3. My assignment
THREE
MY ASSIGNMENT
Tourist
The man at the door fixes us all coffee as if we’re gathered around the desk gossiping about our neighbor banging the pool guy. When he serves me the cup of great-smelling goodness I normally consume to jolt my brain awake in the morning, I refuse it. I’m quite awake, thanks.
But the woman glares at me, so I change my mind. Cautiously, I sip the brew right after the woman drinks hers, just in case they poisoned mine. Not that it matters. There’s nothing I could do about it besides drink, keel over, and die foaming at the mouth.
Dramatic. Very dramatic.
I grab a fluffy pillow and hold it in my lap. I’ve always found holding fluffy pillows and blankets oddly comforting.
The violence in the room stresses me out to the point that I want to throw up. I’ve never been much of a fighter, and I would try to escape if my knees weren’t shaking, and if I didn’t think they’d give way the moment I stood up. All in all, the odds aren’t in my favor, and, frankly, unless I’m sure I can make it to safety (which I can’t), trying anything would be pretty stupid.
The guy sitting at the desk talks about the man I spent the night with. My one-night stand’s name is Alessio Angelini, a thirty-nine-year-old descendant of Italian royalty and one of the wealthiest men on earth. They need to say no more, because the name rings a bell.
After I landed in Rome and heard about this island, I visited to confirm the rumors of it being a paradise on earth. The rumors were true. Until now.
Alessio bought the island almost immediately after Giulia Angelini, his youngest sister, died in a tragic car accident. Most people would mourn and try to move on with their lives, but not Alessio. This man purchased an island, brought in the best engineers, and told them to create a safe paradise on earth the way he imagined it.
The crews worked fast and furiously under the pressure of Alessio’s demands for perfection, while the lawmakers delivered a functioning government and a state in ninety days.
Locals who lived here before he bought it say their lives have improved tenfold since Alessio took over. This is mainly because he built an airport and a low-cost ferry that goes to and from Italy and Corsica so the tourists can access the island easily. He insists locals cater to tourists in ways that other places don’t.
For example, Luigi’s checkout time is one in the afternoon and extendable to four under special circumstances. Most vacation spot checkout times are at eleven and noon. When I booked Luigi’s, I imagined that on my last day, I’d get to sleep in and enjoy the day without feeling rushed.
The bartender at the hotel offered me a ride home in the middle of the night. That’s not to say I wouldn’t have felt safe walking the streets at night. I would have.
If Mr. Angelini knew these people were attacking me, I bet he wouldn’t like it. Not at all. And I don’t mean that in a conceited way because I think he cares about me. I mean that they’re breaking one of his safety rules.
I place my finished coffee cup on the desk beside my computer, where a montage of Alessio Angelini plays out. It’s clear they’ve been watching him for a while.
“He’s intense, to be sure,” I say. “And wealthy and perhaps unlikable because of the wealth and no-nonsense character, but I don’t see what that has to do with me.”
“You’re the first girl he’s touched in over a year.”
I side-eye the guy. “We hate him because he’s not having sex?”
“He killed my brother,” the woman says.
Murder. Shit. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Fuck you, bitch.”
Okay, I’m not sorry anymore. The man barks something in a foreign language I can’t identify, then turns to me. “My brother-in-law and more than two dozen of his men were sailing toward a port in our town when their location stopped transmitting. We’ve sent out a search and rescue crew and found nothing.”
“Two dozen people? That is terrible.”
“And you slept with that dirt,” the woman says, then spits on me.
I wipe my face.
The man chastises her, and she joins the other man at the door.
“My wife is angry,” he explains, pushing up his sunglasses. “She wants to leave your mangled body on Alessio’s doorstep.”
“I don’t want that,” I say.
“Me either, so let’s work together,” he says.
“Yes, sir.”
He smiles. “I see why Alessio took you. You are… What’s the word I’m looking for?” He turns his face toward the ceiling as if the word is written up there.
“Agreeable?” I offer.
He snaps his fingers. “That’s the one. You’re very helpful.”
