She’s getting in too deep.
She doesn’t understand the danger she’s in. She thinks this is still about CrossPoint and the Cavallo Group. About strategy and pride.
It’s not.
It stopped being business the moment she opened her mouth at that press briefing.
After five minutes of the cold not doing its fucking job, I shut off the water and grab a towel. I pull on boxers and flop onto the bed, an arm thrown over my eyes.
Sleep doesn’t come.
My mind won’t shut down. Not with her a deck below me and my brothers circling like sharks.
I hear the muted sound of the tender pulling away from the yacht and try not to let it get to me. To not allow Isla’s scheming strategy to claw its way further under my skin.
Best-case scenario? She wakes up in the morning and plays ball.
Worst case? I don’t let myself finish the thought.
My body continues to fight sleep. The what-ifs pick at me like vultures.
“Fuck.” I shove from the bed and pace.
There’s too much to fucking contain—Isla, my brothers, the future of the Cavallo Group. And that’s before any of this leaks.
“Sir?” A knock sounds at my door.
For the love of fucking Christ.
“What?” I bark.
“I’ve just heard word from Mitch on the tender.” The deckhand speaks through the door. “He’s on the way back with the bag and…”
“And?”
“And… the woman who delivered it… She was irate.”
I close my eyes. Force my fists to remain at my sides and not plunged through the paneling of the wall.
Maybe I can’t fix this after all. At least not without becoming a person I always swore I’d never be.
I measure my stride to the door and pull it wide, coming face-to-face with nervous agitation. “Why would a woman dropping off a bag be irate?”
He wrings his hands in front of him. “She demanded to see her friend, sir. She said she wants proof Isla is okay or she’ll call the cops.”
The news doesn’t hit in an adrenaline-fueled explosion, like the plethora of detonated time bombs from the past twenty-four hours. Neither does the hard pulse of concern reach out to grip me by the balls.
I’m burned out. Worn thin.
That doesn’t bode well for Isla.
“How did the bosun handle the situation?” I ask.
“The woman is currently on the tender approaching the yacht.”
I raise my brows. Breathe. Nod.
Isla has successfully flipped a switch. Unlocked a goddamn family trait I never wanted to claim.
