Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
T here was a culinary crisis in the kitchen, so Becca didn’t see Dom leave. The spoiled lamb had derailed the dinner plans, and now, the staff were scrambling to come up with a last-minute alternative. As she darted back and forth between the kitchen and the storeroom, her mind wandered back to him .
Tonight. He’d come tonight.
A delicious shiver ran down her spine. It had been three days since she’d seen him—three long days of thinking about wrapping herself around that hard, chiseled body and giving in to the desire that simmered just beneath the surface. But that’s all it was. A dream. A tantalizing, forbidden fantasy she could never act on again.
Never.
Dom was bad news. Guns, blurred lines, danger. The trifecta of everything she’d sworn to avoid. He ticked every single one of those boxes with a big, fat, permanent marker.
But damn it, that didn’t make it any easier to stay away. She sighed, knowing she was in trouble. She was falling for him, and there was no use denying it anymore. The first step to healing is admitting you have a problem, right? Well, there it was. Dom was her problem. One she couldn’t afford to have.
The spoiled lamb had to be replaced with something quick, so she gave orders to the staff to whip up a batch of fresh seafood from the stockpile. Markov wouldn’t tolerate anything less than a perfect meal, and they were already on thin ice after last week’s fiasco.
Ramirez, however, was an easier mark. He made it a habit to eat at the villa most nights, despite whatever drama was brewing at home. Becca kept a room ready for him, knowing full well that his overnights were usually triggered by a fight with his wife or an overdose of wine at dinner. The villa had become his second home.
Becca dealt with the crisis, issuing instructions to the staff and checking the final arrangements for the new menu. But as she made her way back towards Markov’s study, she saw Carlos sprinting past her, a rare sight. Carlos didn’t run unless something serious was happening. A knot formed in her stomach.
From behind the study door, she could hear raised voices—Markov, Ramirez, and Carlos, all shouting over one another. Becca hesitated just outside, her hand hovering over the doorknob, torn between curiosity and the fear of getting caught eavesdropping.
Before she could decide, the door flew open, and Ramirez stormed out, fury etched into every line of his face.
Becca watched from the window as he marched around the back of the villa, straight to his armored Mercedes. He was in a rage, practically vibrating with anger as he climbed inside, slamming the door so hard it made her flinch. A second later, he tore down the driveway, tires squealing.
What the hell just happened?
Unable to resist, she pushed open Markov’s office door. “What’s going on?” she asked, stepping inside cautiously.
Her boss was pacing, his expression tight with frustration. “The stupid bastard,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Becca had never seen him so rattled. She turned toward Carlos, who stood near the window, staring after Ramirez with an inscrutable look on his face.
“Alek?” she pressed, her voice softer now.
Markov stopped pacing and turned to face her, his eyes dark with something close to regret. “Brace yourself,” he said, his voice gruff. “Chrissy was killed in a car accident. It happened about an hour ago.”
The words hit her like a punch to the gut.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, her legs giving out as she collapsed into the nearest chair.
Chrissy, dead?
It didn’t seem possible. She’d just spoken to her just last night—heard her laugh, listened to her vent about Ramirez.
Now, she was gone?
Becca’s mind reeled, struggling to keep up with the shock.
“Are they sure it’s her?” Becca asked, clinging to a thread of hope. “The au pair sometimes drives her car. Maybe it wasn’t Chrissy?—”
Markov cut her off with a grim nod. “It’s her. Ramirez spoke to the au pair. She’s gone to collect the girls from school. He’s on his way there now to break the news.”
“Those poor kids,” Becca murmured, her voice hollow.
What the hell had happened?
First, the affair. Now this. It was too much, too fast.
“How... how did it happen?”
“I don’t have all the details yet,” Markov barked, clearly hating the uncertainty. He was a man who thrived on control, and this was beyond him. “When I do, I’ll let you know.”
Becca rose to her feet, her limbs shaky. That was her cue to leave, to give them space to handle the fallout. As she walked towards the door, she couldn’t shake the words that Markov had muttered when she entered. “The stupid bastard.”
What the hell did that mean?
A flicker of suspicion darted through her mind, but she pushed it aside. Ramirez wouldn’t have... not Chrissy. He had his faults—plenty of them—but he wouldn’t do something like that. Would he?
She closed the door behind her and collapsed into her desk chair, her hands trembling. Chrissy. Dead. It was surreal. The woman had been a wreck the night before—drunk, angry, spiraling—but dead? She hadn’t sounded that far gone.
Becca’s mind raced, conjuring up images of Chrissy, red-eyed and reckless, behind the wheel of her car. Had she been drinking? Driving erratically in a fit of rage? The pieces were scattered, but no matter how hard Becca tried to force them into place, the picture didn’t make sense.
Then there was Markov. His cold, businesslike demeanor told her everything she needed to know about where his priorities lay. Chrissy’s death didn’t affect him personally—it was all about Ramirez. His long-time associate would either be more useful or more volatile after this. It was all about calculating the next move, keeping everything smooth for the business.
Becca sat at her desk for a long time, staring into space as the weight of it all pressed down on her. Ramirez’s wife, a friend— gone . And those girls. Their lives had just been shattered.
After a while, Carlos slinked out of the study, his usual leering glance absent. He stalked past her without a word, and not long after, Markov left the villa as well. Probably headed to Adriana’s place. He hadn’t spent much time with his girlfriend since Dom had arrived and this business with the Colombians had ramped up.
The villa was eerily quiet now, and for the first time, Becca allowed herself to cry. Silent tears slid down her cheeks, her chest tight with the weight of the loss. She hadn’t been that close to Chrissy, but she’d been a friend. A mom. And now, two teenage girls would grow up without their mother.
The thought made her stomach churn. Ramirez wasn’t exactly parent material, and with Chrissy gone, Becca didn’t doubt for a second that the au pair would take her place—whether she wanted to or not.
God , she hoped she was wrong.
But the more she thought about it, the more suspicious it all seemed. Chrissy had been angry, sure, but running a red light in a fit of rage? Something didn’t sit right. Unable to shake the feeling, she picked up the phone and called an old contact from the American embassy.
“Hi, Robert, it’s Becca. Long time, eh?” She kept her voice light, despite the nerves gnawing at her. After a few minutes of catching up, she got to the point. “I was hoping you could help me with something.”
She filled him in on what she needed, and Robert promised to look into it. He had connections with the local authorities and could access police reports when necessary. Becca knew she could trust him to find out what happened.
She tried to focus on work after the call, but her mind was spinning. Eventually, she gave up and headed back to her apartment, where she let the emotions wash over her in a long, hot bath.
Chrissy had sounded desperate last night. Desperate enough to do something reckless. Maybe she had driven too fast, blinded by anger. Maybe it really was nothing more than a tragic accident.
She was drying off when her phone rang again.
Robert.
“Hey, Rob. What did you find out?”
“Well, Becca, it looks like an accident on paper. Your friend ran a red light, and a truck hit her broadside. She didn’t stand a chance.”
Becca’s heart sank. “Was she drinking?”
“She had a blood alcohol level well above the legal limit,” Robert confirmed. “It’s pretty cut and dry.”
Becca nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. That explained it then.
But Robert paused.
“There is something else, though. I don’t know if it’s relevant, but she was booked on a flight out to LAX later tonight. Three seats.”
Becca’s blood ran cold. Chrissy had been preparing to run.