Chapter 8

EIGHT

Angelo

The cliffs that carry the big house with its towers and ramparts like a model castle on a pedestal grow smaller in the distance as the yacht speeds across the sea. I stand on the deck in the glacier wind, imagining the cliffs on the other side of the property, the ones that aren't visible from here. The ones that are now the official home of my wife.

Unable to resist the urge, I check my phone again. Except for Heidi's message to say Sabella didn't eat much at breakfast, there's nothing new. Locked in her room, my wife's activities are limited. Reading or watching television are the extent of her entertainment.

My mother would've been appalled. I'm glad she's not here to see how I'm forced to treat my wife. Sabella only has herself to blame for the unfortunate need to keep her behind lock and key. There are too many documents and files in my study, too much she can get her hands on. The most sensitive information is locked in the vault, but it's impossible to move everything into the fireproof room. Besides, I'm not going to rearrange my whole house and the way I work just because my wife can't be trusted.

When only blue water stretches around the yacht, I go inside. Uncle Enzo and Gianni are in the lounge. Both are on their phones, my uncle reading something and Gianni playing one or the other idiotic game. They look up when I close the door but say nothing as I go to the sideboard where refreshments are set out.

Needing the caffeine, I pour a big mug of coffee. Black, no sugar. Not like Sabella. I smile when I recall her stunt of this morning, how she provoked me by planting her luscious lips on the rim of her mug on the exact spot I touched with my mouth. The act was suggestive and intimate, a daring tease that hardened my cock instantly. I have to be careful. She can't know how much she affects me. I can't afford to give her that much power.

My smile is gone before I face my family. They watch me with wary expressions, waiting.

I comb my fingers through my hair to tame the windblown strands. "What's the status on yesterday, Gianni?"

He puts his phone down. "Nothing happened." He glances at his father before continuing. "Nothing noteworthy."

I study him. "Sabella didn't leave the house?"

"No." He digs a finger in the collar of his rollneck sweater and pulls it away from his throat. "She just hung around inside."

"The whole day?"

I find that hard to believe. It's not like my feisty wife not to get up to mischief.

Gianni shifts forward on his seat and leans his elbows on his knees. "She did walk around the house in the afternoon and checked out the view but not for long." He shrugs. "It was cold."

"That's it?" I drink the strong coffee, enjoying the welcome warmth that settles in my stomach.

"Yes." He frowns. "Where would she go without a car? It's not like there's a neighbor she can visit."

"Fine," I say. "From now on, I want hourly reports. Daily ones won't cut it."

His shoulders slouch. "Every hour?"

"That's what I said."

"Are you serious?"

I give him a hard look. "Would I be joking?"

Uncle Enzo slides a gaze in Gianni's direction with an unspoken message in his eyes. "He'll be happy to do it." His voice is hard. "Won't you, Gianni?"

"Yes, of course," my cousin says, the pleat between his eyebrows deepening.

When I fix him with a glare, he stares at his hands.

I turn to my uncle. "This contact of yours, how trustworthy is he?"

"Very," Uncle Enzo says. "He's one of our best informants in the force."

I finish my coffee and put the mug aside. "Who recruited him?"

"Nico."

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I consider that. "How did they meet?"

"Someone on the street got word that a crooked cop was taking bribes."

"How can you be sure he's not double-crossing us?"

"I questioned him myself." Uncle Enzo stands and looks me in the eyes. "He doesn't have a conscience, that one. He's frustrated with the low pay and less than desirable working conditions. You know how tough it is to be a cop on the drug beat in Marseille these days."

"Is he a junkie?"

"No." Uncle Enzo goes to the espresso machine and pushes the button to wake it up. "We checked for signs of use."

"Good. Addicts are unreliable. They're driven by their addiction, not by their brains. We don't want to get caught up in that mess."

"Right," he says, riding on the balls of his feet as he waits for the water to heat.

"Where are we meeting him?" I ask.

"At the old harbor. A small café. The owner is one of ours."

I nod. "Get our men lined up. I want five in the café and ten in the street. Armed. Let the café owner know I want the security recording after the meeting. You never know when it'll come in handy. It's always good insurance in case our contact grows a conscience and decides to talk."

