Chapter 11
ISLA
The penthouse is mind-bogglingly massive.
It takes up an entire floor of a skyscraper.
I’ve been here for two days, and I’m still discovering rooms I hadn’t realized existed.
I’m also going stir-crazy. On any other day, I’m content to be a hermit, hiding away from everyone and everything in my apartment.
But since Alessio dropped me off here with a repeated warning about not leaving the penthouse without him as an escort, all I’ve wanted to do is leave.
“Not because you’re not an absolute darling,” I reassure Cid, who just meowed at me as if to ask what he’s done wrong.
He makes a purring trill at me, which I’ve already come to learn is his way of saying pet me, bitch.
I cross the floor in my borrowed slippers—thankfully, Luna and I have the same size feet because these marble floors are cold—and bend down to give him a few scratches on his head and some caresses under his soft, white chin.
He rubs his face on my hand and then gives me an adoring look with his big, seafoam eyes.
“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” I tell him, “because you sure are demanding.”
He purrs and headbutts me in the ankle. Headbutts are Cid’s love language.
We’ve been getting along great. He was wary of me for about three minutes until I offered him some of the crunchy treats that are his favorite as a bribe.
We’ve been besties ever since. He’s an amazing lap cuddler while I’m reading, and he follows me everywhere, often winding himself around my ankles and almost tripping me in the process.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I snap a pic of him.
It’s blurry because he was in motion, so I take another two in quick succession.
Finding one that satisfies me, I text it to Luna.
She told me she likes regular Cid updates, and I’m happy to oblige.
What else do I have to do here other than binge-read and catch up on Netflix? In all, it’s not a bad gig.
Except for the part where I’m living in a mobster’s penthouse, complete with armed guards at the door and the threat hovering over me that the number two in charge criminal kingpin could show up at any second, unannounced and uninvited.
And did I mention I’m going stir-crazy?
Cid meows at me.
“Let’s get you some delicious breakfast, kid. And then I think I’m going to get out of here for a few minutes.”
Just to grab a tea, if nothing else. And contrary to what Alessio claimed, I’m not going to cause any trouble. Besides, the coffee shop I spied when he dropped me off here isn’t around the corner. It’s across the street.
With Cid weaving around my ankles, I get him set up with breakfast. He promptly digs in, forgetting I exist. I don’t take his lack of interest in me personally—he’s a huge fan of salmon. And besides, now I can get to my shoes and purse and slip out the door without him unintentionally tripping me.
My phone dings with a heart emoji from Luna on the picture, followed by three little dots. I wait for her text to come through.
My baby. Give him an extra kiss from me. Thank you for being there with him.
I send her a kissy-face emoji in response, because I’m really trying not to interrupt her honeymoon, go back to Cid for an obligatory kiss on his soft, furry head, and then make my way back to the door. The second I’m over the threshold, a guard greets me.
He’s tall and huge, with a face that looks like it’s incapable of gentleness or smiling, a wicked scar running across one cheek.
“Good morning,” he says, devoid of any expression. “What can we do for you?”
“I’m heading out to get a cup of tea across the street,” I tell him. “I’ll be back in about twenty minutes.”
“Did Mr. Andriani approve of this?”
I don’t know which one he’s talking about, Alessio or Priest, but it doesn’t matter. I know what I’ll hear next if I say no.
So I give him my biggest, friendliest smile, the one I use for my classes on day one before they get to know me and realize I’m not a pushover.
“Yes, he did,” I lie.
He looks at me, eyes narrowing. “I’ll send Vincenzo with you.”
The last thing I want is to be followed around by a Mafia guard. He’s probably armed. Also, how awkward.
I shake my head. “No need. Like I said, it’s a short, quick trip. I’ll be right back.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
I withhold my sigh, because I’m not trying to rock the boat here, but I’m also not going to be told what I can and can’t do. Luna may have signed on for this lifestyle, but I’m just a temporary visitor, and I don’t like answering to anyone.
I’m going to get that tea. I’m going to breathe in the scents of the city, be buffeted by honking car horns, and I’m going to stand in line way too long for a cup of tea that’s not nearly as good as it should be, given the price.
