1. Antonio
Chapter one
Antonio
T his is how dishonesty and betrayal starts. Not in big lies, but in small secrets. Small moments of withholding just enough information for it to be believable. Withholding just enough that the lie being told is almost as believable as the truth itself. Being able to wear the ever perfect mask that makes almost anything I say believable.
“You have to trust me,” I say, looking into the webcam of my laptop. “I know the markets have been rocky lately, especially after what happened with Adriano, but have I ever advised you incorrectly before?”
Lies.
I rub my palms against my black slacks beneath the table as they become increasingly sweaty.
Rocky is an understatement. The stocks surrounding any Vitale business venture has been hit by a tsunami over the last nine months. As soon as the news of Adriano’s little trip to heaven's doorstep got out, investors began to worry about what could possibly be brewing under the surface for something like that to happen.
Not to mention my sudden inability to take any face to face meetings.
“I do trust you, Antonio, but you have to understand what this looks like to the board. It’s a massive risk,” the man on the other end of the video call says.
I shrug, feigning indifference, as if this deal wouldn’t make or break our entire profit margin for the year. “Massive risk, massive reward. The choice is yours, Clive,” I say.
The man rubs the bridge of his nose, and subconsciously I wish I could copy his actions. Tension pulls at my shoulders and I cannot wait to hang up this call and end my ‘work day’.
“Can we meet tomorrow? Or maybe in person next week?”
Fuck.
“I can meet for a short while tomorrow after lunch, but unfortunately, I’m not taking any in-person meetings at the moment.”
“Fine, tomorrow works. I’ll speak to the board at our meeting this afternoon and then get back to you with the final verdict.”
“Appreciate your time, Clive. I look forward to hearing good news from you tomorrow.”
The call ends and I triple check everything is shut down before I slump backwards into my chair. Tossing my thick, black framed glasses onto the table, I rub my eyes until stars dance across the blackness beneath my eyelids.
Standing up, I stroll over to my balcony that overlooks the majority of Domaine de la mer, the villa I’m staying at—or rather the villa I’ve been banished to for the last three months—while the two least capable Vitales work on trying to stop Mattheo’s men who have been trying to kill me since I shot him.
I tilt my head to the side as I look out to the ocean, subconsciously surveying if any guilt has surfaced yet. But nope, I still don’t feel an ounce of remorse for putting a bullet into the bastard's head. Frankly, I wish I made him suffer a bit more for everything he did to Valerie.
Regret tugs hard as I think about her again. I’ve been able to keep the majority of my Valerie-related thoughts to a minimum of one per day for the last week, but today, my mind’s been running on overdrive, replaying everything that happened.
Adriano took a bullet that was meant for me, and I feel worse about that than actually killing the bastard. Especially since it left most in-person dealings to Augustus, because everyone wants to piss themselves whenever Ambrose enters a room.
A loud thud echoes through the room and I look over at Nico, my live-in babysitter/bodyguard during my time here in Mauritius.
“Sorry, boss,” he says, picking up the TV remote he dropped on the floor.
Poor guy probably expected a more exciting client when he agreed to be one of the youngest billionaires in Europe’s bodyguard for an unspecified amount of time.
Instead, he got stuck with my boring, never-wants-to-leave-his-room, ass.
My phone ringing on the counter pulls me away from another spiral.
Adriano.
“Hmm?” I hum into the speaker.
“You’re alive, Nino. Great to hear it.” Adriano chuckles, and I can hear him take a drag on what I assume is a cigarette.
“Could say the same for you. How’s physical therapy going?”
The bullet grazed a nerve in Adriano’s shoulder, leaving him having to relearn how to use his right hand again.
“Decent. Great, actually, considering they switched out the old dude for this absolute smoke show. It’s made me suddenly realise just how much longer I need physical therapy for.”
We both laugh. Adriano isn’t usually one to hook up with random girls—none of us are. Ambrose was the wildest, and even that came to an end when Valerie showed up at home during the beginning of last year.
Damn, I wonder how she is…
“Nino?” Adriano’s voice cuts my thoughts.
“Sorry, what?”
“Valerie said she's been trying to get hold of you, but you’re dodging her calls,” my brother says in a tone that lets me know he was forced to bring this up.
“Well, I’m still pissed about everything, and tell Ambrose to stop using you as a messenger. If he wants to say something to me, he should just say it himself.” I sigh at the end.
He exhales. “Okay, don’t get your glasses in a twist. Anyway, the reason I called is to let you know they’ve been talking about you coming back soon. Well, Mamá’s been nagging to get you back here safely, and Ambrose met with a few members of the French cartel.”
My entire body shifts into high speed and my heart rate picks up with the excitement of possibly being able to go home soon.
