“Sì. And I’ll start a full background check into everything. Every camera she came across. I’ll tap into French facial analytics as well since you said she spoke to you in French. Is there anything else you can remember? Anything that would be useful?”
I think back to last night, about how we verbally sparred, and how I made her dance with me. How I liked that she didn’t seem to give two shits about who I was. She had disdain for thewomen speaking negatively about Bellamy. But that was it. Simple things that add up to nothing. Other than the way it felt to touch her. The way she smelled and tasted.
“No. I can’t think of anything.”
“Then we’ll start with what we have and go from there.”
“I guess that’s all we can do for now.” But even as I say the words, something internal snags. Last night I came alive with her. I’ve never felt that with anyone before. The thought of letting that go, of lettinghergo, hits like a two-by-four to the chest. I fucked up. I have no clue who she is or the dangers she poses.
Yet, I don’t have it in me to regret it. Even so, I worry my mistake could be costly.
5
MARCELLA
The earring is going to be a problem. Aside from the fact that the diamonds were real, they belonged to my stepmother, Signoria Batorini. That’s going to be a bitch to explain. I shudder at the thought of what I’m about to face with her, my back tingling at the memory of Antonia’s cane.
Antonia always does her dirty work. She’s Signoria’s niece from a much older sister, but they’re more like best friends. Partners in crime and evil. Signoria doesn’t like to get her hands dirty unless she has to, but Antonia loves it.
The drive back from the Messalinian Alps down to the southeast part of the country is long. I didn’t dare leave before dawn, which meant I had to camp out in the woods again. I end up stopping twice. Once to use the restroom and another to force some food into me. I’m not hungry, but I also haven’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon, and I can feel my body getting shaky.
I have all the windows down, even though it’s barely fifteen degrees Celsius, and music is blasting. Anything to drown out thoughts about last night. Abouthim. About howmy body is sore in the most perfect and unexpected way. But mostly so I won’t think about how the conversation will go when I get home. Or the fact that I’m going on zero sleep.
The exit for Bellezza in Riva al Mare is up ahead, and I speed up in anticipation of the hairpin curve, challenging the cornering Ferrari Purosangue. She handles like a dream, and I hope I can find a way to take her out again.
The drive into town winds along the cliffs high above the Mediterranean Sea. Quaint shops and restaurants are on one side, and on the other is the sprawling, sparkling blue-green water, dotted with sharply rising islands in the distance and boats of various sizes. The smell of salt and herbs fills the air, and if I weren’t trapped here, locked like an eternal prisoner, I’d think this was the most special piece of earth on the planet.
People strolling the street notice me as I pass through, some offering timid smiles, others wincing. Very few know my name or, frankly, much about me other than as one of the servants to the Batorini family. A name that once garnered respect and even love. They were revered.
Then Samil had to go and fuck it up by attempting to kill the king and queen, and now the Batorini family, what’s left of it, has a perpetual scarlet letter on their chests.
Not that I’m part of the family. Not technically. At least not in a way anyone knows about. Being the bastard child of an affair, Signoria always hated me. I was a reminder of her husband’s infidelity, and though I lived in their house since my mother was dead, I was never treated as part of the family. Samil was my older brother, Signoria, and my father’s only child together. He was my best friend. My lifeline. Years later, shortly before he died, my father had a second child with a mistress, and now it’s Jaqueline and me, stuck in this house with no option of escape.
I plow through town, picking up speed as I hit the countryside once again, and five minutes later, I’m rolling into thegrounds of the Batorini estate. The massive Spanish-style palazzo appears like a mirage once you pass the olive groves and towering cypress trees. I drive to the back of the building and straight into one of the garage bays. The car shuts off, and I’m locked in suffocating silence. The kind that hits your pulse and prickles your skin in the worst of ways.
I’m not even out of the car when Antonia steps out. Fuck. Here we go.
“You’re late,” she says to me in Italian, since that’s the only language spoken in this house other than during language and dialect lessons.
I shake my head as I pull my bags from the trunk. “I’m early. I promised three if I couldn’t get out of the woods without being spotted, and I couldn’t with how tight security was. It’s not even two.”
“Marcella, did you get what we needed?”
I pause. “I lost an earring.”
Her jaw pops. “You know you’ll be punished severely for that.”
I hold in my wince. “Yes, ma’am. I know.”
“It might not be as bad if you have information we can use.”
I see we’re not wasting time or mincing words, and the urgency in her voice and even her expression raise the hairs at the back of my neck. So much was riding on this wedding, and all of it was disappointing. Well, at least in terms of intel.
I sling my duffel over my shoulder and carry the other large tote bag in my hand as I walk toward Antonia and the back entrance of the estate.
“They’re in love. It’s real.”
She hisses out a curse, her dark curls sprinkled with grays all over the place. “That’s unacceptable.”