"Or if another party offers him more money," Uncle Enzo says.

"Exactly. Do a proper scouting of the area before we arrive. Make sure it's clean."

"I'll have the café swept for bugs before we enter." He adds in a low rumble, "Can't be too sure with these pigs."

"Gianni."

My cousin lifts his head and sits up straighter.

"Make sure we're not followed."

"Do you think it's a trap?" my cousin asks.

"No, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared." I ruffle his hair as I walk past him, roughing him up a little like I used to do when we were kids. It's my way of telling him our tense moment is over, and that we're good. "Never forget we have many enemies. They're all watching. Waiting. Biding their time for us to screw up, for a weakness they can exploit. Remember what my father always said. It takes hard work to get to the top, but it takes blood, sweat, and tears to stay there."

He watches me through the fringe of hair that falls over his eyes. "What's our weakness?"

I consider that. I want to say nothing, but that will be arrogant, and arrogance is a weakness that can cost a man his life.

"Our strength is our weakness," I say. "Being at the top of the food chain makes us a dangerous threat for many people."

"Not Sabella?" he asks.

My body tenses. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"The fact that she may be working with the cops," he says, leaning away from me as if he expects me to backhand him.

Fuck. I do feel like slamming my fist in his face, but he's right. That is one big ugly fucking weakness. I know what they want. My family wants me to eliminate that risk, to slit her throat and dump her body in the sea. To leave her funeral to the sharks. And I should. If I were wise, I would. But I can't. Because of what I sacrificed. Because she's mine.

"You don't have to worry about her," I say with something close to a growl. "Not while she's living in isolation. Is that clear?"

He swallows. "Yes, Angelo."

"We'll find out what I want to know, and then it'll become our strength. Lavigne won't even see us coming."

Uncle Enzo walks over and lays a hand on his son's shoulder before giving a squeeze. The gesture is subtle, but I don't miss the warning aimed at shutting Gianni up.

For the rest of the trip, I try to work in my cabin, but memories of the night I spent here with Sabella and how I punished her assault me. I don't know what's worse—how much I hated her for making me do that to her or that a deviant part of me enjoyed putting marks on her flawless skin. I guess I am the sadist she accused me of being.

I check my phone again for a message from Heidi. Sabella ate her lunch. She spent the morning reading.

I type a reply and hit send. Which book?

Heidi's answer comes a second later. Recipe books.

I frown. Recipe books? Sabella can't boil an egg. She always had staff to cook for her. When she lived in the villa in Camps Bay, she bought ready-made meals from an upmarket organic health store. The sudden interest in cooking can only be attributed to the fact that at the new house, she has to prepare her own meals. I make a mental note to employ a cook.

The captain knocks on the door to tell me we're approaching Marseille. I thank him and put my phone away. Then I get ready, tucking my gun into the back of my waistband before donning my jacket and coat.

Our men wait on the marina. A party of armed guards dressed in casual clothes escort us in cars to the café. The owner cleared out the place. He greets us respectfully.

Not relying on my uncle alone, I call one of my men over and double-check that my instructions were followed. He ensures me the place is free of bugs and that no one followed us.

We take our seats around the table while the owner serves beer. At one minute before the agreed time, Uncle Enzo's contact walks through the door. He looks jumpy. A sheen of perspiration shines on his forehead, and the armpits of his jacket are dark with sweat.

He comes over with a cocky smile, trying to appear brave.

"Sit," I say, pointing at the seat opposite me.

He sits. Crosses his legs. Uncrosses them again.

"Drink?" I ask, scrutinizing him.

"Whisky." He drums his fingers on the table, looking around. "Please."

He has thin blond hair brushed over a balding head. Blue, beady eyes are set in a round, puffy face. His cheeks are marred with red veins, a sign of a heavy drinker.

The owner puts a tumbler of whisky and a glass of water in front of him.

He downs the whisky and then sips the water.

"A little bird told me you can get access to information I may find helpful," I say.

"Yeah." He glances at Uncle Enzo. "About the lieutenant."

"Yes." I take in the nervous bouncing of his leg. "Of what he said to my wife when he arrested her."

"The tape was wiped out," he says, confirming what my informant already told me.

"Was anyone with him in the room?" I ask.

