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Putting the missing evidence from his mind, Gabriele set out into the thick canopy of trees and, crouching low, made his way to the Ricci house, a huge villa set over three levels.
Lights shone from a downstairs window. Any subterfuge by the gang had been abandoned.
Something had gone wrong.
The men in the house were led by a criminal mastermind who went by the moniker of Carter. Carter’s specialisation was in purloining high-end goods for order. Ming vases. Picassos. Caravaggios. Blue Diamonds. There wasn’t a security system in the world, so the legend went, that Carter couldn’t crack. He also had a knack of knowing where the shadier elements of high society kept their even shadier valuables, the type of valuables the owner most certainly would not report to the authorities. Carter took those items for himself.
The front door had been left ajar.
As he approached it, voices could be heard, muffled but undeniably angry.
Knowing he was taking a huge risk but unable to rid himself of the sound of the scream ringing in his ears, Gabriele pressed himself against the outside wall of the window nearest the front door, took a breath, and turned to look inside.
The main reception room was empty.
He pushed the door open a few more inches.
The muffled argument continued.
He crossed the threshold. The instant his neoprene dive slipper trod onto the hard lacquered wood flooring, a squeak rang out.
Swearing under his breath, Gabriele tried another step, placing his whole foot down in one tread. This time there was no squeak.
He took stock of his surroundings. The reception room had three doors. Only one, directly opposite him, was open.
He crossed cautiously, wishing there were at least a life-size statue to hide behind if needed. Reaching the door, he peered through it, taking in the wide cantilevered stairs to his right and craning his ears to the left in an attempt to determine what the men were arguing about. If it was a simple heist-gone-wrong scenario he would return to his plan and get the hell off this island.
But that scream...
It had definitely sounded feminine.
The arguing voices were all male. He still couldn’t decipher what they were arguing about. He needed to get closer.
Before he could take another step, heavy footsteps treaded down the stairs. A huge figure dressed entirely in black strode past the door Gabriele was hiding behind and joined the others. He must have opened the door widely because now everything they said echoed off the great walls.
‘The little cow bit me,’ he said in an English accent, sounding incredulous.
‘You didn’t hurt her?’ said another voice, this one American.
‘Not as much as I’m going to when we get her out of here.’
‘She’s not going anywhere. We’re leaving her here,’ said the other voice sharply.
‘She’s seen my face.’
Much swearing ensued before the first man cut through the noise. ‘I would still take her even if she couldn’t identify me—whoever she is, she’s got to be worth something and I want a slice of it.’
All the men started speaking at once, making it impossible to distinguish their words but the gist of it was clear enough. Upstairs was a woman, probably bound, and these men were arguing over what to do with her.
Suddenly the original man came storming back out, yelling over his shoulder, ‘You pansies can debate it all you want. That bitch is mine and she’s coming with us.’
The door was slammed shut behind him and the man hurried back up the stairs, taking a right turn at the top.
This was Gabriele’s chance.
Not pausing to consider his options, he strode to the stairs then climbed them three at a time.
Half a dozen doors lined the hallway he found himself in but only one of them was open.
