43. Tasha

43

Matteo left me hanging, and I didn't see him for the rest of the day. I was left to my own devices, and reminder: I don't have any. I ate all my meals alone, and the crew didn't engage in any conversation with me beyond pleasantries. Whenever I wanted to go explore, someone was on hand to block my way. I was allowed to see Burley, but even though he let me stay for five minutes and check his wounds, he made it clear that Matteo wouldn't tolerate me ‘hanging out' with him.

I had too much time to think, which isn't always a good thing. I waded through everything I've seen Matteo do, his reactions, his choices, and I've concluded that this mission of his with me, with the guy he killed yesterday, were orders he was fulfilling. Orders from his dad, the Don.

Which means that auctioning me off is maybe not what he wants, but he'll go through with it to wrap up the business he set out to do. The Don won't let him off the hook if he doesn't comply; he will only send someone else to finish me off. I'm still torn, uncertain what to do. I want to push Matteo's buttons so that he finally succumbs to me, but I also don't want to reach the auction's final destination.

It's a risk I'm going to take, praying all the way that nothing goes pear-shaped.

We've entered the Cannes marina and docked. The captain dealt with immigration control earlier. I saw that fake passport of mine in the officer's hand. We seem to have the all-clear, and soon I'll have the opportunity to jump and run, but then I spot Stephano walking down the marina, coming to meet us. Two men are in his vicinity, suited, with avatar sunglasses. Bodyguards.

I rather enjoyed the relative freedom being on the yacht gave me today. Nobody breathed down my neck.

Matteo comes to stand next to me, staring down at his brother with an expression I can't read.

"Hey," I say, suddenly even more nervous. He doesn't acknowledge me, and it's as if a cold wind comes from him. "Matteo?"

"I'll speak to Stephano."

"About what?" I ask, but he ignores me again as he goes to the bar counter where a waiter has been on standby since lunch.

I watch as he orders a double shot of whiskey, my annoyance with him budding. I want to say something, but a woman in high heels who waves at me as she hurries along the dock draws my attention.

"Ciao!" she calls out, with a smile and a wave. She's so focused on me, where I'm standing at the railing, that she bumps into Stephano as she rushes past him. He steadies her with a hand on her elbow but their interaction is swift and already she's homing in on me again.

She has long, lush dark hair, golden bronzed skin, and legs for miles in a summer dress that fits her like a glove, showing off some serious cleavage. Her sunglasses are pushed up on her head and she is smiling widely at me.

This, I realize, with equal amounts of dread and hope, isn't part of Matteo's plan. The woman deftly pulls off her high-heeled sandals before she boards the yacht, clearly used to everything as if it belongs to her.

Matteo comes to stand next to me and leans in to watch her. "Fuck."

"Who is that?" I ask, but I already have my suspicions.

"Gigi Trapani. Must be."

At last, another woman to converse with, or not.

Matteo waves at Stephano to come on board, just as Gigi's face appears from the boarding stairs.

"Ciao, cousins! All the way from America!" She opens her arms as she strides towards us, ready to embrace.

"We're not cousins," Matteo mutters as he intercepts her, so she can't engage with me first. "Gigi?"

"Si, Gigi Trapani, my dad told me he has important guests on the yacht and that you will be cruising here. I was already in Cannes so when the captain let me know you were arriving in the marina—" She breaks off, her smile wavering as Matteo makes no attempt to pull her close in an Italian-style, familial greeting.

"Matteo Scalera," he introduces himself, stretching out his hand to block any closer contact. He doesn't include me in the introductions as Gigi takes his offering and gives it an uncertain shake.

I sense in my gut Matteo's cold greeting is about to backfire. Gigi's gaze flicks to me, then to my hand where I'm still clutching the railing and the massive bling on my fingers. "And your wife?" She looks at me, and then her eyes swerve over my body, taking in the dress, the straps of the gold bikini that peek out at the neckline, the golden flip-flops on my feet. Her clothes.

But that's not what's giving her pause. Her gaze homes in on the abrasions around my wrists where I was bound to the speedboat. I didn't cover them up, wanting them to heal in the sun. The bruise on my thigh is also visible as this dress of hers is so short. At least the slap I got to the face didn't turn into a bruise for her to stare at.

I watch Gigi's face transform as she smells a rat. Then she takes a step closer to me, but Matteo blocks her with his arm.

"Cara," she says in a rushed tone as she slaps—actually slaps—Matteo's hand away. "Are you held against your will? Have they hurt you?"

If she knew what I know she wouldn't be slapping at Matteo. I'm so caught off guard at how quickly she summed up the situation that I'm gaping like a fish.

"Gigi—" Matteo warns with a firm hand on her shoulder, but Gigi shrugs loose just as Stephano appears on the deck.

"Need some help there, Matteo?" he asks casually, not realizing he just stepped into a shitstorm.

Gigi's face lights up with fury and indignation. She turns on Stephano and hisses, "I don't care who the hell you are, but you're getting off my yacht, right now."

Stephano's jaw ticks. "I don't care who the hell you are, angel, I'm not going anywhere."

In two steps Gigi has crossed the deck and slaps him too, this time full on the chest in an attempt to push him away. "Leave!"

Stephano takes it, too dumbfounded to do anything else. But then he shoots into action, grabbing her wrists, making her drop her sandals, and twisting her into an armlock that has Gigi wincing.

All my blood drains to my feet as I watch in horror, having been in a similar situation. They are too deep into the yacht for people on the marina to see, but Gigi just needs to scream?—

Stephano covers her mouth with his hand and looks at Matteo calmly. "Jesus Christ, Matteo," he sighs. "Can you stop collecting hoydenish shrews? It's bad for business."

"Fucking curve ball," Matteo grunts. "Bring her inside so we can talk without an audience."

He takes me by the hand and leads me inside the yacht's formal lounge, passing a dumbstruck, wide-eyed waiter in the process. Stephano follows with Gigi, who is kicking and screaming for all she's worth. Her voice is muffled, and Stephano is laughing all the way as he carries her as if she weighs nothing.

"Leave us," Matteo says to the crew who suddenly surfaced, coming to Gigi's aid, but at Matteo's authoritative tone, they scatter.

Yikes. Some people are going to get fired, judging by the wrath shining in Gigi's eyes.

Matteo indicates that I should sit as he pushes his hands into his pockets and leans against the bar.

"I'm going to let you go, angel," Stephano murmurs in Gigi's ear as he makes his way toward me. "Try not to bite, okay?"

As soon as Stephano lets go of her, Gigi shudders as if she's totally grossed out. "Get your filthy Mafia paws off me."

She doesn't pay him another second of attention but turns to me and reaches for my hand. "Cara, what is your name?"

"Can I gag this one?" Stephano asks, reaching for his belt buckle. "It will give me endless pleasure."

Matteo sighs a world-weary sigh. "Nobody is getting gagged. Gigi, what goes on here is none of your business."

"You're on my yacht. She's on my yacht. It is my business."

Matteo grinds his jaw, as if he just knows he's in for it now. "Yep. You being on this yacht wasn't exactly the plan."

Stephano smirks as Gigi purses her lips, annoyed, but then his attention jumps to me. "There's some damage to the merch, Matteo."

"She did it to herself."

At this point, Gigi is clinging to my hand, studying my wrist. "Oh, no, please, don't tell me you tried to cut your wrists!"

The rings on my finger flash in the overhead lights and Stephano steps closer, his eyes narrowing. "Are those Mom's rings? On your hand? The senator's daughter?" He straightens and stares Matteo down. "What the actual fuck, bro?"