We eat in silence for a few minutes. I half expect the others to come trickling in, but no one does.
“So. Where’s everyone else?” I finally ask.
“Resting below deck, if I had to guess,” he says.
“Mm. And…what exactly was your meeting about last night?”
“That’s not your concern.”
I smile sourly. “Of course it’s not. Though, obviously, I didn’t expect you to actually give me a straight answer. You never do.”
“Says the Brunos’ mole,” Armani snipes.
“I’myourmole now,” I remind him. “And I’m not just asking out of curiosity. There was something seriously off about those men. They seemed dangerous and untrustworthy.”
Armani laughs. He actually laughs. At me. My fork clanks onto my plate at his response. He shakes his head, gets ahold of himself, and then takes a drink of coffee.
“Something funny?” I ask, my hackles up.
“No. It’s just—everyone in attendance is a friend. They go way back with my family.”
“I’m sure they do. Birds of a feather,” I say, but the insult doesn’t faze him.
Stuffing another bite of butter-and-honey drenched baghrir into my mouth, I think back to what Armani said on the plane. About using our time here to decide if I’m still useful to him. What if I’m not? What if that’s why these men are here—to take care of me? Maybe that’s why they wouldn’t look at me. Because I’m their next hit. Maybe that’s also why Armani didn’t think twice about spending the night with another woman.
Maybe I’m about to be the next tattooed guy.
Panic rises in my chest, and my appetite suddenly vanishes.
“You look flushed, Cassandra,” Armani says. “Maybe you should go for a dip and cool off.”
I look over and meet his eyes. He gazes back at me coolly, but I know there has to be some ulterior motive here. It wasn’t just a friendly suggestion. He’s probably chomping at the bit to go join his Italian whore in bed. Or maybe he has more criminal activity to engage in, and I’d be in the way.
Regardless of his plans, it’s obvious that I don’t have a choice in the matter. He just gave me an order. I know him well enough to understand that, at least. I’m completely powerless.
Throwing my napkin down on my plate, I push away from the table so hard that the silverware and plates rattle. My chair topples to its side as I storm from the room.
Back on the sundeck, I grab the railing and gasp for air. The shoreline is in sight, but it’s too far away for me to swim to. Of course. It seems I’m stuck, trapped on this yacht with the man I despise most in the whole world.
I try to breathe slowly and compose myself, but the panic and anger won’t go away. I hate how much control Armani has over me. And not just physically, or even sexually, but over my moods as well. On top of that, I’m utterly furious that he used my hated full name back there. He knows how much I can’t stand it, but he called me Cassandra on purpose. Just to remind me, per usual, that he’s in charge.
Well, screw him. I’m not going swimming after all. I’ll go back to my room, lock the door, and pout over my Italian dictionary. If he thinks I’m not going to figure out what he’s saying about me to Esme and the rest of those assholes, he’s got another thing coming.
And then something else strikes me. Maybe there’s a way to make him suffer, too. I may not be able to control Armani’s moods, but I certainly have enough experience taunting his body.
I think it’s time for him to see how it feels to desperately want something you can’t have.
8
ARMANI
“How’dit go with the bosses?” Dante asks.
“Discussions went all night long,” I tell him. “I haven’t even been to bed yet.”
I’m pacing the deck at the bow of the yacht, hand cupped over my ear to block out the wind, my top-of-the-line, $2,000 satellite phone snug in my palm. It’s possible that I could get my cell phone to work out here, but unlikely the connection quality would be decent—and this conversation is too important to risk a dropped call. Hence the sat phone. I never travel out of the country without it.
Obviously, I couldn’t let Candi see me using it, or else she’d start scheming to “borrow” it from me on the sly. Which is why I sent her away so forcibly. I had a call to make, and not a pleasant one.
