Page 29 of The Masked King

“Yes, Mr. Sabatelli. She went through to the casino.”

That’s what she wanted him to think.

“Thank you.”

“You have a good day now, Mr. Sabatelli.”

I don’t return the compliment. I check the casino again in case Bianca was in the restroom the first time I looked, but I’m not surprised when I don’t find her. Past the bank of elevators serving the upper levels, I pass through a door marked STAFF ONLY and keep going till I reach the fire door exit at the rear of the building.

Bianca is long gone.

I call in a favor from the NYC Taxi Commission and get data on every journey made within the last two hours. The information includes pick-up and drop-off times, journey duration and route, but even when checked off against every location within a three-mile radius of the Wraith, none of them could potentially be my sister. And I can’t track her because she doesn’t have a cell phone.

Or at least, she doesn’t have one that I’m aware of.

Now’s the time when I should warn Giovanni that she’s back, but I tell myself I can handle it. She knew what she was doing when she snuck out of my apartment and vanished like an apparition inside the Wraith, but she has nowhere else to go, and the deeper I dig, the more chance there is of my brother hearing about it.

Whatever she is up to, she isn’t ready to leave. I just need to keep a closer eye on her.

There is one person I can speak to though. Stella Marlow. The woman my sister fell in love with, and the reason Bianca used my brother to help her escape the clutches of her sadistic husband.

When I check out her social media accounts, I discover that Stella Marlow is in New York City.

Coincidence?

I catch up with the runway model at a charity gala event that evening at the Plaza Hotel.

Stella is wearing a floor-length gold gown that shimmers with crystals, reflecting the glow of the overhead chandeliers as she moves like thousands of tiny mirrors blinding those around her. She poses with other celebrities, cheek-to-cheek, smiles painted on for the cameras. She shakes hands with men in designer suits, converses with everyone she meets, and people seem to gravitate towards her like moths to a flame.

She’s living up to her name: vibrant, glowing, a star orbiting the event. I understand why Bianca fell in love with her.

What puzzles me is what first attracted Stella to my sister.

Where Stella is all vivid colors and glowing smiles, Bianca is serious. Where Stella is full of energy, Bianca is tightly coiled wire waiting to be sprung. Where Stella is approachable, Bianca is surrounded by high walls topped with razor-wire, a machine gun waiting on the other side to take down unwanted intruders.

They say opposites attract, but do they? Really?

I wait for a lull between conversations when Stella is alone for more than five seconds, clutching an untouched champagne flute in her hand.Before I approach her, I accept a drink from a server dressed in black and gold along the way.

Her eyes narrow briefly when she recognizes me.

“Enzo Sabatelli?” We’ve never met, but it’s obvious she recognizes me from the media and doesn’t trust me; her eyes are already darting around the room for a glimpse of Bianca.

“Hello, Stella.”

She doesn’t look directly at me. Instead, she’s scanning around for an escape route, no doubt in the shape of her manager or PR assistant.

Resigned, she faces me again, the smile still in place for the benefit of the reporters covering the event. “Why are you here? Did Bianca send you?”

“No, she doesn’t know I’m here.”

She swallows, but the tension is still there. “Is she… Is she hurt?”

That’s her first thought, that Bianca might be hurt. Maybe Stella knew her better than I gave her credit for.

I ignore the question. “Has she reached out to you recently?”

“No.” Stella hides behind her champagne glass, constantly aware of being watched, her every move, every glance, every conversation a performance waiting to be picked apart by the vultures who follow her on social media. “I haven’t seen her since Sicily.”