Secret Taste of Deceit

1. Sarah

Sarah

Most people hate getting cut early. I practically throw my apron at Rick.

“Look at that smile,” he says as I come around the bar. “You’d think I just handed you a winning lottery ticket.”

“You kind of did.”

Rick snorts and reaches for a glass. “Go be disgustingly in love somewhere else.”

I laugh and grab my purse from beneath the register. “That’s the plan.”

“Tell Luca I said he’s whipped.”

I flip him off as I walk backward toward the employee hallway. “Tell him yourself.”

“He scares me.”

That actually makes me laugh.

“You’re six foot five.”

“And he’s terrifying.”

“He’s literally a chauffeur.”

Rick gives me a look.

I roll my eyes. “Fine. He’s a chauffeur with an intense gaze.”

“Thank you.”

I disappear into the back before he can continue the conversation. The second I step outside, even in late September, the heat wraps around me. It’s after nine o’clock, but Southern California apparently believes in holding grudges against anyone hoping for cooler temperatures after sunset.

When I reach my car, I toss my purse onto the passenger seat and climb in. I grin to myself as I start the engine. He thinks I’m working until midnight. The surprise is going to be perfect.

The drive to Luca’s house takes a little under twenty minutes.

Traffic is light enough that I don’t spend the entire trip wanting to commit vehicular homicide, which automatically makes it a good night.

Somewhere around the halfway point, I start mentally debating whether I should convince him to order food or whether I can talk him into taking me out for tacos.

By the time I pull through the gate, I’ve decided on tacos and sex. Not necessarily in that order.

Luca’s villa sits illuminated against the darkness, warm light glowing through several of the windows.

The first time I came here, I nearly had to pick my jaw off the floorboard of my car.

It looks like something ripped straight out of an architectural magazine.

The second time I came here, Luca informed me that comparing his home to a rich person’s Pinterest board wasn’t a compliment.

Now that I live here, I inform him on a regular basis that I am the queen to his mini palace. He got a kick out of that one.

I park in the driveway and grab my purse before heading inside.

The house is quiet when I step through the front door.

It’s not unusual. Luca spends half his life answering emails, taking calls, and doing whatever it is Michael keeps him busy with.

I kick off my shoes near the entryway and head toward the stairs.

“Luca?” I call.

His voice reaches me from upstairs. I smile immediately. I climb the staircase quietly, already imagining his expression when he realizes I’m home three hours early. The man notices everything, but for once I might actually surprise him.

Halfway down the upstairs hallway, I hear another voice.

It’s Marco. Marco and Luca talk constantly.

If Michael isn’t calling one of them, the other one is.

Most of the time they’re discussing work.

Occasionally they’re discussing Michael.

Those conversations are usually more entertaining.

I continue toward the bedroom. Then I hear my best friend’s name.

“Katie still doesn’t know?” Marco asks.

I stop short. I don’t mean to eavesdrop. I really don’t, but it’s hard to keep walking when you suddenly hear your best friend being discussed.

“No,” Luca says.

“That’s going to be a disaster.”

A quiet laugh comes through the speaker.

“Tell me about it.”

I frown. What the hell are they talking about?

I glance toward the bedroom. The door isn’t completely shut. It’s open just enough that I can see a sliver of light spilling into the hallway.

“Boss wants to find Sal before Katie figures anything out,” Marco says.

I know who Sal is. What I don’t know is why Michael is apparently trying to find him, or what any of this has to do with Katie. I take another step. My pulse picks up slightly, though I can’t explain why.

“It’s been weeks,” Luca says. “If he was gonna surface, he would’ve done it already.”

“Maybe.”

I stop beside the bedroom doorway. I shouldn’t listen—I know I shouldn’t—but I edge closer anyway. The bedroom comes into view slowly. There’s the dresser, the edge of the bed, the windows overlooking the backyard, and then Luca.

He stands near the window while his phone sits on the side table.

His suit jacket is draped across a chair nearby.

The sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled up to his forearms. Dark leather straps cross over his shoulders.

My eyes follow them downward, and everything inside me stops.

There are two guns strapped beneath his arms. I stare, and the room seems to tilt around me.

The guns look wrong, but not because they don’t belong there. The terrifying part is how naturally they fit. The holster sits against his body like something he wears every day. It’s like my boyfriend routinely walks around armed enough to start a small war.

On the phone, Marco is still talking, but I can’t hear a word he’s saying anymore.

My eyes remain locked on the guns. Luca turns, and his gaze lands on me instantly.

I watch the exact moment he realizes what I’m looking at.

His entire body goes still. Neither of us says anything as the silence stretches between us.

Slowly, Luca punches a button on his phone, picks it up, and holds it to his ear.

“Marco,” he says.

His eyes never leave mine.

“I’ve got to call you back.”

The line goes dead, and I swallow. The sound seems impossibly loud.

“What the fuck is happening?”