11. SQUALO
SQUALO
It was a fucked up day, and I slept through most of it.
I called George and asked if we could throw both Gabriella and that blonde overboard, but he was against my genius idea.
For some reason, he liked the way Gabriella worked, while the blonde we could leave behind at one of the stops near the shore.
I had no idea where our main course was set, but before we sailed, I asked the captain to stop as little as possible.
I’d rather be out at sea than on land, far away from the Amalfi Coast and everything that had happened.
I still felt Gianni’s disappearance pressing on my chest. I kept tearing myself apart for letting him leave the party.
If I’d stopped him, he would’ve been safe.
We were too much alike, both stubborn as hell, and I knew that even if I’d tried, he probably would’ve left anyway.
And that part didn’t make it any easier to live with.
I let out a slow breath, my gaze sweeping the master suite.
Even the faint ripple of the water couldn’t lull me back to sleep.
The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, letting the moonlight pour inside.
I didn’t need a lamp. The suite was almost as bright as daylight.
Beyond the glass, the sea was the darkest shade of blue, its surface dusted with silver where the moon caught every tiny current, as though someone had scattered glitter across the water.
I turned onto my left side, my hand searching for the small CD player. I pressed play, and Hazard by Richard Marx flowed through the room. I turned the volume down, even though I was the only one on this floor.
Last night, when I came to the yacht, I threw a party before we sailed off. Some people came, some didn’t. Some looked me straight in the face and told me how heartless I was for throwing a party while my best friend was missing. The truth was, I threw that party because of him.
The crew talked. They thought I was some dumb rich asshole who didn’t give a fuck, but I kept my ears open, listening to everything they said about everyone.
That’s how I heard Dante’s brother, Luca Bianchi, was working as the head cook on the Deep Blue, and that he and George were supposed to meet Dante and Gianni at the port that night, along with some big shot who was meant to go with them.
At first, I didn’t pay much attention to the gossip, but when I heard Luca and George talking about a map they needed, I knew none of it was a coincidence, including having both Isabella and Gabriella on the same boat.
Life taught me not to trust anyone. Before they even woke up, half the crew had already been replaced with people from another yacht. I could say with confidence that the final word was mine, and everything that happened had to go through me, even the smallest detail, like who cleaned my room.
But no one could’ve prepared me for seeing her standing in the suite with her deep blue eyes locking onto mine.
Out of all the people in the world, why did it have to be her?
I pulled the pillow over my head and buried my face in it, letting out a groan.
“I can’t stand her,” I muttered to myself. “She thinks she’s smarter than everyone else, and…” I raised my hand and smacked my forehead. “She’s so fucking annoying.”
I sat on the edge of the bed for a moment before pushing myself to my feet and walking toward the window. Resting my hand against the cool metal frame, I looked down at the sun deck. The plunge pool was in the middle, swallowed by night except for a strip of moonlight stretching across its cover.
Someone was outside.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to make out who it was, when a loud scream tore through the stillness from the lower deck.
I rushed to the sofa, grabbed the white linen pants, and yanked them on, hopping on one foot until I pulled them up to my waist. I didn’t even bother looking for shoes. Barefoot, I rushed out of the suite.
My breathing matched the pounding of my heart. The only sound filling my ears was the dull thud of my feet against the carpet as I sprinted across the upper deck. I reached the door leading to the outside stairs, grabbed the handle, and shoved.
But it was locked.
I spun around and raced for the lower deck instead. The doors to the staff cabins stayed shut. I had no intention of wasting time knocking to find out who had screamed. The moment I pushed through the door leading to the aft deck, I spotted someone crumpled on the balcony.
Blue…
My throat tightened. I swallowed hard as I rushed to her side.
She turned her head toward me, but her eyes stayed fixed on the covered plunge pool below.
Tears clung to her lashes, streaking her flushed cheeks.
Her fingers were wrapped so tightly around the railing that her knuckles had turned white.
Angry red scratches marked the backs of her hands, fresh enough that a few of them still wept blood.
Was she really that scared?
“Are you…” I swallowed again. “Okay?”
She shook her head. A sob tore from her throat, a few drops of spit landing on my hand as she struggled to loosen her grip on the railing and point somewhere.
