Chapter 7 DAN
DAN
“To the bride and groom.” I raise my champagne flute and toast the happy couple, though happy is probably the wrong choice of words. I’ve never seen a woman look so miserable on her wedding day.
I check my watch, wondering how long I have to stay at this event. It’s been going on all fucking day.
Riccardo steps up to my side and hands me a grappa. “Thought you could use a strong drink.” He raises his glass and clinks it with the one he’s just given me.
The strong grape-based brandy catches in my nose before I take a gulp. The velvety texture burns as it hits the back of my throat, making my eyes widen.
“I made it myself.” Riccardo turns around, lifting a carafe and topping up our glasses.
“You mean your vineyard made it?” I raise an eyebrow, wondering if he actually meant himself or his staff.
He shrugs a shoulder. “Same thing.”
“How’s business going?” He knows I don’t mean the vineyard. It’s just a front for his money laundering. I usually turn a blind eye to it all and just gather the information he pays me for. Which is keeping tabs on his merchants in the UK. Again, I don't mean his wine merchants.
“All’s good, cugino. We can talk shop tomorrow. Tonight is about having a good time.” He takes another long pull from his glass.
“Right.” If this is what he calls a good time, he needs to get out more. I knock my drink back and hold it out for another. The burn lessened with each sip.
“You should take some of this back with you. Come to the vineyard before you go.”
“I’ll stop by and take some home with me tomorrow.”
His brow furrows. “You’re going home so soon? I thought you were here for a few weeks. Isn’t Matteo flying out to meet you?”
“I’ll be back for Matteo. Something came up back at home.” He doesn’t need to know the thing that came up is my obsession with a certain enemy’s sister.
“You never said what all that was about at the airport. Where’d you run off to?”
I give him a sideways glance. “Thought I saw a ghost.”
He quirks a brow. “Since when do ghosts wear heels?”
A smile curves my lips as I remember her strutting away.
Riccardo sneers as if he knows more than he’s letting on, swirling the grappa in his glass like he’s a fucking sommelier. “You had that look in your eye. The one that says I’m about to do something deeply stupid.”
I huff out a half laugh. “Appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“I’ve known you long enough, cugino. You only get that look when it’s about a woman… or a murder.”
“Sometimes both,” I say with a huff of a laugh.
Riccardo chuckles. “So, which was it this time?”
I tilt my glass in his direction. “Not a murder.”
“Ah.” His brows lift knowingly. “So it was a woman. Let me guess…” He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Dark hair. Big eyes. Trouble written all over her?”
I lift my grappa in a silent toast. He’s not wrong, even if her dark hair is bleached right now. “Let’s just say it’s unfinished business.”
He snorts. “You and your unfinished business. What’s the play here? Gonna follow her around Rome until she agrees to date you?”
I shrug. “It worked for you.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got charm. And dimples. And a vineyard.”
I roll my eyes. “Not to mention an ego the size of Sicily.”
“Grazie.” He takes another drink, then lifts his glass. “To unfinished business.”
I clink mine against his, the warmth of the grappa dulling everything except the image of her face, the sound of her laugh echoing somewhere deep in my memory.
“You know,” he says, pouring us another round like he’s trying to kill me, “you could’ve told me you were in love before you flew out. Whoever she is, she’s welcome here.”
“I’m not in love with her.”
He snorts. “No? So the whole disappearing act, and sulking at this wedding, is just you being your usual ray of fucking sunshine?”
“I’m not sulking.”
“You look like a widowed mob wife.”
I shake my head, laughing despite myself. “At least I’m dressed appropriately.”
Riccardo glances down at my black suit. “Yeah, you could crash a funeral or a gala. Or a murder scene.” He elbows me. “Now come on, cheer up. There’s free booze, a half-decent DJ, and a bridesmaid who keeps asking me if you’re single.”
“I’m not interested.”
“She’s blonde, leggy, and very flexible, according to the groom’s brother.”
I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of me. “That’s exactly why I’m not interested. I’m not having sloppy seconds.”
Riccardo chuckles, then looks at me a beat longer. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
He studies me for a moment. “You’re not. But all right.”
Then his wife, in a glittery dress, hooks her finger at Riccardo from across the room.
He grins. “Duty calls.”
As he saunters off, I turn back to my drink. I lift the carafe only to drain the last drop, then knock back the last mouthful.
With the carafe run dry, that’s my cue to leave. I think I’ve shown my face enough. All I want to do is get back home, but more importantly, I want to get back on Rose’s flight and see her again. I want answers.
