Chapter 9

NINE

Angelo

When we land in Marseille at eleven in the morning, I send a text message to Sabella, asking if she received her new phone. I went to some lengths to arrange a secure line with unlimited data for a good reason. A few reasons, actually.

The calls won't be traceable, meaning her father won't find out what I'm up to, and the location tracker I activated will give me her whereabouts. I'll have eyes on her not only via the man I dispatched to keep her safe and to report on her activities, but also via her phone.

I want to have a means of communication with her every minute of every hour. I want to be able to get hold of her twenty-four-seven. I'll teach her to keep that phone on her day and night like one uses treats to teach an animal to do tricks. I'll send her messages when she arrives at school and when she leaves. I already know she's anxious to hear from me.

I'll pull her in and spin a web around her, charming my way into her heart until she won't be able to go a day without hearing from me. I know how to turn people into addicts. I'm a good manipulator. I'll throw a few breadcrumbs, luring her closer little by little until she eats out of my hand like a bird. She won't even realize it's happening. She'll wake up checking her phone, and it'll be the last thing she does before going to bed.

I won't text her when she's in school. I don't want to disrupt her concentration or have a negative influence on her grades. Outside of school, however, I'll control her life, and no one will be any the wiser. The thought is sweet. The day Edwards finds out, I want to be there. I want to look him in the eyes and see his disillusionment when he realizes I stole his precious princess right from under his nose.

As I anticipated, her reply comes immediately, thanking me for the phone and asking how the flight was. I like that about her, that she's honest and direct without indulging in games. Only women who are uncertain of themselves play hard to get. Sabella is straightforward and uncomplicated. She doesn't see a need to hide her feelings, which counts in my favor. It'll be easier for me to get to know her and to learn what makes her tick.

In my line of work, being an open book is a weakness, but I prefer that trait in women. Sabella is sweet and innocent. Some would say na?ve. I see the characteristic for what it is. She's unspoiled, not yet poisoned by the toxic side of life. She's fresh and gorgeous, a beautiful young woman on the precipice of adulthood. I could've done a lot worse for a wife.

At the harbor, I snap a photo of me on our luxury yacht that we use to sail to Corsica. The sky is a cerulean blue and the sea a translucent turquoise. The scenery makes a pretty picture. It's never too early to get her acquainted with what her future home looks like. I send the photo with a message to take care of herself.

The weather conditions are good. It takes us roughly seven hours of cruising at twenty-five knots to reach Bastia. At the familiar sight of Terra Nova, a centuries-old citadel with ramparts that was built by our Genoese ancestors, the tightness in my chest eases. I breathe easier, inhaling the familiar smell of salt and sea with the crisp air.

I'm happiest on the water, a quality I inherited from our seafaring forefathers. On land, Bastia is where I'm most at home. My father comes from a long line of Italian ancestors. My grandfather came to Corsica when Italy occupied the island in 1942. My mother is from local origin. For that reason, my sister and I didn't speak Italian until we went to school. My father was hardly involved in our lives when we were young. He was too busy building his business and making his riches.

My uncles and cousins wait for us when we cruise into the marina. It's a cold winter's day with a clear, sunny sky. They have cars waiting, but my father says he wants to walk for exercise. Uncle Nico sends the drivers ahead. While we stroll to a bar in town, he fills us in on what's been going down in the business.

The owner clears the bar when we enter, sending the clientele outside. No one argues as they carry their espressos to the tables on the pavement. They know who we are.

Uncle Enzo closes the door. My father's younger brothers are identical twins. They look so much alike, it's difficult to distinguish them, but if you know them as well as I do, you can easily differentiate them by their mannerisms. Uncle Nico is the more boisterous one. Plus, he's rounder around the waist than Uncle Enzo. My mother says their extra weight is the result of eating so unhealthily since both their wives passed away at a young age. Uncle Nico's wife died in childbirth. Uncle Enzo's slowly faded away after her menopause medication triggered a stroke at the age of fifty.

