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Matt looked down at his feet.
“What?”
He sighed. “Apparently, there are some structural concerns, so the contractor needs more time.”
“Structural concerns? Are you shitting me? That fort has been standing on that rock since sixteen hundred something, and I’m pretty sure a couple of rounds can’t compromise the structure when the bombs from WW2 couldn’t.”
Matteo shrugged. “I’ll personally drive down there tomorrow and make sure there’s no more hold-up.”
I nodded. “You found the thief?”
“Of course. He’s in the cave,” he said with a smirk. “Got the phone, as well.” He waggled his eyebrows.
I narrowed mine. Matt had better not have broken into the damn thing and seen naked pics of Fiona because if he had, I would have to gouge out his eyes, and doing that to my best friend wouldn’t be something I would particularly enjoy. “Let’s talk to him then.”
I changed directions, and instead of taking the stairs up to my office, I turned back down, then walked over to another set of stairs—these ones carved into stone—leading down to the cavernous basement.
“Let’s see what this asshole has to say.” Even though nothing he could say would change his fate.
With Matteo on my heels, I made my way down, walked through the string of caverns until we reached the last one.
The cavernous room—guarded by two of my men—which was almost completely missing a wall, providing a magnificent view overlooking the ocean—during daylight.
It was almost exclusively used to extricate information—due to the superior soundproofing the overpowering noise of the crashing waves provided, or to deliver a verdict already determined.
It was sad how many people either killed themselves by jumping into the ocean, or drowned or smashed against the rocks while trying to do so.
“Hey there,” I said to the man, bound to what resembled a St. Andrew’s cross carved out of stone.
His right eye bulged while the left one was swollen shut, and his already suspiciously fair skin—beneath the bruises—paled as he saw me.
Why? Did he recognize me?
I stared into his face—I’d never seen him before—then looked over at Matteo, who pointed at Fee’s purse.
“You just a garden-variety criminal or a specialist in stealing women’s purses?” I asked, my tone casual but my gaze unyielding.
The thief let out a strained laugh, his eyes darting between Matteo and me. “Just a petty thief, sir. Saw an opportunity and took it. Nothing more.”
I picked up Fiona’s purse from the stone floor, my fingers tracing over the soft leather. “This is a pretty expensive piece to grab, don’t you think? Or was it the lady who caught your attention?”
He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering. “Just…just a coincidence. I didn’t know who she was, or you.”
“Is that so?” I asked, my voice dangerously soft. I dropped the purse, took a scalpel from the table, and took a step closer.
The man flinched and tried to pull away from the stone cross—in vain.
“I would’ve thought you had a particular interest in me or the woman…” I took the scalpel and carefully grazed the skin on his left cheek, leaving bloody drops behind.
His resistance wavered.
I could see it in his eyes. He kept his head unnaturally still, carefully avoiding any movement, but I could see the struggle to maintain his composure, the fear in his eyes. “No, sir. Just the purse.”
I studied him for a long moment, the silence in the room broken only by his ragged breathing and the crash of the waves. I could smell his fear, taste his desperation.
“Then how come you followed us around all afternoon?” I asked, my words resonating off the stone walls.
The man’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to deny it.
