Chapter 19
KARINA
I wake up starving, my husband still passed out beside me.
Careful not to disturb him, I slip out of bed and look for the room service cart, but it’s already gone.
Marco must have pushed it out into the hallway at some point during the night.
Now I have nothing to nibble on. How long can I wait before I beg him to take me downstairs for breakfast?
My stomach growls, almost painfully, and that decides it for me.
With a sly grin, I climb back into bed and duck under the covers.
Usually, Marco takes advantage of any opportunity to sleep in, and usually, I’d be right there with him.
But not today. This is our romantic weekend getaway, and I’m not going to miss out on the hotel’s supposedly fabulous brunch.
As I suspected, Marco is more than happy to get woken up by a blowjob.
We get ready quickly and then head downstairs to the breakfast buffet.
It’s not hard to find it; we just follow the scent of bacon and coffee to the dining area, which has huge windows facing the bay.
The host ends up seating us in the plant-filled, glass-enclosed atrium, and it almost feels like we’re in an outdoor garden.
“I love this,” I tell Marco with a sigh.
“You’re going to love it even more once we get some bacon on your plate,” he jokes.
“I know. I’m starving, and everything looks so good.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and get started? I’ll stay here to give the server our drink orders and watch your bag.”
“That is a fabulous idea. I always knew you were husband material,” I say, giving him a quick kiss before heading to the buffet.
Grabbing a plate, I start at one end and work my way through, but I soon realize that I’m going to need a second trip if I want to try everything.
I get multigrain cinnamon pancakes with real maple syrup; a yogurt, berry, and granola parfait; eggs Florentine with sauteed purple kale; and of course, a heap of crispy bacon.
There’s a made-to-order omelette station as well, but my plate is getting too full to fit anything else.
I’m just about to walk my heaping tower of food back to Marco in the atrium, trying to balance a last-minute almond croissant on top of the pile, when someone comes up behind me.
I assume it’s just another guest getting breakfast, until I feel the back of my neck tingling uncomfortably. Like someone has their eyes on me.
“That was some pretty hot banging I heard last night,” a man’s voice says.
Instantly I freeze, my blood going cold. Did he really just say that?
“Excuse me?” Turning to look over my shoulder at him, my stomach drops.
It’s him. The tattooed man who used to work for my uncle—still does, I assume. He’s exactly as I remember him, blonde and built like a tank, with a vine-like tattoo climbing up his neck. He’s not shy about meeting my gaze, almost as if he’s challenging me. Or warning me.
“Just checking in to make sure you’re still on your mission, Mrs. Bellanti,” he says, lifting the mug of coffee in his hand to take a leisurely sip.
Dread washes over me. I mean, yes, I knew Marco and I weren’t really having a private weekend—because of course my uncle heard the name of the hotel the second we checked in.
As well as our room number, the name of the restaurants we went to, the art gallery.
All of it, from A to Z. There’s no pretending that Uncle Sergio isn’t always spying on me in some capacity.
Even so. I didn’t expect him to send someone to harass me while I was on my birthday trip.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, my tone icy.
Gripping my plate like it’s a life preserver, I turn to go. But the man lightly snags my arm, his eyes darting to a couple who are moving closer to us from the other end of the buffet.
“Smile now and act like we’re two old friends having a lovely chat,” he says, the dead look in his eyes even scarier since it’s accompanied by an easy grin. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
I force a smile and edge toward a potted palm, trying to keep us away from the other guests perusing the food. The last thing I need is for someone to think I need help—the tattooed man isn’t the kind of person to take kindly to interruptions. I don’t doubt he has a gun on him.
“What do you want?” The words hiss out of my mouth.
He takes another drink of his coffee, nodding as if he’s considering my words.
“To remind you that there are eyes and ears everywhere,” he tells me. “Including in the room next to yours.”
Bile burns the base of my throat. I feel like I’m going to be sick. “Fine. I understand. Just go now, please.”
Something in his expression subtly shifts, and his voice softens when he says, “I’m a reminder, that’s all. A reminder that your mother is alive. How that progresses is up to you.”
