I stand up.
"I'll arrange for you both to leave the country," I tell him. "I never want to see either of you again."
Alana laughs. It comes out slightly unhinged. "Who do you think you are?" she demands. "Do you think you can just— do youknow your father killed your mother? He planned the whole thing, he?—"
"Alana," Michael says sharply.
"She should know," Alana says, looking at me with bright furious eyes. "She should know what kind of family she's so desperate to impress. Your father killed your mother, Nathalie. He planned the whole?—"
"I know," I say.
Alana stops.
She looks at me. "You know," she repeats.
"I know," I confirm.
She stares at me. "And you're just—" She looks around the room and sees Renzo in the doorway, and then back at me. "You're pathetic," she says, but her voice has lost its conviction. "You've always been pathetic. Always running after people who don't want you, always trying so hard for people who?—"
"I'm better than you," I tell her.
She stops.
"I have always been better than you," I continue pleasantly. "Richer, prettier, more competent, and now I'm the one sending you off too." I look at her. "So."
"Fuck you!" she screams. "Fuck you, go to hell, go to hell you dirty?—"
I turn and I walk to the door. Renzo and I go back through the bar and up the stairs and out into the cold night air and he looks at me and he says, "I need you to retrieve the hard drive from the address and get everything sent to me," I say.
"What about your uncle and cousin?" he asks.
"Then put them on a ship. The slowest, most uncomfortable route you can find."
Renzo makes a sound that is almost a laugh. "You are genuinely evil, you know that?"
I stop walking.
I reach into my pocket, I take out an envelope and I hold it out to him. He takes it, opens it, and looks at the wedding invitation inside that was printed the very evening that my wedding with James was agreed on.
"For you and Luca," I tell him. "Tell him I want him there. He owes me that much."
Renzo looks at the invitation for a long moment. "You are evil," he says again, but differently this time.
"I need a few people," I add. "Preferably women who can pass as domestic staff. I need them dressed as maids."
Renzo looks at me. "Should I ask why?"
"'No," I tell him.
"Fine," he says. "Done."
"Thank you, Renzo," I say.
He sighs and looks at the invitation. "You're welcome, but damn."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Nathalie
