Alessio bought the island almost immediately after Giulia Angelini, his youngest sister, died in a tragic car accident. Most people would mourn and try to move on with their lives, but not Alessio. This man purchased an island, brought in the best engineers, and told them to create a safe paradise on earth the way he imagined it.
The crews worked fast and furiously under the pressure of Alessio’s demands for perfection, while the lawmakers delivered a functioning government and a state in ninety days.
Locals who lived here before he bought it say their lives have improved tenfold since Alessio took over. This is mainly because he built an airport and a low-cost ferry that goes to and from Italy and Corsica so the tourists can access the island easily. He insists locals cater to tourists in ways that other places don’t.
For example, Luigi’s checkout time is one in the afternoon and extendable to four under special circumstances. Most vacation spot checkout times are at eleven and noon. When I booked Luigi’s, I imagined that on my last day, I’d get to sleep in and enjoy the day without feeling rushed.
The bartender at the hotel offered me a ride home in the middle of the night. That’s not to say I wouldn’t have felt safe walking the streets at night. I would have.
If Mr. Angelini knew these people were attacking me, I bet he wouldn’t like it. Not at all. And I don’t mean that in a conceited way because I think he cares about me. I mean that they’re breaking one of his safety rules.
I place my finished coffee cup on the desk beside my computer, where a montage of Alessio Angelini plays out. It’s clear they’ve been watching him for a while.
“He’s intense, to be sure,” I say. “And wealthy and perhaps unlikable because of the wealth and no-nonsense character, but I don’t see what that has to do with me.”
“You’re the first girl he’s touched in over a year.”
I side-eye the guy. “We hate him because he’s not having sex?”
“He killed my brother,” the woman says.
Murder. Shit. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Fuck you, bitch.”
Okay, I’m not sorry anymore. The man barks something in a foreign language I can’t identify, then turns to me. “My brother-in-law and more than two dozen of his men were sailing toward a port in our town when their location stopped transmitting. We’ve sent out a search and rescue crew and found nothing.”
“Two dozen people? That is terrible.”
“And you slept with that dirt,” the woman says, then spits on me.
I wipe my face.
The man chastises her, and she joins the other man at the door.
“My wife is angry,” he explains, pushing up his sunglasses. “She wants to leave your mangled body on Alessio’s doorstep.”
“I don’t want that,” I say.
“Me either, so let’s work together,” he says.
“Yes, sir.”
He smiles. “I see why Alessio took you. You are… What’s the word I’m looking for?” He turns his face toward the ceiling as if the word is written up there.
“Agreeable?” I offer.
He snaps his fingers. “That’s the one. You’re very helpful.”
“Thank you.” I’m so happy my linguistic prowess can be of service to the worldwide organization of bullies.
“Since I couldn’t find my brother-in-law, I tried his boss, who wouldn’t pick up his phone, and the reason is because…” The man pauses, leaving me in suspense while he pulls out a phone from his pocket and finds whatever he needs. “The images I’m going to show you are disturbing. Brace yourself.” He turns over the phone and shows me the image of a brutally mangled man sitting on a couch in what looks like a luxurious living room.
My belly rises, and I turn away.
“Look at it again,” he says.
This man might be a sadist, but I can’t refuse the request, or he’ll force me.
