Chapter Twenty-Five
Raya
“THE WEATHER’S SUPPOSED TO get pretty gnarly this weekend,” I remind Lorenzo, glancing at the report on my screen. “Do you really need to go to L.A. today?”
“Yep.” He grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and shrugs it on like the conversation’s already over.
“You’ve got enough on your plate to keep you busy.
The surveillance team’s under instruction to defer to you if they can’t reach me, so keep your phone charged and on you at all times, yeah?
” He adjusts his cufflinks with quick, precise movements.
“In the meantime, stay away from Lions House while I’m gone.
If you see Stefano or Gio, turn around and walk the other way. ”
“You want me to shun the boss?” I hike a brow at him. “How would that work, exactly?”
“I’m your boss,” he returns, rounding his desk. “You answer to me, not him. Tell him exactly that.”
“Sure,” I mutter behind a snort. “That will go over well.”
He pauses his movements and pins me with a stern glare. “I’m serious, Raya. Stay the fuck away from them.”
Something’s changed. I don’t know what, but his attitude toward me lately, regarding how I spend my free time and who I speak to, has gotten unreasonably controlling.
It’s a sharp contrast to how things used to be between us, putting a tight strain on what was once an easy relationship.
Before, he didn’t care what I did as long as I got results.
Now it’s like he wants to monitor every breath I take.
We’ve gotten into a handful of mini arguments since the whole Brioso Hubb fiasco, but I’m not in the mood to butt heads with him again today. So I bite my tongue.
Being at odds with Stefano is fun. Like fighting fire with a blade dipped in gasoline. Being at odds with Lorenzo? It’s like slamming into a brick wall over and over until you’re left concussed and questioning your life choices. The man is like a stubborn rock monster wrapped in barbed wire.
Where there’s finesse, fire, and poetry in Stefano’s anger, Lorenzo’s as blunt as a guillotine’s edge.
“Once you’re wrapped up here, have Benny Nine take you back to the villa,” he says. “Benny Nine. No one else. And check in with me every hour. On the hour.” He grabs his phone and keys. “See you Monday.”
Overbearing tyrant, much?
Childishly, I stick my tongue out at him as he walks out the door.
He claims he’s going to L.A. to help his cousin with some emergency, but I’m not buying it. I think he’s off to stalk that woman. I’ll have proof soon enough.
And something tells me Stefano manipulated him into it.
The question is…why?
~
DONE FOR THE day, I shut up Lorenzo’s office and take the elevator down. As the doors glide open on the ground floor, I pull out my phone and dial Benny Nine. It goes straight to voicemail.
I head down the corridor and push through the double doors onto the casino floor, buzzing with motion and chatter. My eyes sweep the perimeter, searching for Benny, when a familiar weight falls in step beside me, and an arm drapes casually over my shoulders.
No need to look up to know it’s Luca. His scent’s always the same—mint and tobacco.
“Who’re you looking for?” he asks, giving my ear a playful tug.
“Benny Nine. He’s supposed to take me to the villa.”
“Yeah...you’re gonna be waiting a while,” he says. “Him and Gallio just snuck off upstairs with a cocktail waitress.”
“Threesome trumps chauffeur duty. Classic.”
Luca laughs. “I’d give you a lift, but Lorenzo’s been in a mood lately and I don’t wanna be on his bad side, so I’ve gotta clock in my time.”
“Trust me, I know,” I snort out.
“Tennis tomorrow?”
I give him a look. “Hell no. You’re the absolute worst.”
Laughing, he ruffles my hair. “Nah, you’re just too competitive. We can’t all be good at everything, smart girl.” He pulls me into a side hug and heads off. “Catch you later.”
There’s no chance I’m waiting around for Benny Nine to finish getting his rocks off, so I turn and head toward the back entrance instead.
The guards at the heavy metal door let me through without question.
They shouldn’t. But I’m not going to be the one to remind them of that.
An afternoon out in the city unchaperoned?
Sounds delightful. I’m already salivating at the thought of some Caribbean cuisine.
“Enjoy your weekend!” I chirp, giving them a chipper wave.
Outside, the sky is a broody stretch of gray, the clouds swollen with the promise of a downpour. Honestly, I’m looking forward to it. After weeks of relentless bone-dry heat, a storm sounds like the perfect reset.
Desert life takes some…acclimating.
A familiar black SUV turns off the main road into the alley.
Dammit. The guards probably tattled on me. No wonder they let me leave without question.
Keeping my head straight, I scoot to the side, but don’t break my steps as I continue toward the main.
But the Lincoln honks obnoxiously and pulls up beside me, the window sliding down to reveal Oscar’s perpetually stoic face. “Get in.”
