup dress, and her cute French-manicured toes curl over her navy sandals as I size her up.
I open my mouth to bid her good morning when my brother says, “She’s not a good choice for a fuck toy.”
Cristina spins on her heel and heads for the exit.
“Hey,” I call out.
Nothing.
“Return.”
Nope. Out the door, slams it so hard, the walls shake.
I glare at Corrado, who’s laughing. “I see everything is fine.”
We’re not talking about Cristina. “After Gio disbanded the resort, which property did he sell?”
“None of them.”
“Great. I’ll put it back together, and we can move on.” The door opens, and Cristina walks back inside, heading for theoffice. Minutes later, heels click over the foyer, and Cristina is at the exit again. She leaves with a file under her arm.
“What is that?” I ask as the door slams again.
I stand to peek out the window, making sure she’s really taking something without permission while Drago is still on the phone.
“Dragomire.” I call him in a way that I know will make him look up. “I hate to bother you while I’m paying you a seven-figure salary, but little Miss Liability left the house with a file from my office.”
Drago slips the phone into his pocket. “I didn’t realize she was my target.”
He’s childish when I interrupt his game. “Her movements should be monitored.”
“That’s why we have cameras in the house and her place of work. I’m tapped into the streetlights, bars, restaurants, marinas, everywhere.”
Why that dress?
“On foot, Drago.”
With a sigh, he throws on his baseball cap and opens the kitchen cupboard, which no longer holds plates, but weapons and ammo. He picks out a gun for the occasion. Once ready, he tips his cap. “If she cheats, I’ll get it on video.” He exits through the mudroom.
I remain by the window.
“You’re fucking her, and you like it,” Corrado concludes.
“She’s a virgin.” Was.
Corrado’s eyebrows shoot up. “A virgin?”
I nod. “It’s a small island. She hasn’t gotten out much except for a stint at the culinary school that only lasted a week. It’s to be expected.”
“Wait, wait.” Corrado sifts through the papers on his desk and then chews his lip. “Wait here.” He disappears from view,which gives me an excuse to part the blinds and monitor the street as if Cristina might magically appear on it, having never left.
She’s not my hostage or a prisoner in her home, but for her safety, I must know where she went.Where is she going in that dress?
“Severio,” Corrado calls, and I sit at the counter.
The leather-bound ledger he found in Cristina’s dad’s office down the hall lies open on his desk. He points. “The restaurant she works at has a name. Terra… Something. It’s unimportant. It’s the only business that Gio didn’t break off from the hotel.” He looks up. “And guess what?”
“What?”