I followed her trembling finger to the sun deck below.
“The pool?” I asked.
She nodded, burying her face back into her knees, her whole body shaking.
I crouched beside her. I wanted to touch her, to do something, but my hand only hovered above her head. I closed my eyes, let out a slow breath, then pulled it back. Straightening, I took off toward the plunge pool.
By the time I reached it, the hooded man was not even here. Still, something felt off.
I scanned the deck, then looked at the pool. The waves slapped against the yacht, mixing with the faint sloshing beneath the white cover.
A hand print pressed up from underneath it.
I gasped.
Rushing to the edge, I untied the cover and yanked it off the pool.
The moment it came free, a woman burst to the surface.
Half her body collapsed onto the wooden deck while the rest remained submerged.
She dragged a hand through her soaked hair and coughed violently, water spilling from her lungs before she hauled herself completely out of the pool.
Only when she rolled onto her back did I finally see her face.
Isabella.
She braced a hand against the deck and cried out. Then she covered her face before dropping both hands to the wooden boards again, her fingers scraping frantically across them as she fought to steady her breathing.
“You good?”
“I…” She coughed up another mouthful of water, then lifted her face toward me. “I’ll be fine.”
I nodded, my eyes moving to the balcony railing on the lower deck.
“How afraid is she?” I asked quietly, almost whispering.
“Not that much.” Isabella pressed her lips together and gave a small shake of her head.
I raised a brow and walked past her. Halfway there, I turned around and tilted my chin toward the stairs.
“You coming, or do you want another swim in the pool?”
She muttered a curse under her breath in Italian, probably condemning my entire bloodline, before pushing herself up and stomping after me, her wet feet leaving dark prints across the deck.
We made our way back to the lower deck.
She hurried past me and dropped beside Gabriella. Cupping her cheeks, she whispered, “Hey, eyes on me. I’m okay.”
She pulled her into a hug, slowly helping her to her feet and guiding her so she only faced the door. Gabriella’s breathing came in short, uneven bursts. Her face was still wet, and her blue eyes looked even darker than before.
Something inside me pulled me toward her. But my mind told me to stay where I was.
Her mother and my father were the reason my mother died.
For a long time, I blamed her for it. I blamed her because my mother had cared about her.
She’d taught her how to draw, welcomed her into the small circle that had belonged only to us.
Every smile, every afternoon together, every memory I’d thought was real had been built on a lie.
I knew Gabriella hadn’t known.
But seeing her face, looking into those blue eyes every single day, dragged every memory of my mother back to the surface. It ripped open wounds that had never healed.
It fucking hurt.
It was easier to blame her. Easier to make her suffer over the years because I knew she’d keep her distance if I did. But the fucking universe kept throwing her back into my life, over and over again, like some twisted form of karma.
She was my walking karma.
Life kept finding new ways to fuck me over.
And I still couldn’t forgive her. Making her my enemy has always been easier than facing everything else.
I would rather be the asshole in her eyes than some poor little boy who lost his mom.
I’d rather drown than lower the wall I built between us.
I know she hates me just as much as I hate her, and maybe, with time, we’ll both forgive and forget.
But no one can turn back time. No one can bring my mother back.
My hatred was aimed at the whole world, not just her or my own blood.
“Oliver.” Isabella snapped her fingers in front of my face. “I know you’re our boss now and all that, but I need your help.” She looked at Gabriella, then back at me. “We need your help.”
I clenched my jaw and looked at Gabriella as she dabbed at her face with a small tissue she’d pulled from her pocket.
“What do you need?” I asked.
She stepped closer. “Someone pushed me,” she said. “I didn’t see his face, but I knew it was a man, and he took something from me.”
“And that would be?” I asked, raising a brow as a smirk tugged at my lips.
“Are you going to ask questions, or are you going to help?” Gabriella leaned against the wall, her eyes fixed on me.
“Jesus Christ.” I rolled my eyes. “Do you always has to be like that?”
“Like what?” She asked.
“Fine.” I let out a sigh. “We have to go to the bridge cabin. There’s surveillance footage covering the entire Deep Blue.”
“Okay,” Isabella said. “Can you two do it without me? I just need to dry off.”