“Thank you.” I’m so happy my linguistic prowess can be of service to the worldwide organization of bullies.
“Since I couldn’t find my brother-in-law, I tried his boss, who wouldn’t pick up his phone, and the reason is because…” The man pauses, leaving me in suspense while he pulls out a phone from his pocket and finds whatever he needs. “The images I’m going to show you are disturbing. Brace yourself.” He turns over the phone and shows me the image of a brutally mangled man sitting on a couch in what looks like a luxurious living room.
My belly rises, and I turn away.
“Look at it again,” he says.
This man might be a sadist, but I can’t refuse the request, or he’ll force me.
I dare a glance again and gag, but manage to swallow and close my eyes. “Unless you want me to throw up on you, you’ll get your phone out of my face.”
The sadist (that’s what I’ll call him) chuckles. “We think the man who was arrested for his murder knows what happened to my brother-in-law. We want him.”
“The killer?”
“Mmhm.”
“You said he was arrested, so he’s in jail. Go get him.” You guys belong there. Bye!
“The killer disappeared and is nowhere to be found now.”
“But you said he was arrested.”
“He was.”
I’m trying to think what might’ve happened to a man who gets arrested for murder and then vanishes. “He’s in witness protection, then?”
The man sighs. “I wish. If he were in witness protection, he’d testify against Alessio, and we could eliminate him. He’s under Alessio’s protection.”
Somehow, the sadist thinks he can get to the killer while he’s under the protection of law enforcement, but not while he’s under Alessio’s protection. “Alessio’s protection is somehow harder to penetrate?”
“I like how quick you are on the uptake.”
“Duress does wonders for elevating my intelligence.”
He laughs. “You are a dangerous woman, Lake Wilder.”
His wife barks something, and he points at her. “You even make my wife of fifteen years jealous. Alessio knows how to pick women. But still, he will need substantial convincing that you’re the one for him.”
“I’m not the one for him. If I were, he would have asked me to stay.”
“I’ve watched the hotel video several times, and it seems to me you managed to sneak out of his room. He never had a chance to ask you, and if he did, you refused him, which makes you the one who got away. For a man like Alessio, you’re a challenge.”
“Actually, I’m the opposite of a challenge. I aim to please.”
“Either way, he saw something he liked.”
“And you saw something you’ll exploit.”
“Exactly.”
I grit my teeth so I don’t tell him to go fuck himself. “I doubt Alessio thinks I’m the one .”
“You better work on convincing him, then.”
I chuckle because the sadist’s plan is stupid. “You want me to go back to Alessio and tell him what? That I want to see him again?” I throw up my hands. “That won’t work. I can’t help you.”
“Calm down. You can help me. All you have to do is accept.”
I stare at him, wishing he’d take off his dark sunglasses so I could make eye contact, but also not wishing he’d take them off. When perps hide their face, it’s because they intend keep their victim alive and unable to identify them. I hope I’m right about that.
“What if I don’t accept?” He’ll shoot me. I know it, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. I hope it doesn’t hurt. One never knows. His wife has a short fuse.
The man doesn’t answer. He looks for something on his phone again, and I brace for what he’ll show me when he thrusts the phone in front of my face. It’s a video of a school. Red brick. Stairs. Wait a minute, what’s it say up there? I can’t read the name of the school, but it looks familiar.
The bell rings, and Mr. Smith comes out first, followed by a stream of children, and I lean in, frantically searching for a boy with curly hair and thick glasses. Seconds later, I recognize my uncle’s white SUV as he pulls up to the curb, and my little brother bursts out of the gates with his teacher yelling, “Walk, Prescott. Walk.”
But Prescott runs toward the car, his glasses bouncing on his nose, almost falling off his face.
“This was yesterday,” I say. Prescott only gets excited like this on Fridays because on weekends, he goes to my uncle’s farm and gets to pet all the animals.” I wipe my tears. “You’d hurt him?” I snap. “You’d hurt that little boy?”
“I would, and I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.”
Oh God, I’m dealing with sadists and sociopaths and God knows what other fucked-up people here. “What do you want me to do?”