With that, he walks out of the dining room, taking his coffee with him. I could have sworn he sounded almost…apologetic. But it doesn’t matter. The end result is the same: he came here to threaten me on behalf of my uncle, and it’s a threat that never leaves me.
I lift my chin as I carry my plate back to the table. Marco smiles when he sees me, and I hope he can’t see the fear on my face.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, of course!” I say, a little too brightly. “There was a really long line for the bacon, that’s all.”
“I’ll bet,” he says, grabbing a piece and biting into it. “Mmm. My turn?”
“Yup. You should hurry, it’s getting crowded.”
“Don’t wait for me—your food’ll get cold,” he says. “Be right back.”
Relief washes over me as he sets off for the buffet, and my shoulders slump.
I’m glad Marco didn’t question me too thoroughly.
Now I just have to put on a happy face for the rest of our trip.
But I’ve never been a great actress, especially when it comes to fooling my husband, and my chest is so tight I can barely draw a full breath.
Our server arrives with two cups, creamer, and a small pot of coffee just for me and Marco.
I let her pour mine, and once she’s gone, I drag the cup toward me and wrap my cold hands around it.
My insides are shaking so much, I can’t even drink it.
But I know it’ll be obvious that something’s wrong if I don’t eat, so I get to work on the pancakes, which would probably taste really, really good if I wasn’t so freaked out about the tattooed man.
Did my uncle send him to me because I told Marco about my ring?
But how would Uncle Sergio know that? I scour through the conversations Marco and I have had since coming here.
During zip-lining, at the restaurant, in the shower, in bed.
We were so careful. I’m sure of it. We even burned the paper we’d written on.
There’s just no way anyone could know I spilled…
Did they know?
What if someone heard the sound of the pen on the notepad?
Not just once, but multiple times as we wrote back and forth.
Is the mic inside my ring sensitive enough to pick up on something like that?
Or what if there’s a hidden camera in our room?
They could have planted it when we were at dinner. Or even put one in Marco’s car.
Jesus. Panic begins to twist in my gut. All I can think about is my mother, and all the things my uncle might have put her through if he heard the writing and suspected I was betraying him. Oh, God. What do I do? What can I do?
This is the exact moment, of course, that my husband returns. He’s balancing two full plates, one loaded with sweet and savory crepes, the other with various breakfast meats and seasoned potatoes and some kind of omelette with jalapenos and melted cheese on top.
“Hungry?” I tease.
“Just a bit,” he says, settling into his seat next to me. Then he lifts a brow. “Guess I worked up an appetite after all those calisthenics last night.”
Ah, banter. This is something I can hide behind.
“If you’re referring to the marathon sex, then yes, you deserve all the carbs and pork products you can fit into your belly,” I say. “I’m sure you tuckered yourself out. You slept like a baby. Snored like one, too.”
He nods, mouth full of omelette. When he’s done chewing, he says, “I haven’t slept that good in a while.”
Not since the accident, I think to myself. The accident my family caused.
“Hey,” he says, putting his fork down and inching closer. “What’s up?”
“Hmm?”
Marco takes my hand, tapping my diamond ring as he looks in my eyes. “Are you getting anxious about our drive to see the redwoods?” he says, clearly referencing the bug in my ring.
“No,” I say. “I was just thinking about your accident again. I don’t think I’ll ever get the images out of my mind. I guess we both have PTSD now. Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he says, pulling me in for a kiss.
I have half a mind to brush him off, but I don’t.
I return his affection, lacing my fingers through his hair, trying to forget everything in this moment except the love between my husband and me.
Unfortunately, all I can think of is the tattooed man, lurking around the hotel.
Probably watching me right now. And my uncle, listening to every single thing I say and do.
As I try to eat my breakfast, my panicked thoughts continue to turn in endless circles. Should I tell Marco what happened at the buffet? No. He can’t do anything about it, and knowing that my uncle sent the tattooed man to shadow me will only ruin what’s left of my and Marco’s weekend.
Although who am I kidding?
It’s already ruined.