But it’s what I’m going to do because I want to and because I need to stretch my legs and remember there’s an outside world.
I’ve spent the last few days with no one for company but a cat.
“Well,” I say slowly, “seeing as how I’m not a prisoner here, and I think it’s a just-fine idea, I’m going to go ahead and get myself that cup of tea. Be back in twenty minutes.”
I don’t stick around for his response. I just sidestep him and hightail it to the elevator, where I punch in my personalized code to get to the lobby. Once I’m there, I waste no time in avoiding the guards posted at the door.
And then, like that, I’m in the chilly early spring air of the city.
The sun shines overhead, and the music of cars honking surrounds me, along with the rush of people filling the sidewalk as they move to their next destinations.
I start moving with the flow of traffic, heading to an intersection and stopping to cross.
While I pause, a gust of unforgiving March air makes me wish I’d grabbed a hoodie before coming down here.
Too late. I’m not going to risk going back for one and getting stuck in the penthouse for the rest of the day.
I plan to enjoy the hell out of these twenty minutes of freedom.
The walk sign lights up, and as one, everyone who has been waiting to cross starts their way over the street.
I follow, trying not to think about how pissed Alessio is going to be with me if he ever finds out about my field trip without his permission and his accompaniment.
Too bad anyway. Did he really expect me to cool my heels for an hour or two so that he could escort me to the coffee shop like I’m a little kid in need of a parental chaperone?
Still fuming about that, I shiver as I reach the other side of the street and make a beeline for my destination.
I’m close enough that I can make out the pastries taunting me from the window and catch the scent of coffee and breakfast on the breeze.
The warm air that gusts around me as I step inside is a welcome relief from the cold outside.
I get in line, peruse the menu overhead, and make my order when it’s my turn.
Miraculously, I find myself a secluded table in a corner to sit at until my name is called with my order.
That’s when I feel eyes on me. I cast a glance around the crowded coffee shop and see a tall, blond man in a dark hat and jacket whose gray eyes are laser focused in my direction.
Something about him makes the hackles rise on the back of my neck, but I tell myself it’s nothing.
Just my imagination.
I’m paranoid because Alessio made me paranoid with all his rules and warnings and scary Mafia threats and burner phones.
I drum my fingers on my purse, waiting, and try to distract myself.
But the feeling returns almost instantly, and when I flick my gaze back in the direction of the line, the tall stranger is staring at me again, unsmiling and grim.
It’s not the look you give to someone you’re interested in.
A chill runs down my spine.
Like Alessio, this guy has a menacing air about him. A certain aura of danger. But unlike with Alessio, he repels me a thousand times more than he fascinates me. In fact, he terrifies me in a way Alessio never has.
In the next instant, my name is called, and I rush to the counter to grab my venti Earl Grey and a scone.
Now that I’m afraid I’m being watched, I don’t really want to rush back to the penthouse.
What if this guy is trailing me and he follows me there?
All Alessio’s warnings come back to roost in me now like a bunch of anxious chickens.
I decide to sit back at my table and drink my tea for a few minutes.
Pulling out my phone, I open an e-reader app and start scrolling.
But despite the fact that I’m at the midpoint of my latest read and it’s starting to get delicious because the hero finally gave in to temptation, I can’t seem to concentrate.
The guy has moved through the line. I can’t keep myself from surreptitiously watching him as he waits for his order. He’s not looking in my direction.
“John,” a barista calls out.
He steps forward, taking the coffee. Hearing his name isn’t any more reassuring. Is it an alias? Did he follow me in here?
I take a sip of my Earl Grey as he sets up shop at a table in the corner, facing me.
Calmly, he extracts a phone, and I swear he takes my picture.
I blink, frowning at the lid of my to-go cup.
I throw myself into the book on my phone, trying to act like I have no idea he’s there and doing my best to perfect a chill I definitely don’t feel.
Maybe it’s just my imagination.
Maybe I’ve watched one too many true crime shows.
Or maybe the guy actually is watching me and he did just take my picture and the reason he’s doing this is not just nefarious, but deadly.