He pees in it at night because I don’t let him out after dark these days for fear of wild animals attacking him. And also because he kept leaving dead mice everywhere. The first time I stepped on mouse guts in bare feet was the last time he went out at night.
A few minutes later, Fina returns with an empty box. “No cat litter needed.”
Luka grins before we look at each other and burst into laughter.
49
Chiara
Itake a seat next to Fina. The hard plastic makes my ass ache, but I ignore the discomfort. It’s nothing compared to hers.
For two weeks, Fina has spent every waking hour at Matteo’s side. Two burly, mean-looking guards stand outside Matteo’s room on a 24/7 rotating schedule.
Angelo doesn’t believe there is any real danger, not now Lorenzo is dead, but he isn’t taking any chances.
Fina holds Matteo’s hand as he lies still. He’s lost weight since being here, and his normally close-cropped hair now curls over his ears.
I wonder how long Fina plans to keep up her bedside vigil. From what the doctors have told Angelo, there is no guarantee Matteo will recover. One expert suggested he might remain in a coma indefinitely; they simply don’t know.
“How is he today?” I ask brightly.
“He’s looking better,” she replies with a fake smile. “I thought his hand twitched earlier, so maybe he’s starting to wake up?”
I nod. “That’s a good sign.” We both know the other is full of shit, but neither of us acknowledges it.
“There was a fun story in the Times this morning,” I comment. “They added a nice mugshot of Tim Remington.”
Fina snorts. “I know. Nothing about Dad, though.”
“No. The official word is he’s retired to Sicily to enjoy the sun.”
There’s a sigh. “I need to get back into the office. Vanessa can’t write for shit.” Vanessa is the woman Angelo hired to manage the press in Fina’s absence, but she’s useless.
“I spotted ten spelling mistakes in the feature this morning. But hey, she’s better than Francesca.”
“Felix would do a better job than Francesca,” Fina agrees with a smirk.
“I hear she’s in Dubai.”
Fina turns in surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah. Angelo said something about her working on yachts for rich Arabs?” Working on luxury yachts didn’t sound too bad. I guessed she’s angling for a new sugar daddy now Lorenzo isn’t funding her lifestyle.
“She’s a yacht girl?”
“Um, yeah, that’s what he said.”
“God, that’s grim.”
“Why? Working as crew can’t be that bad. I mean, I’ve watched that series, Below Deck, and the crew work long hours, but the yachts are nice and you get time off and decent tips.”
“Chiara, working as a yacht girl is not about making beds and serving food.”
I blink. “It’s not?”
“No. Yacht girls are there to add glamour, and more often than not, fuck the men on the boat. Some of what goes on is utterly depraved. Rich men have no morals.”
I think back to the level below the sex club. The rooms that were filled with naked girls, the men eager to purchase a girl so they could act out their most depraved desires with no consequences.
