Very sly.
We finished our small talk, and I ordered our pizzas. When Humberto left and it was just the two of us at the table, the heaviness settled over both of us.
She looked at me but didn’t interrogate me. Didn’t strike like a viper—like some people that I knew.
“I was with my family this morning.” I decided to get ahead of it so she didn’t have to wonder. “They’ve heard about you from people who have seen us together. So, naturally, they were curious.” Curious wasn’t even the right word. I’d thought my aunt Chiara was going to fight me for information in the middle of that kitchen.
“I know how that goes. If my mother were alive, she’d want all the details about this little fuck-cation.”
I grinned. “Fuck-cation?”
“Yep.” She said it unapologetically.
And I liked that. “Have you mentioned this to your friends?”
“No.” Her good mood slowly deflated like a balloon with a minuscule hole poked in the exterior. “I haven’t even told them about Enzo. I just didn’t feel like getting into it yet. I’m not ready to hear theI told you sos or feel their pity or talk about where I’m going to live next and all that bullshit.”
I felt like an ass for bringing it up. “Well, this is the best fuck-cation I’ve ever had.” I said something to make the conversation lighthearted once again. To bring her back into the moment, not in the future or the past. I had never actually done this with anyone before. I had flings and short-term situationships, but nothing like this.
It worked, because light slowly returned to her eyes. “Me too. Well, it’s theonlyfuck-cation I’ve ever had, but if I ever have another one, I’m sure it’ll pale in comparison to this.” She grabbed her can of soda and took a drink. “I hope I’m not taking too much of your time. I know you’re here to see your family, and I don’t want to get in the way of that.”
“You aren’t. To be honest, I’m not just here to see them.”
“Then what else are you here for?” She took another drink of her soda.
When she’d asked me what I did for a living, I was intentionally vague. I didn’t want to share something that sensitive with a stranger, with a woman I wouldn’t ever see again. But that was days ago, and she was still here. “Work.”
“Oh.” When she got quiet, she showed her hand, that she suspected my occupation was serious. She’d probably connected some of the dots, my strength and my wealth, the fact that I said very little about it. She didn’t pry, either because she didn’t want to know more or she knew I didn’t want to share.
“I have something to take care of tonight. Not sure when I’ll be back.” That was why I’d taken her out to lunch, because I’d be unavailable for the evening. I didn’t want to invite her to my room just to be absent the entire day.
“It’s no problem.” She still didn’t ask. “The room service menu looks pretty phenomenal, so I’ll be just fine.” She tried to force some playfulness into her words, but it fell flat. It was clear she was nervous, but it wasn’t clear why.
Because she didn’t want to make me feel guilty for leaving her?
Or because she was scared?
Chapter 10
Constantine
I arrived at the bustling city that hugged the coast, drove through the streets until I reachedVilla de la Sirenuse, a sprawling estate secured behind magnificently tall iron gates.
The security remained out of sight for anyone on the street, relying on camera footage instead of a physical presence. When they scanned my face and the car, the gates swung open, and I was allowed entry.
The gardens were full of landscaped lawns and palm trees. The fountain in the center stood tall with water trickling down, reflecting the moonlight on this cloudless night. When I pulled into the roundabout, I saw the multitude of cars already there.
I arrived at the front door, was frisked by the guards, and the second I stepped into the house, I heard the sound of men cheering in some kind of commotion.
Gambling, probably.
I was escorted into the living room, a sea of tables across the expansive rug, smoke hovering just below the chandelier that hung from the ceiling. All the tables were occupied by men who smoked, drank, and gambled, cash piled into the center.
I approached Alfonso, standing there in a pin-striped suit with a cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth. When his eyes madecontact with mine, a smile entered his gaze, and he embraced me with a clasp of our hands. “Buy-in is twenty. You in?”
“You know cards aren’t my game.”
“Just Russian roulette . . .”