My father sits down at a table and wipes a handkerchief over his brow. Despite the cold, he's sweating. I order a glass of water and coffee. The owner serves them personally, leaving both at my father's elbow. A waitress brings a tray with pastries and coffee for everyone else while we remove our coats and get comfortable.

"How is she?" my cousin, Tommaso, asks, nudging me in the ribs.

His gleeful expectation rubs me the wrong way. I play dumb. "Who?"

"Your bride. Who else?"

"Do you think I'm going to discuss my betrothed with you?"

"I just want to know if she has nice?—"

I give him a slap upside the head.

"Hey." He leans to the side. "What was that for?"

"If you insult my wife, I'll break your nose."

"Future wife," he says with a disgruntled look.

"Same thing," I say.

"Tomma," Uncle Nico grumbles.

Tomma rubs his head. "I didn't mean anything, Papa. I just wanted to know, seeing that it's my turn next." He adds in a sulky tone, "And I'm not even eighteen."

I hit him again. "Show some respect for your future wife."

"Hey," he cries out. "I was just saying."

Uncle Nico says in his gravelly voice, "Don't give the impression that you're not keen on meeting her. Angelo is right. It shows disrespect and a bad character."

Gianni pats Tomma on the back and grins. "Tomma only just lost his virginity. He's not keen on being reminded he'll be shackled soon."

When Tomma turns red, the men chuckle. No disrespect intended. In our circles, seventeen is considered late for being initiated into manhood. Normally, that's taken care of on a son's fifteenth birthday. Tomma had issues, it seems. The hookers his father paid didn't do it for him.

No man sitting around this table knows I'm as virginal as they come. I have no intention of throwing something sacred away for the sake of experience. The whore I got for my birthday was only too happy to be sent away without having to bed a boy. I paid her extra to keep her mouth shut. As far as my father and uncles know, she did the job. I want my bride to wait. So, I'll wait.

"On a serious note," Uncle Enzo says. "How did your meeting go? How soon can we expect an integration?"

"The sooner the better." Uncle Nico's expression is somber. "The casinos are losing money. Our contact in Marseille and Nice wants to increase his cut to fifteen percent. Refusing will be declaring war, and it'll be a bloody one."

"That's what the French government is hoping for," Uncle Enzo says. "As long as we keep our noses clean, they can't bring evidence against us. The slightest show of violence, however, will give them the excuse for a cleanup they're waiting for."

My father clears his throat. He slurps his coffee, trying to hide a cough but not quite succeeding. It takes a moment before he speaks. "Edwards denied he made the deal."

Tomma and Gianni's mouths go slack. Uncle Enzo looks at my father, dumbfounded.

Uncle Nico clenches his jaw. "That's an insult to you and your family. You can't let it slide."

My father glances at me. "I'm not."

"I'm dealing with it," I say, dragging a gaze around the table.

"How?" Uncle Nico asks.

I take my time to finish my coffee before answering. "I need a year."

Uncle Enzo sits up. "Why a year?"

"For my plan to work, I need compliance from both Edwards and his daughter. Convincing Edwards to honor his promise won't be difficult—I can bend him to our will tomorrow—but she has to believe our relationship is her idea. At least for now."

My uncles consider that.

"You can always threaten her with her family's lives," Tomma offers.

I pin him with a stare at which he quickly shuts his mouth.

Gianni whistles through his teeth. "Looks like you've got your work cut out for you, Angelo."

Always quick to catch on, Uncle Enzo says, "You'll have to find something to hold over her father's head while making her fall for you."

"She won't be so quick to fall at your feet when she finds out that you're blackmailing her father," Uncle Nico points out.

My smile is flat. "By that time, it won't matter." She's mine, and I'll do whatever it takes to claim her.

"One year," my father says, as the oldest, his word final. "Then we do it our way."

Our way means kidnapping Sabella and forcing a ring on her finger while holding a gun against her father's head. We'll put a pen in his right hand while, one by one, cutting off the fingers on his left until he signs the contract. But that won't happen until she turns eighteen, and if my plan works, it won't have to happen at all.

"Good," I say. "Then it's decided."

And with those words, I seal Sabella Daphne Edwards's fate.