"Nope." The guy sniffs and eyes his empty whisky glass. "He was alone in there. Impossible to know what transpired."

I lean closer. "Why would he wipe out the tape?" I tense to breaking point at the next question. "What did he do to her?"

"Nothing indecent. That's not his style. He probably would've cut her a deal."

Violence boils up inside me. I remind myself it's the lieutenant's fault for dangling a carrot in front of my wife's nose. Sabella isn't to blame that he tempted her with the one thing she wants most. Her freedom. I'll hold him accountable for leading her astray. That way, I only have to feed one body to the sharks.

"How close are the two of you?" I ask the guy.

"The lieutenant and me? Not that much. But I can get close if that's what you want."

"How close?"

"Close enough. He's not a big drinker, not a pub kind of guy if you know what I mean, but I can get myself invited to his house. Barbecues. Family lunches. Cricket in the park. That sort of thing."

I sit back, rubbing my thumb over my chin. "You'll manage?"

"He's a buddy kind of guy. Likes to watch rugby matches with his friends. Play cards. It's not hard to get into that kind of circle."

"All right," I say slowly. "Name your price."

Smiling, he takes a piece of paper from his pocket and slides it over the table. I lean over to read the figure.

A single nod seals the deal.

He grins wider. Stands. "Thank you." He adjusts his jacket. "I'll need twenty percent upfront. For expenses and such."

"You'll have it." I pin him with a stare. "But you do realize that once I've paid you, you owe me, and I will insist on getting my money's worth."

"You'll get it." He looks pleased with himself. "It's nice doing business with you."

"How soon can you give me something?"

"Not easy to say. I'll need at least four or five weeks to do that buddy thing. I have to win his trust before he'll confide in me and tell me what he's planning." He looks at Uncle Enzo. "Can I go?"

Uncle Enzo raises a brow at me. I lift an index finger, giving the green light.

My uncle hands him a brown envelope with the down payment, which he shoves into his inside jacket pocket.

"You know how to contact me when you have something for us," Uncle Enzo says.

The man slicks his hair over his head with a palm and turns for the door.

"Hugo," Uncle Enzo says.

Our informant stops, not looking back.

"If you don't have information for me in four weeks, I'm going to come after you."

The man stands quietly, letting the threat sink in, and then he leaves.

The door shuts behind him, the bell ringing out its chime.

My uncle turns to me. "What do you think?"

I don't like the guy. He's slimy, but he's intelligent too, more than he'd like to give on. "Watch him."

"Done," Gianni says.

I get to my feet. "Let's get out of here."

I have meetings set up for the rest of the day, making use of the opportunity while we're in Marseille to see a handful of suppliers and put a few who are starting to step out of line back in their place. After that, I have negotiations scheduled with new players in Paris. Now that I married into the Edwards bloodline, they'll not only open those doors they kept shut in my face, but they'll also kiss my ass to walk through said doors.

"Shall we come with you?" Gianni asks with a hopeful air.

"No," I say. "You need to get back to Corsica to relieve Toma of babysitting duty."

"Surely, she's safe in your house?" he asks, sulking like a child.

"It doesn't matter where she is. You will watch her."

He looks as if he's about to argue, but Uncle Enzo grips his shoulder and pulls him back, clearing a path for me. "Safe travels, Angelo. You can trust us to keep the fort at home."

"Don't forget my updates," I say as I button up my jacket in the passing, enjoying the scowl on my cousin's face.

The door opens just as I reach for it. A woman wearing a trench coat that ends mid-thigh enters. Under the coat, long stocking-clad legs are exposed. In her heels, she's the same height as Sabella. Same toned dancers' legs. Same dark hair and eyes.

She must be with the owner. None of my men would let a woman close to the café, not until we're a good ten minutes gone.

"Excuse me," I say, standing aside for her to enter.

"Mr. Russo?" she asks, tilting her head up to study me. "Angelo?"

How the fuck does she know my name? My senses go on high alert. "Can I help you?"

Her smile is shy. "I'm the entertainment for the rest of the week."

I raise a brow. "Entertainment?"

"Yours." She glances over my shoulder at my uncle. "Courtesy of Mr. Enzo Russo."