Chapter Forty
Stefano
THREE WEEKS LATER
brATTON BACHMANN GREETS ME on the tarmac as I descend from the jet.
“Stefano fucking Castello!” He throws his arms wide. “Welcome to my homeland.”
“Picking me up from the airport now? I’m touched.”
He laughs. “Only to see your ugly mug before I leave.”
We slap palms and bump forearms. “Leave?”
“Yeah...” He points to a waiting jet across the tarmac.
“There’s an urgent matter with Kat’s business so I have to head out for a few days.
Sorry, man. I was looking forward to balling out while you’re here.
You always roll out the red carpet for me in Vegas.
But duty calls. While you’re here, though, my people are your people.
” He gestures to a waiting Maybach, his longtime driver standing by the door.
“You remember Lars. He’ll take you wherever you want.
You’ve got carte blanche on everything.” He winks and emphasizes, “And I mean everything.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “Once again, Bratton, I’m not interested in fucking your wife.”
“Well, I mean...” He shrugs. “That won’t stop her from trying. She never got over her thing for you from back in the day. Better if she gets it out of her system…”
“Dammit. I knew I should’ve gone to The Ritz.”
“Nonsense.” He claps me on the shoulder with a bark of laughter. “Hope you get through with whatever brought you here, though. Mi casa es su casa. I’ll check in after I land.”
With that, he jogs off toward his jet.
Bratton’s a longtime friend and business partner.
We grew up entangled in each other’s lives thanks to the close relationship between my nonna and his grandfather.
After his grandfather passed, his parents sold the business and moved back to their homeland, Switzerland.
We’ve maintained a solid friendship. A wildly successful billionaire with a shit ton of connections is the kind of friendship worth nurturing.
Lars, economical with words as always, drives me to Bratton’s luxury estate without any unnecessary small talk. A butler greets me on the front steps and fills me in on the essentials as he escorts me to the guest quarters.
“Is there anything I can get you, Mr. Castello?” he asks after setting my luggage down. “Something to eat or drink?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks, Philipp.”
“My pleasure.” He nods respectfully. “If you need me or any of the staff, please don’t hesitate to ring the staff line using the numbers on the laminated call card provided.”
Once he’s gone, I walk out onto the balcony overlooking the back of the estate, which stretches out to a lake, framed by craggy, snow-tipped mountains.
I pull out my phone and shoot off a quick check-in text to Lorenzo.
Then, from my coat pocket, I slide out the small black-and-white photo of the clock tower.
The Zytglogge.
Finally, I’m here.
The last three weeks of wrangling the Koreans felt endless. There are still a few details left to iron out, but I couldn’t wait a moment longer. As soon as the dotted lines were signed, the grants and permits approved, and things were in motion, I was wheels up.
Of all the leads I’ve chased over the past six months, Switzerland was never one of them. And I’ve been as close as Sweden, Germany, France, and Austria.
Is she really here? Or is she pulling my strings again? Did I decipher her clues right? Because I’ve thought about it ad nauseam and come to the same conclusion every time: meet her at the Zytglogge clock tower at 4:44 PM.
It has to be right. It needs to be. There’s a buzz under my skin, electric and unshakable, telling me I’m close, that we’re on the same soil, under the same cloudy gray sky. She’s here.
It’s just after seven in the evening now. All I can do is sit tight and count down the hours until tomorrow.
A knock sounds at the door, and I turn to see Angeline—the wife—strutting in. Her tiny white dress fits like a second skin, her well-endowed breasts barely contained by the low-cut neckline.
Angeline’s a smoke show. Always has been. Prestigious. Classy. Sex incarnate. Uninhibited. She’s all woman.
“Stefano Castello,” she purrs, stepping out onto the balcony. “So sorry I didn’t greet you downstairs when you arrived. I was in the shower.” She leans in and kisses me on both cheeks, her hands running down my biceps. “I can’t tell you how much of a pleasure it is to have you here.”
“That’s fine. The staff’s been great. Thanks for accommodating me.”