“Really?” My voice gives my excitement away, and immediately Adriano shoots it down.
“It isn’t confirmed, Nino, don’t get too excited just yet. Wait until Ambrose mentions it to you.”
“Yes, of course, I’m just glad there's some progress. I was worried about leaving it up to dumb and dumber,” I say as I pick up my glasses from where I threw them. I wipe them off before placing them back into their case next to my laptop.
“You and I both. But listen, I have to go to physical therapy. Enjoy what might be your last few nights in paradise before you’re forced to come back and deal with all this shit,” he says.
“I will. I’m the best at just enjoying myself,” I say smugly.
“No one who’s actually capable of having a good time says things like that.”
“Hmm, enjoy therapy and try not to bone her until your hands are working at 100% efficiency again.”
“I’m sure she can help me out with a few exercises to strengthen it.”
I scoff and hang up the call. Enjoy myself? I’ve been working non-stop since I landed in Mauritius. Relaxation has been the last thing I’ve thought of. Which is insane, when you think about the fact that I’m literally on an island built specifically for just that.
After the conversation with Adriano and the meeting with Clive, the need to shower becomes imperative.
“Nico, I’m gonna take a shower and then head to the pool before lunch,” I say as I walk towards my room.
Forty-five minutes later, I’m stepping out of my shower, ready to head to the pool. Sure, forty-five minutes for a shower can seem a bit excessive, but what’s forty-five minutes of a lifetime?
Next to nothing .
Time is such a crazy concept.
I chuckle to myself at the thought while Nico and I walk to the main pool of the resort that seems oddly empty considering the time. I suppose the grey clouds may have something to do with it, but with temperatures still north of 37oC, there’s no place I’d rather be than in the water right now.
Nico occupies his usual spot under an available umbrella, ready to catch up with the latest episodes of whatever cooking show he’s watching.
I toss my towel onto a lounge chair next to him, gazing around the area again as I slowly step into the pool. It really is so odd how empty the pool is.
I furrow my brows, but brush it off again, choosing to rather pay attention to the relief the cool water brings my warm body.
With one large breath, I immediately dive under the water.
Silence.
Beyond the faint sound of birds and the pool pump, it's silent. But my mind isn’t.
I resurface, taking another breath before I paddle off towards the opposite end of the pool.
Seven months.
Seven months of this shit show. I’ve been on this stupid island for three of those months and now he's finally deciding to do something about it. We’ve barely spoken–mainly due to my avoidance–more than five times since I’ve been here.
Everything I’ve heard has either been from Adriano, Gus, or my mamá. Even Kaia has called on a few occasions to check in.
That one hurt the most—knowing she had been to South Africa numerous times over the last seven months, but we couldn’t risk her safety by having her stop over here.
Resurface. Another breath. Flip. Back in the other direction.
It’s always for safety. And I know that’s the most important thing, especially since I’d kill myself if anything happened to anyone in my family because of me. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t lonely. Sure, Nico is around, but he barely speaks more than what’s necessary. And I miss the little things like family dinners, going to Giovanni’s with Mattia before work, sketching with Val, and fuck, as much as I hate to admit it, I even miss running with Ambrose.
I resurface again, keeping my eyes closed as they’ve started to sting, thanks to the resort's overuse of chlorine. As I’m about to reach up and wipe my eyes, I hear the sound of an all too familiar click.
“Don’t move.” The French accent is thick as the words silence every sound other than my pounding heartbeat.
I struggle to blink my eyes open and take in the scene around me now. Nearly twenty men surround the pool, half with guns pointed at Nico and the other half with their weapons pointed at me.
“Can I help you?” I raise a brow at the man in front of me. By his cream suit and everyone else’s simple, black outfits, I take a wild guess and assume the fashionista over here is in charge. Calling him a fashionista is actually an insult to Augustus, since the suit is as bland as plain pasta.
“No, Mr. Vitale, but I do believe I can help you,” he answers.
“Who are you?” My eyes shift slightly to see Nico already being put into restraints.
“Me? I’m not important. But my father is the leader of Le Milieu, and he’s been looking for you ever since you killed my uncle. Ringing any bells?”
Shit.
We knew Mattheo was heavily involved with the French cartel, but we, or rather I, never knew he was the Don's brother. To be fair, I never even knew Mattheo had any family beyond being married to Valerie.
“So why are you here?”
“My father is tired of negotiations with your brother.”
I don’t blame him.
“I’m here to offer you a trip to Marseille.”
“And if I’m not interested?”
He shrugs, clearly not surprised by my resistance. “It wasn’t much of an offer, actually. More of a demand.”
Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in my neck before everything slowly goes hazy, and then black.