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“Text me the picture,” I croak. “Please.”
“Oui, of course.”
My phone dings. I pull it from my ear and tap on the text Rosa’s just sent me, and my stomach plummets through the floor.
The missing “doctor” is Rocco.
“Rosa?” I hiss, my heart pounding. “Are you safe where you are?”
“I.. Oui, yes?” she says cautiously.
“I need you to call the police. Tell them that ‘doctor’ they’re looking for is a member of the Carveli criminal organization.”
Rosa’s breath catches. “Mon Dieu…”
“I’m booking a flight right now,” I blurt. “Just, please, please be safe, yes? I’ll text you when I’m enroute to the airport. And Rosa?”
“Oui?”
“Merci.”
My hands are shaking as I open my laptop again and start frantically looking for the soonest flight to Paris. Suddenly I gasp, startled by the sound of the front door to the suite banging open and Alistair walking in.
I grab the copy of my father’s will and the letter and bolt into the living room, desperate to tell him everything I’ve learned. Part of me is terrified that I’m digging into his past where I shouldn’t. Or insane for even going there with this.
But I also know it’s going to be okay, because he’s him, and I’m me.
And together, we’re us. The us that might have been ten years ago. The “us” that might despite everything still have a shot, somehow.
My heart races as I walk around the corner and see him, his back to me as he stands over the bar cart in the corner, his shoulders hunched.
“Hey!” I blurt. “I… This is crazy, but I have to tell you?—”
The smile fades from my face as he turns and levels the single most sinister, bleak, downright malevolent look I’ve ever seen on his face at me.
“Alistair?”
He keeps staring death at me. I swallow nervously.
“How was dinner?—”
Immediately, I’m gasping sharply and tripping away from him in fear as he storms toward me. His lips curl into a vicious snarl, his eyes blue fire as he surges into me. I scream, but it dies in my throat when he grabs it tight and slams me back against the wall.
“Was it you!?” he snarls with fury.
“What?!” I choke.
“WAS. IT. YOU?!” he roars. Fear cuts through my chest like ice, turning me numb.
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking?—”
“I’m talking about you stealing private files from me to pass to your fucking husband!!”
I want to tell him everything. I want to say how Massimo forced me. How he threatened Camille. I want to say I hated doing it every step of the way, and that I could hardly sleep some nights from the guilt.
But none of that comes out. None of that can come out, not with the way he’s looking at me, and not with the way I feel my face fall.
Instantly, I know my guilt is written clear as day on my face.