“Why?”
“Boss’s orders.”
“Which one?” I ask, just to be a pain. “It’s been a little unclear whose orders I’m supposed to be following lately.”
Stolid as ever, he repeats, “Get in.”
Reluctantly, I open the door and climb into the backseat. “Always such a ray of sunshine, aren’t you, Oscar?”
He throws the vehicle in reverse, pulls out of the alley, and merges into traffic.
I lean forward. “Any chance I can convince you to make a quick stop by that Trinidadian place for some spicy Doubles?”
He doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t. He’s Oscar.
“No? Cool. Love this convo for us,” I mutter, leaning back. “Nice talk, old man.”
About twenty minutes later, when he veers off from the route that would take us to the villa, I sit up and lean forward again. “Where are you taking me, Oscar?”
“Boss’s orders.”
“Again...which one?”
Oscar’s tone doesn’t change, but it doesn’t have to. “You’re smart. You know.”
My heart spikes, and I pull in a slow, measured breath.
Rubbing behind my ear, I whisper, “Yeah. I know.”
See, Lorenzo’s warning to avoid Stefano wasn’t needed, because I’ve already been doing that since our encounter on the Ferris wheel a few nights ago. Trying to, anyway. Every room, every path, every chance of proximity. Not because I’m afraid of him, but because I know myself.
Every ounce of restraint I had to resist him...is gone. Drained. Depleted.
Being near him again will be a disaster.
I’ll break. I’ll cave.
I’ll let him have it all. All of me.
My heart hammers at just the thought. Fast, panicked, like it’s already bracing for the fall.
What does he want this time? I can’t… “Oscar…do you know what he wants?”
He takes a beat before answering, “You know the answer to that, too.”
With trembling fingers, I unzip my bag, pull out my inhaler, and take a slow, steadying pump.
~
BY THE TIME Oscar coasts through the wrought iron gates of the Summerlin mansion, light droplets are drizzling down from the swollen gray clouds above.
I’ve never been inside this place, but I know every inch of it. Every hallway, every shadow, every secret.
As Oscar eases to a stop in front of the limestone path, I ask, “Where is this?”
Done with my futile questions, he gets out without a word. He circles around to my side, pops open an umbrella, and opens my door. “Come on.”
Unwillingly, I slide out. “Do you think you could catch me if I ran, Oscar?”
Umbrella held steady over me, he nudges me forward, giving me nothing, as always.
“Don’t worry, I won’t run,” I say. “I respect your hardcore loyalty too much to get you in trouble.”
It’s not until we’re at the front door that I realize he’s kept the umbrella completely over me the entire way.
“Aww, Oscar, you didn’t have to get your nice suit all wet for me.”
He tips his chin. “Boss would kill me if I did otherwise.”
With that, Oscar turns and heads back to the car.
Several minutes pass, and I just stand there, staring at the brass door handle like it’s a loaded gun.
I toss a glance over my shoulder. Of course, that damned Oscar is still there, watching me from the car, waiting. As if he truly believes I’ll bolt.
With a resigned sigh, I wrap my fingers around the handle and push the door open.
High ceilings. Marble floors. A sweeping staircase. Gold trim everywhere. Splendor in every corner, opulent and excessive.
A palace befitting a narcissist.
I follow the sound of synthwave music coming from deeper inside the house, letting it guide me. It leads me to an indoor pool bathed in soft daylight from the skylight above.
And there he is.
Stefano Castello, slicing through the water like he’s training for the Olympics. Powerful, focused, fluid. No hesitation in his strokes.
I drift toward a poolside table and drop my bag onto one of the chairs, settling into the other. A bowl of strawberries and grapes sits on the table, along with a half-finished glass of whiskey and a jar of chocolate almond butter.
Watching the gorgeous villain glide through the water like a shark, I pluck grape after grape and pop them into my mouth. Just to keep my hands busy, to calm my nerves.
Eventually, he bobs up and wades toward my side of the pool. Propping his forearms on the ledge, he rests his chin on his knuckles, and peers up at me through dripping lashes.
Hair slicked back, cheeks flushed from exertion, he looks so boyishly charming and innocent right now. Disarmingly cute. Like he’s never done a wicked thing in his life.
And God help me, I want to lurch at him and slobber kisses over every inch of that deceptively innocent face.
After several long beats of silent staring, I clear my throat and say, “Your brother ordered me to turn in the opposite direction if I see you.”
His eyes glint with daring mischief. “I’m sure he did.”
“He also said to remind you he’s my boss, not you.”
“Noted.”
Jesus, he needs to stop staring at me like that… “Okay, so...can I go, then?”
One corner of his mouth hikes up. “Only if you’re in the mood to be chased.”