Page 52 of Isle of Seduction
The sky decides it’s the perfect moment to plunge into thunder and drop torrential rain in our already lush garden. The rain patters loudly against the roof when Nico enters the house through the backdoor, drenched. His dark eyes hold a promise of pain that echoes in my soul.
“What do you need?” he asks, never one for useless words. At this moment, Nico seems younger than his twenty-six years. I can see in his eyes the steel determination, but he’s never had to make decisions without Andrea. His brother shielded him from the most difficult part of this life. Nico might be a killer, but he’s lost without his brother. I’ll be his strength.
“Send me DeRossi’s number. There are new recruits at the station, and…” My phone chimes with a text from Nico with the solicitor’s contact. I appreciate the sense of urgency. “Thanks. Two men were here with Taylor tonight and one of them, I just… I have a bad feeling about him. Can you look into that? Could you also tail Addams and Carmichael? Just checking where they go, who they see?”
It’s unclear who is pinning this murder on Andrea, but I don’t see many other options.
Nico nods and I continue. “We need to put a pause on the search for the missing personnel, at least until Andrea comes home. I’m gonna call on those favours I’ve accumulated over the years. Andrea will be with us within forty-eight hours.”
He hesitates, but walks closer to me and takes my hand into his. His dark eyes land on mine and he nods again, reassuring me without words that we can do it.
How I could ever think Nico was an unfeeling prick is beyond me. He just shared with one look all his brother means to him, and I’m more determined than ever to get Andrea back with us in record time.
The good thing about this mess is that Andrea’s record is clean. How he managed that considering all the illegal shit he sticks his fingers into is worth admiration. It’s something the magistrates and judges won’t be able to ignore. I’m hoping it won’t get to that and the custody officer will already give us bail. Then, we can have the charges dropped altogether before the court hearing.
I call on the solicitors and high-ranking law makers I know in London one by one, noting the ones who dodge my calls to repay them in blood later.
When I was in university with Lana, I spent more time in clubs and bars than on the benches of classes, but it gave me a network worth the headaches of all-nighters before exams. Some of these people I haven’t talked to in three years; some I sporadically checked in on to keep relationships alive for this very situation.
Shelly Clarke is the one I’m counting on. The blond bombshell who couldn’t stop hitting on me was working at a corporate firm specialising in representing political clients when we met. She’s now well on her way to become a penal judge and is as respected as she is feared.
“Giulia.” Her voice is low and sultry. “Tell me you’re back in the UK and ready to let me invite you to dinner.” I always refused to have her pay for our meals together. She’s a shark and would have held it above my head. She knows how to get what she wants.
“Not exactly, baby,” I reply, insisting on the playfulness of our interaction before I hold what I have on her over her head if she refuses to cooperate. That’s what happens when you ask your friend-in-the-mafia to ship you your own supply of Y for years. The drug our family makes and sells all across the Mediterranean Sea is hard to come by the UK. Lucky for Shelly, she has me.
“I need your help. My husband’s been arrested. He’s being wrongly accused of murder and I need you to get him bail and have the charges dropped. His solicitor is Mr. De Rossi, I think you know him.”
She does. She goes against him often in trials and she knows he’s a dog with a bone. They’re a match made in professional heaven and my key to Andrea’s freedom.
She whistles on the phone.
“De Rossi? Don’t tell me your husband is Capaldi’s prodigal son?” Humour tints her voice, and though it’s the last emotion on my range right now, I give her the banter she craves.
“Don’t tell me you got bad blood with my man, baby.”
“Not with him. With De Rossi, though? I dream of crushing his windpipe every now and then. You know how it is. So, you need me in West Hill?”
“Yeah, I need you in West Hill. He just got into custody. I want him out in less than forty-eight hours.”
“I’ll be there in the morning. Call De Rossi and meet me at Capaldi’s office. I know where it is, and it’s probably the most secure place for the conversations we’ll have. I’ll see you in the morning, bella.”
I thank her again and catch my breath for the first time in the past hour.
Cleaning the dining table and going through my routine doesn’t settle my nerves and the deep-seated feeling that we’re missing something. Nico’s gone for the night; the house sounds abandoned. No life moves through the walls. The air is stale; the corners draped in shadows make me jumpy and untethered.
When I glide into my bed, my gaze draws to the club seat where Andrea should be. His absence weighs heavy in the room, the faint smell of him is but a memory in the air. I’m tempted to go to his room and sleep in his bed, but I know he never sleeps there, so the sheets won’t hold his scent.
I get up and get to his room nonetheless, showering with his gel to get him on my skin. In his closet, I find a pair of his sweatpants and a hoodie and wear them to bed. It’s too small a comfort, but I need to feel him somehow. I didn’t imagine my fake marriage would lead me to miss my husband barely a few hours after he’s gone and yet, here I am.
* * *
I barely slept, tossing and turning all night, but when the morning light flowed through the room, renewed determination flared under my skin. I prepared for battle, painting my eyes black and my lips red.
I stand by the bay window in Andrea’s office in my fitted white suit embroidered with red crystals, the red blouse underneath a deep contrast, highlighting the makeup I wear like armour. Even in here, I can feel him. I see his tastes in the comfortable dark green designer sofa, the rattan chairs around a reclaimed wood table with epoxy resin on top. I sit in the thousand-dollar leather chair behind his desk, waiting for Shelly and De Rossi, my black heels tapping on the floor with impatience.
My phone dings with text messages.
Nico