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He shakes his head and looks out the window behind me. "Don’t bother. I heard them too.” He sets my phone on the desk and pulls up the feed from the outdoor camera hidden in the wooden slats.

On screen, Matteo slips toward the door in full James Bond mode—suit, gun, secret agent posture.

Seriously, Mattie, a suit on a Greek Island?

I mean, yeah, it’s a linen suit, and it’s a flattering shade of navy, and he looks sexy as fuck. But the man might as well right SECRET AGENT on his forehead. Or just walk around with his gun in plain sight.

"True love. That’s sweet,” he says.

“Maybe you should go outside. Incapacitate him,” I say.

“He’s a fed. He won’t shoot first,” he says.

Probably, yeah. But—“Why risk it?”

He shakes his head no way. “Nice try. He knows you’re here. Knows I’ll kill you if he fucks up. I saw the way he looked at you. He’ll do anything to keep you alive.”

That’s where he’s wrong.

Matteo wants me in jail.

Yorgos takes a hiding place against the wall so Matteo won’t see him when he kicks in the door.

He points the gun at me, warning me to behave.

But it’s a pointless threat. A kidnapping is useless if the kidnapee is clearly dead.

Downstairs, the door creaks open. Yorgos motions again: I’m not here.

I close my eyes. Take a deep breath.

Matteo creeps up the stairs.

Yorgos creeps closer to the door.

Another stair.

Then Matteo’s footsteps in the hallway.

And then my phone rings with the ringtone I set for Mattie. Marvin Gaye. Let’s Get it On.

Yorgos turns to the noise with surprise.

Just in time for Matteo to cross the hallway and shoot him in the back of the head.

Chapter

Eighteen

JAMIE

What the fuck?

I’ve seen people die before. Obviously. But not by his hand.

That’s not his style.

Or maybe it is.