"Or proud that you survived."
"I'm not sure survival is the same thing as truly living." He picks up my empty plate. "But I'm figuring that out. One breakfast at a time."
I stand, suddenly needing distance to process this. "I'm going back upstairs. To think."
"Okay."
"But Renato?"
He turns back, waiting.
"Thank you. For being honest about what you're doing. For not pretending you're something you're not." I pause at the doorway. "And for the eggs."
"You're welcome. For the eggs, at least."
I head back upstairs, my mind spinning with new information to process.
One man. One death. One message that I was never for sale.
Because the same hands that whisked eggs with care this morning has probably broken someone's bones to extract information before the kill.
Because the man I'm starting to want is also the man I should run from as fast as possible.
But I don't run.
I just go back to my room and try to figure out if monsters who cook breakfast are still monsters.
Chapter 38: Renato
The Palazzo Vittoria is exactly what I expected, five-star luxury catering to wealth that masks predatory sickness.
It's after midnight when Matteo and I enter through the service entrance, dressed in hotel uniforms acquired from helpful staff who owe me favors. The penthouse floor is quiet, discreet, designed for guests who value privacy above all else.
Tonight, that privacy works in my favor.
We bypass the security cameras using routes mapped from building schematics, moving silently through service corridors. The bodyguards are in connecting rooms, and we handle them first. Quick, silent, professional. They're down before either can reach for weapons.
Then there's only one door left.
Al-Zahrani's penthouse suite.
I pick the lock with steady hands, Matteo covering me. He's in the sitting room, reviewing something on his laptop over expensive whiskey. Mid-forties, well-groomed, the kind of predator who uses wealth instead of violence to hunt. His eyes widen when he sees us, confusion and fear on his face.
"Who are you? How did you get in here?" His hand moves toward his phone.
Matteo is faster, crushing the phone under his heel.
"I wouldn't." I close the door behind us. "You've been sitting in this suite for three days, waiting for a woman to be delivered to you like a pizza."
"I don't know what you're talking about. This is a mistake. I'll call security."
"Your bodyguards are dead. And this isn't a mistake." I move toward him. "You’re Khalid Al-Zahrani. Dubai businessman. Real estate empire, private compound, collection of European women. You paid five million down for Camilla Colombo."
Understanding and genuine terror flood his face. "You're... you're Renato Vitiello. Torretti said..."
"Torretti's dead. And you're still here, hoping someone else will show up with your purchase." I pull plastic sheeting from my bag, spreading it carefully across the expensive carpet. "Tell me, Khalid. What were you planning to do with her once you owned her?"
"Please, I can pay more. Whatever you want."