Placing the empty carafe on the table along with my glass, I weave through the crowd of familiar faces but whose names I don't recall, heading towards the exit.
With both my hands on the door, ready to make my escape, a deep voice with a cockney accent says, “Going so soon?”
Fuck. I was hoping to slip off quietly. “Just getting some fresh air.” I thought nobody would notice I’d gone.
He clicks his tongue and exhales a slow breath. “Shame to miss all the fun.” He follows me outside into the warm night air. “I was hoping to have a word.” The clicking of the tongue and the London accent sounds all too familiar.
I turn around to face him, his head hanging low under the veil of stars as he lights a cigarette. The porch is quiet, but voices flow on the breeze from the back of the veranda where guests have spilled out of the villa.
He lifts his head. A plume of smoke billows around him. “Want one?” He offers a cigarette.
“Don’t smoke.” Fuck, where’s my gum? I shove my hand in my pocket and grip the packet tight as the smoke clears.
Moonlight shines down on his features, highlighting a scar on his cheekbone.
A scar I recognise. Even without it, Magnus Berlusconi is one ugly bastard.
Now I know why his voice was familiar. Five years of obsessing over every move he made was bound to leave an impression, even if it was over eight years ago now.
Every muscle in my body tenses. I grind my back teeth together while trying my hardest to keep my mask in place. “What did you want a word about?” My voice is monotone, but I’m thinking of all the different ways I can kill this motherfucker.
He clicks his tongue and inhales another drag of his poison. I hope he chokes on it. “I heard you’re one of the best in the business.”
My spine bristles. As much as I’m intrigued by what he has to say, I need to get away from him before I do something I’ll regret, like rip his throat out.
Not that I’ll regret it, but I don’t like shedding blood at family weddings.
“I don’t talk shop at family events.” I turn and jog down the few steps of the porch.
He clicks his tongue behind me. “I’m looking for my wife.”
I freeze on the bottom step, my eyes closing for a moment as I think of Rosetta. My only comfort is knowing she’ll be back in the UK now, but if she’s making frequent visits to see her mother, it’s only a matter of time before he finds her.
I should have taken him up on his offer for a cigarette. Though now I need something stronger. No amount of gum can help me, but out of habit, I unwrap a piece in my pocket and pop it into my mouth as I turn back around to face my nemesis. “Who’s your wife?”
“Rosetta Berlusconi.” He spits over the porch balcony, then bares his rotten teeth, as if the mere mention of her name gives him a bitter taste. “Her brother is Elio Conti.” A grin spreads across his face. “Your enemy.”
I chew on the gum, trying my best to look uninterested. “Why don’t you just ask her brother where she is?”
“I did. He doesn’t know. I have a contact who backs up his words.
Nobody’s seen or heard from her in years, but I know the mother’s hiding something.
There’s no way she wouldn’t stay in touch with her mother.
” He spits again, as if spitting out a piece of tobacco.
“Fucking Conti cunts. The family think they run this city, but they’re not what they were when the father was alive. ”
“So the brother is running the business now?” I know all this. It’s the only reason I visit. If Rosetta’s uncle were still alive, I’d be going home in a box.
“He couldn’t run a piss-up in a brewery, that one.” He inhales the last of his cigarette, burning it down to the butt, then flicks it onto the lawn.
It smoulders in the dry grass. I watch, mesmerised by it while wondering if I could strangle him now with my bare hands and let the fire take hold and burn the evidence.
But this place is too nice to see it burn to a crisp, so I take the few steps over to the lawn and stomp out the cigarette before my imagination gets the better of me.
“You think you could find her?” He leans on the banister of the porch, looking down at me.
“I don’t take on domestic jobs. My schedule’s already full.” I turn around to walk to the guest house.
“No worries. I’ll find someone else.”
I pause on the path, gravel crunching under my shoes as I spin around. The last thing I want is someone else watching her. “Do you have any more information? Photographs, last known address?”
“Yeah, I have all that.” He straightens his spine, clinging to the railing. “You’ll look into it?”
I shouldn’t do this. The last thing I want is to do business with a man I despise more than anything in this world. But if I say no, someone else will take it—and they won’t stop at surveillance.
At least this way, I can stay one step ahead. I just need to buy some time while I figure out what to do with him.
Even if it means lying to her. Again.
I pull out a card with my email address printed on. “Send me what you have. I’ll email you back with a price. I take half the payment upfront to cover expenses and the rest on delivery of the information.”
He takes the business card from me. “Fine. I’ll have everything sent to you tomorrow.”
I nod and walk away, the weight of what I’ve just done settling in my gut like lead.
Fuck’s sake.