33. Elio
Chapter thirty-three
Elio
I’ve always refused to gamble with that virtue called ‘trust,’ but with Aria, all my rules have come crumbling down.
She’s no longer the stranger I have to keep at arm’s length. I know I can trust her, that she’ll not bring me to ruin. The fact that she didn’t go running to her daddy the minute she found out about the circumstances of her brother’s death only validates my conclusion further.
Smoke unfurls from my lips in small circles while my legs cross at the ankles on my office table.
I would have loved to take her on a weekend getaway to thank her for her loyalty, but there’s no time for that now, not with Marcus Winston breathing down my neck.
Cortez leans against the desk, distracting my thoughts from Aria; his arms are crossed, his eyes sharp as they bore into mine. There’s heavy silence in the air, especially since it’s three days into the seven-day ultimatum Marcus Winston gave me, and I still don’t have a strategic plan.
He has proof that I executed Bruno Moretti in cold blood. If that footage leaks, it’s not just trouble for me. It’s the end of my family empire.
“We need to eliminate this Winston problem,” my voice is heavy with exhaustion, “before it’s too late.”
Cortez nods, a sober expression on his face. “What are you thinking of, Capo ? I don’t think Winston is bluffing about exposing the video if we don’t comply. He has nothing to lose either way.”
I clench my jaw. “I know. Which is why Marcus Winston can’t walk away from this.”
I run a rough palm across my face. “There’s no way that infidel is getting his hands on my most profitable hotel chain. I’d have to be dead first.”
Before Cortez can come up with a reply, his phone vibrates on the desk. He checks the screen, then answers, putting the call on speaker.
“This is Stella Winston. I want to speak with Elio Donatelli.”
My spine stiffens. Could that be Marcus Winston’s wife?
“What do you want?” My tone is as menacing as it can get.
There’s a small pause, then sniffing before she speaks. “I can erase every existing copy of the footage from that night. And I’ll send you the proof.”
My eyes exchange a quick glance with Cortez. “Don’t fool around, lady. Your husband would have your head on a platter if he finds out.”
She chuckles lightly. “Don’t be mistaken, Donatelli. I’m not offering to help you. I’m doing this because I need you to help me.”
My brow juts up in inquiry. Cortez lifts his shoulders in a shrug.
“What do you want?”
“For you to kill my husband.”
The room goes still. I stare at the phone, waiting for her to crack, to retract her statement and tell me this is a test or a bluff, but she doesn’t.
“Where’s he at the moment?” Once again, my voice comes out in a harsh bark.
“He left for a meeting. Won’t be back for a while.”
My fingers reach to trail the shaggy feel of my disarranged hair. This changes things, but maybe not in a bad way. “Meet me outside the La Tavola restaurant in thirty minutes.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, an “okay” and the line disconnects.
Cortez watches me, wide-eyed. “Are you sure about this?”
Grabbing my coat from the headrest of my chair behind me, I respond, “I guess we’ll find out.”
As I walk out, I turn back to Cortez, asking him, “By the way, how’s your girl doing?”
I see the surprise on his face and then the softening of the look in his eyes. “Resting after everything. I never said thank you, brother, for helping me get her back.”
“You’re my family, Cortez. Anyone who comes after you and your family will meet a painful end.” With that, I leave to go handle our fucking little ‘Winston’ problem.
***
She’s petite for someone who’s planning a murder.
Stella Winston walks up to my white Mercedes, sunglasses shielding her eyes, red hair packed into a high ponytail. From the baggy jeans and matching jacket she has on, with those stiletto sandals, I can tell she’s young but definitely not na?ve.
She knocks on my car window as I ordered her to, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting to run into Marcus in this kind of place.
The door lock clicks open, and she eases herself into the car, face fixed forward.
“How do I know this isn’t another of Marcus’s plans to fuck me over?” My hands are on the steering wheel, all my senses alert in case she tries to pull a stunt.
“Marcus wouldn’t expose you to his trophy wife, at least not when he’s threatening to ruin your entire career.”
She’s right, but I don’t need her to know that.
“Besides, I know all about my husband’s dumb arrangements with Bruno Moretti to raid your warehouse and heard about how they killed one Mendez guy to cover their tracks before you could get to him. He wouldn’t send me here to say all of that now, would he?”
She’s confirming what Winston had revealed to me. That he, a fucking regular guy, was behind the warehouse incident, and that he was the one who recruited the Morettis.
“Why would you want to kill your own husband? And why do you need my help to do it?”
She takes her glasses off, revealing well-lined dark eyes, and blows invisible dust off the lenses.
“You seem very interested in my business, Donatelli...”
“Answer the fucking question,” I bark.
“My husband is both a narcissist and a sadist. On top of that, he hits me, and I can’t get a divorce because of our prenuptial agreement, which states that I can only benefit from his wealth if he dies naturally. I can’t even divorce the bastard. In the end, there has to be something in it for me for all the years I endured his torture, right?”
She turns to look at me. It’s not hard to imagine Marcus being a jerk, but with all the perfect pictures of himself and his wife splayed over social media, I didn’t think he was hitting the poor woman. What a bastard, indeed.
“And that’s it? You just want a share of his inheritance?”
She slides her glasses back up her nose. “I need someone to cover my tracks. If it would’ve been so easy, I’d have murdered the bastard myself all along.”
“Your husband is my business rival. If I murder him, the cops will be breathing down my neck in no time.”
She jerks her head in a slight nod. “And his death must not be traced back to me either, which is why I have a plan. My husband has to die a natural death.”
My brows jerk in surprise. “That’s it? That’s your plan?”
She nods her head innocently. A deep sigh whooshes from my nostrils.
“Ok, I need some sort of a weak point to work with. Is he allergic to anything? I need something reasonable here.”
After chewing on her lower lip for a moment, she suddenly claps her hands together in excitement.
“My husband struggles with gastric ulcers. Is that a weakness you can work with?”
A thousand ideas are running around in my head as a winning smile spreads across my lips, but this isn’t the place.
“You should leave. I’ll contact you to say when I want the footage.”
She nods and helps herself out of the car.
MARCUS WINSTON, CEO OF COMFORT HOTELS, DIES FROM ACUTE GASTRIC ULCER…I can already imagine the headlines.
Stella Winston has just given me the best present anyone could ask for.