He studies me for a moment. “You’re not. But all right.”
Then his wife, in a glittery dress, hooks her finger at Riccardo from across the room.
He grins. “Duty calls.”
As he saunters off, I turn back to my drink. I lift the carafe only to drain the last drop, then knock back the last mouthful.
With the carafe run dry, that’s my cue to leave. I think I’ve shown my face enough. All I want to do is get back home, but more importantly, I want to get back on Rose’s flight and see her again. I want answers.
Placing the empty carafe on the table along with my glass, I weave through the crowd of familiar faces but whose names I don't recall, heading towards the exit.
With both my hands on the door, ready to make my escape, a deep voice with a cockney accent says, “Going so soon?”
Fuck. I was hoping to slip off quietly. “Just getting some fresh air.” I thought nobody would notice I’d gone.
He clicks his tongue and exhales a slow breath. “Shame to miss all the fun.” He follows me outside into the warm night air. “I was hoping to have a word.” The clicking of the tongue and the London accent sounds all too familiar.
I turn around to face him, his head hanging low under the veil of stars as he lights a cigarette. The porch is quiet, but voices flow on the breeze from the back of the veranda where guests have spilled out of the villa.
He lifts his head. A plume of smoke billows around him. “Want one?” He offers a cigarette.
“Don’t smoke.” Fuck, where’s my gum? I shove my hand in my pocket and grip the packet tight as the smoke clears.
Moonlight shines down on his features, highlighting a scar on his cheekbone. A scar I recognise. Even without it, Magnus Berlusconi is one ugly bastard. Now I know why his voice was familiar. Five years of obsessing over every move he made was bound to leave an impression, even if it was over eight years ago now.
Every muscle in my body tenses. I grind my back teeth together while trying my hardest to keep my mask in place. “What did you want a word about?” My voice is monotone, but I’m thinking of all the different ways I can kill this motherfucker.
He clicks his tongue and inhales another drag of his poison. I hope he chokes on it. “I heard you’re one of the best in the business.”
My spine bristles. As much as I’m intrigued by what he has to say, I need to get away from him before I do something I’ll regret, like rip his throat out. Not that I’ll regret it, but I don’t like shedding blood at family weddings. “I don’t talk shop at family events.” I turn and jog down the few steps of the porch.
He clicks his tongue behind me. “I’m looking for my wife.”
I freeze on the bottom step, my eyes closing for a moment as I think of Rosetta. My only comfort is knowing she’ll be back in the UK now, but if she’s making frequent visits to see her mother, it’s only a matter of time before he finds her.
I should have taken him up on his offer for a cigarette. Though now I need something stronger. No amount of gum can help me, but out of habit, I unwrap a piece in my pocket and pop it into my mouth as I turn back around to face my nemesis. “Who’s your wife?”
“Rosetta Berlusconi.” He spits over the porch balcony, then bares his rotten teeth, as if the mere mention of her name gives him a bitter taste. “Her brother is Elio Conti.” A grin spreads across his face. “Your enemy.”
I chew on the gum, trying my best to look uninterested. “Why don’t you just ask her brother where she is?”
“I did. He doesn’t know. I have a contact who backs up his words. Nobody’s seen or heard from her in years, but I know the mother’s hiding something. There’s no way she wouldn’t stay in touch with her mother.” He spits again, as if spitting out a piece of tobacco. “Fucking Conti cunts. The family think they run this city, but they’re not what they were when the father was alive.”
“So the brother is running the business now?” I know all this. It’s the only reason I visit. If Rosetta’s uncle were still alive, I’d be going home in a box.
“He couldn’t run a piss-up in a brewery, that one.” He inhales the last of his cigarette, burning it down to the butt, then flicks it onto the lawn.
It smoulders in the dry grass. I watch, mesmerised by it while wondering if I could strangle him now with my bare hands and let the fire take hold and burn the evidence. But this place is too nice to see it burn to a crisp, so I take the few steps over to the lawn and stomp out the cigarette before my imagination gets the better of me.
“You think you could find her?” He leans on the banister of the porch, looking down at me.
“I don’t take on domestic jobs. My schedule’s already full.” I turn around to walk to the guest house.
“No worries. I’ll find someone else.”
I pause on the path, gravel crunching under my shoes as I spin around. The last thing I want is someone else watching her. “Do you have any more information? Photographs, last known address?”
“Yeah, I have all that.” He straightens his spine, clinging to the railing. “You’ll look into it?”
