Again, the men roar with laughter. My hairline begins to itch, my face getting hot, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.
She glances down at herself. “Oh, I forgot—I’m not wearing any panties!”
I am beyond enraged, beyond humiliated. I’ve never wanted to throttle my husband more.
He doesn’t respond, but slowly drags his gaze away from Esme and looks at me, full-on. His expression says that he’s challenging me to make a scene, to butt in on the conversation, to do something. And then, like the asshole he is, he smiles at me. Not in an encouraging way, but with the snarky, superior effect that comes so effortlessly for him. He’s enjoying my discomfort at having his ex sitting on his lap.
“Esme,” the tallest man says, slapping his hand of cards down on the table, “as much as I love you in that dress, us boys need to talk shop now. Why don’t you go get yourself a drink and play cards with the other girls?”
She pouts and rolls her eyes, but nods at the command. Slowly detangling herself from my husband, making sure he gets an eyeful of her cleavage as she stands, she shoots me a smirk. Then she sashays over to join the other women at their table. They begin chatting again, whispering. I can feel their eyes on me. But I feel Armani’s eyes on me even more potently.
He must be watching for my reaction, probably for his own amusement. Well, he won’t get it. Lifting my chin, I casually saunter over to the bar. I order a Long Island Iced Tea, the strongest cocktail I can think of, and then make my way back to the stairs, gliding past Armani and his associates without even a glance, expecting someone to stop me. But no one does.
I’m alone on the sundeck as I sip my drink at the rail, watching the ocean ripple around me. The sun is starting to go down, casting sparkling diamonds over the surface of the turquoise water, but I’m so sick with jealousy and disappointment and humiliation that I can’t enjoy the scenery.
What was I thinking, expecting Armani to wine and dine me? I should have known better. This isn’t a real honeymoon anyway, and I know that. I also knowArmani. He plays his own games, by his own rules, without a single care as to how anyone else feels about it. I’m just his accessory.
I finish my drink and realize that the yacht is slowing down. From the left, I see the outline of another boat approaching us. A much smaller vessel. As it gets closer, I spot two men on the deck. Suits, sunglasses, and one of them is holding a briefcase. Just wonderful. More mob men.
We slow down even more as the boat gets closer, closer. Suddenly, they’re in line with us. There’s a clanking sound on the side of the yacht as a ramp lowers, and a moment later, the men climb aboard. Little alarm bells start going off in my brain. They look rougher than the men downstairs, their body language more edgy and paranoid. One of them has a large scar running over his cheekbone and down his jaw. He looks like he’s perpetually angry. His cohort is a very large man, built like a brick house, his ill-fitting blazer stretched taut across his massive shoulders. His thick hands could probably crack my skull in two, and I bet he’d enjoy doing it. They say something to each other and then a steward appears and leads them below deck with the others.
This makes six mafiosos total on board. What the hell is going on? The part of me that was groomed to source information from the Bellantis is still alive and kicking—I’m so used to keeping my ear to the ground, I can’t quite kick the habit—and now flashing neon signs are going off in my brain.
Something is up. Something big.
I know without a doubt that it has to do with the Brunos. There’s no other reason Armani would be meeting with so many people when he’s supposed to be laying low. My husband is plotting something. And these men…these dangerous, murderous looking men…they’re going to help him. A shiver passes over me. I need to find out anything and everything I can. I can’t afford to be in the dark right now.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I go back downstairs, surveying the room when I reach the bottom of the steps. The newcomers are standing with Armani, all of them laughing like long-lost friends. Esme is still in her seat. She ignores me as I move past her and go to the bar for a second Long Island.
The presence of all these mob men has my teeth on edge. I wish I knew what Armani was planning. Whatever it is, it has to be about the Brunos. We fled Napa after a direct threat from them, and now here we are, hiding out on some island and having international business meetings with mobsters. It doesn’t take much to put two and two together and get four.
Sipping my drink, I pretend to rest my head on my fist while subtly cupping my hand around my ear—the better to eavesdrop on Armani and his associates. It’s difficult to pick out their hushed conversation with the music and the gossiping women and the clink of ice in glasses, but I concentrate on sorting out the sounds until I can isolate the familiar tone of Armani’s voice threading through the din.
“So what do you think?” he’s saying to one of the other men. “I know you’re a connoisseur.”
“She’s incredibly attractive,” the man answers. “You undersold her when we spoke last week.”
My heart lurches into my throat. Are they talking about me? Leaning slightly on my stool, I strain my ears to follow their exchange.
The other man adds, “In fact, I’d like to take her out for a little trial run.”
I can feel the blood drain from my face, disgust rising in me.
“I’m flattered,” Armani says, “but she’s mine.”
“Of course she is,” the man says placatingly. “I’m talking temporary, just a week or two…”
There’s a pause, and I swear my heart is going to pound out of my chest.
“No. There’s no room for negotiation on that,” Armani says firmly. “I don’t share my toys.”
Toys?
“What about a weekend rental situation? I’m prepared to be very generous.”
“Persistent, are we?” Armani laughs. “And again, it’s a no, but thank you.”
I lose the thread of the conversation as one of the other men throws down a hand of cards that has the others howling and tossing poker chips across the table and razzing the dealer for taking bribes. When it finally calms down, I catch the other man picking up the thread of where he and Armani left off.
