Chapter 14 #2
“None of this makes sense.” I push to my stocking-covered feet, frustration crackling under my skin. “You despise me, but then resent my father for not telling me the truth, instead of jumping at the chance to gloat about your underhanded agreement.”
“I’m not in the business of making little girls cry,” he drawls.
My stomach twists at the condescension, but I don’t let it sway me. “You outline a program that boosts my reputation but burdens you financially.”
He gives me a tired look. “Having you publicly admit you cut ties with the Cavallo Group will only put us under more scrutiny.”
No. That’s not it. It can’t be.
“Then explain why you abducted me, then served my favorite meals.”
His lips twitch, not quite a smile—more like a taunt. “Don’t tell me Stockholm has already set in.” He clucks his tongue. “Do you think I’m secretly pining for you, Isla?”
Yes. And the stupidity of wishful thinking has my face heating.
I can admit I’ve spent two years failing to hate him—secretly hoping the man I once knew would resurface.
Maybe I can even acknowledge my first act as interim CEO was to test him. To see if there was still something real beneath the wreckage.
It’s pathetic, yet here I stand, trying to resurrect something that likely only existed in my imagination. What else do I have to lose?
I round the table and stop before him. “Why shower in another cabin if not out of kindness to let me sleep?”
He holds my gaze, cold, dangerous, the seconds passing like centuries. Then he stands, towering above me, forcing me to raise my chin to maintain eye contact.
“Maybe,” he drawls, “after your off-Broadway theatrics last night, I figured a few extra minutes’ rest might help to tame the crazy. Though clearly, I underestimated your flair for chaos.”
I press my lips shut, my heart riotous.
He’s lying. I refuse to believe otherwise.
But I’m not going to get him to confess if I give him the statement he wants.
I turn and stalk for the door, my pace increasing as I escape the room.
“Isla,” he calls after me.
I continue along the corridor, into the salon, through the automatic glass doors onto the deck.
The breeze brushes my cheeks as I glance around, searching for options. For leverage.
There isn’t much to choose from.
“Isla,” Raffael roars from somewhere inside, his footsteps approaching.
I rush to the side of the yacht, grab the nearest vertical pole that rises to the above deck, and climb onto the railing, my tight skirt making the task arduous.
Raffael bursts outside, vibrating with hostile frustration, and stops dead in his tracks. Panic flashes in his eyes.
See? He wouldn’t look like that if he didn’t care.
“Get down,” he snarls.
I shake my head, my arms trembling, the breeze now a rushing wind that tugs at my clothes. “Not until you tell me the truth.”
“The yacht is in motion.” He speaks slowly, calmly. Pure, calculated Raffael. “If you jump, you’ll get sucked under the hull.”
I have no intention of jumping. I just want to shock him into spilling his secrets.
“Who were you talking to this morning?” I demand.
His teeth clench.
One of the crewmen rounds the deck, halting abruptly with a breathy curse.
“Don’t spook her,” Raffael warns, not breaking eye contact.
“I’m not spooked.” I inch closer to the pole, locking my elbows around it. “I just want answers. Was it my father on the phone?”
Raffael takes a cautious step forward. “Climb back onto the deck and we’ll talk.”
“No, we won’t. As soon as my feet hit that teak you’ll intimidate your way out of this.”
“Want me to radio the Captain to cut the engines?” the crewman asks.
“I don’t want you doing anything that might risk her balance on that fucking ledge.” Raffael’s fists clench at his sides. “Leave her to me.”
There’s tension in his body, anger in his expression, but the panic is still rich in his eyes. And I swear it can’t just be due to the complications the possibility of my death might bring.
He’s worried.
For me.
Movement carries from the deck below. A shuffle of feet. A clink of metal.
I glance down and vertigo rushes toward me like a tidal wave. The water churns violently against the hull. The height hits me harder than I’d expected.
I cling tighter to the pole, my arms locked in a death hold.
“Isla…” Raffael takes another hesitant step. “Get down.”
“Who was on the phone?”
More staff members walk onto the deck, their panic stalking me from every angle.
“Tell me, Raffael,” I beg.
His nostrils flare. “Fine. It was—”
“I’ve got her,” someone shouts from below as a hand grabs my ankle. Too tight. Too sudden.
My foot slips.
I gasp, glancing down. There’s a crew member, harnessed, and climbing up from the lower deck.
Vertigo rushes toward me again. The sky spins. My grip falters.
I turn my focus back to Raffael. My equilibrium doesn’t follow.
Our eyes lock as I flail.
He lunges.
I reach for him.
But it’s too late.
I fall, the churning water rushing up to claim me. Shouts explode above. Screams pierce the air.
Then I hit the surface, and the ocean swallows me whole.