“Are you serious? You treat us like royalty when we’re in your city.
You’re always welcome here, Stefano.” She spins and leans back against the railing, elbows propped, arching her back so her breasts are damn near spilling over the neckline of her dress.
“Dinner is in an hour. Do you have any special requests?”
“This is the Bachmann residence. You don’t do basic,” I say with a chuckle. “I’m sure whatever’s served will be special enough.”
She blinks up at me under long, coquettish lashes, then slowly wets her lips. “Does that mean I can add myself to the menu?”
“By now you should know the answer to that, Angie.”
She grew up with us in Nevada. Same schools, same parties, same circles.
Bratton was head over heels in love with her even then.
She, on the other hand, had an unrequited thing for me.
But Bratton never gave up until he finally won her over.
Now they have some sort of open marriage thing going on.
He just ran off to help his mistress out with her business, and she’s here trying to get me in her bed.
But I don’t care how cool Bratton is with it. That’s a line I’ll never cross. I’m a damned-soul bastard in a thousand ways, but I’m still a believer. Some things are sacred to me. And marriage is one of them.
Angeline huffs and pouts. “You know, it was so much fun riding your twin and pretending he was you. He even let me call him…” She drags the tips of her long white nails along the curves of her breasts. “…Stefano.”
Yeah, Lorenzo told me about that. Not a chance he would’ve passed up on this walking wet dream.
She straightens from the railing and promises, “I will break you before you leave, Stefano. The things I’ll let you do to me…”
“I’m here for a girl,” I tell her, hoping it’ll shut this down.
“And I live here with a husband I love very much,” she counters with a shrug.
“Doesn’t stop me from wanting to choke on your cock and have you come on my face anyway, you beautiful bastard.
” Hips swinging like a metronome set to seduction, she walks off.
“I’ll see you at dinner. If you change your mind, my door will be open. ”
Yeah. I definitely should’ve gone to a hotel.
~
“WHERE TO, MR. CASTELLO?” Lars asks when I slide into the back of the Maybach the following afternoon.
“The Zytglogge Clock Tower.” I settle back and pull out my phone. “Google says one thing, but what’s the real drive time from here?”
“Roughly forty minutes.”
Accurate, then. Good. That’ll get me there around 3:00 PM, enough time to scope the place, make sure I’m not walking into a trap. My head’s gone for Raya, yeah. Gone. But that doesn’t mean I trust her. She’s a professional when it comes to deception.
We’re not even two minutes out, still winding through the neighborhood toward the main road, when a nondescript SUV blazes past and cuts us off with a reckless swerve.
Lars slams the brakes. “What the—”
Tires scream behind us as a second SUV swings up diagonally, blocking us in.
Out of reflex, my hand goes to my gun, but I don’t draw it. Rules are different on foreign soil. I knew that coming here alone. Whatever’s about to happen…needs to happen.
Before either of us can react, masked men pounce out. My door’s ripped open, and then it’s six against one, beating the shit out of me. I hold my own for as long as I can, but these men are pros. They strike with precision, targeting every point that’ll break me down fast.
Eventually, I hit the ground, skull cracking against the bumper.
Dazed, but not done, I try to get up, to fight back…
“STAY DOWN!” one of them barks.
My broken ribs agree.
“Pack it up and go back to your dusty desert, Castello!” He drives a kick into my stomach. Blood spurts from my mouth. “You’re not welcome here.”
Feet pound the tarmac. Tires screech and squeal. Then Lars is hovering over me, panicked, asking if I’m okay.
And as much pain as I’m in, as blurry as I feel, I laugh. Coughing and choking on blood as I do. Because now I’m certain I’m on the right path.
She’s here.
And nothing, not even a thousand shattered bones, is going to stop me from getting her back. I came for what’s mine, and I’m not leaving without her. Even if it kills me.
I haven’t breathed right since she left. And I don’t think I ever will until I see her again.
If I die trying, so be it.
She’s worth it.