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‘You don’t want to underestimate her. Savage by name and savage by nature,’ Nigel cautions immediately. ‘She’s like the Snow Queen. Beautiful and ruthless. You definitely don’t want to hit on her.’
I laugh. Nigel always amuses me. I own strip clubs full of beautiful, willing women with hardly any clothes on. I’m hardly desperate enough or foolish enough to try to chat up the tax officer who has come to break my balls. Although, I kinda like the idea of taking a snooty cow down a peg or two. ‘Don’t mistake me for Shane,’ I tell him. My younger brother Shane is the playboy of the family.
‘Look, all I’m saying is don’t rock the boat in any way,’ he urges in frustration.
The back door of the restaurant is open, and some of my staff are lounging around smoking cigarettes under the canopy. ‘Morning, boss,’ they greet cheerfully, and I raise a finger in acknowledgment.
‘Hang on, Nigel,’ I say into the receiver and turn toward my boys. ‘Are the tax officers inside?’
They nod. ‘Yes, boss. Maria has already offered them coffee. They looked a bit pissed off that there was no management here to meet them. The bloke’s gone to the toilet—he’s been in there for the last five minutes—and the woman’s waiting in the restaurant.’
I thank them and step into the washing up area of the restaurant. The dishwashers are running and it is noisy. I wait until I get to the kitchen area before I put the phone back to my ear.
‘Right, Nigel, I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.’
‘I’d really prefer it if you did not meet them, Dom,’ he says, barely able to mask his anxiety.
‘I know. You said.’
‘Whatever you do, don’t antagonize them,’ he pleads.
‘I won’t.’
‘Right. Just remember: the less said, the better. Don’t let her manipulate you into revealing anything.’
‘There’s nothing to reveal, Nigel,’ I say and kill the connection.
I nod at my chef, Sebastiano. He’s standing over a hunk of meat laid out on the stainless steel table. In his right hand he’s holding a knife, and with his left hand he’s stroking the meat as if it’s alive to locate the juiciest, most tender part so it can be precisely carved out and presented as tonight’s Chef’s Special. Cutting meat properly is a skill as old as hunting itself.
I walk past the fridges and the tables with the heating lamps suspended over them before reaching the swing door to the restaurant. Before I go in I st
op and look through the round glass hole in the door. The restaurant is mostly in darkness. Only one section is lit. My eyes fall on the woman sitting under the light. At that moment she lifts her head from a file she is studying and I see her face.
FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!
I jerk away from the glass in shock and disbelief and lean against the cold tiles of the wall. Air is no longer reaching my lungs. My heart feels constricted, as if steel hands have reached inside my body and are squeezing it like a lump of fucking dough. I gasp for breath. How can fate be so fucking cruel to play such a trick on me? Why?
Something deep inside me starts screaming.
And suddenly, I’m not standing outside the door to my restaurant anymore. I’m in freezing, black water. All around me is pitch-dark. My legs are still kicking, but feebly. Far away in the distance I can see the headlights of the boat. Jake is coming.
I want to scream, but I can’t.
My skin feels too fucking tight. Like the animal in the cage that chews at its own bloody tail in horror at its loss. In my peripheral vision, Sebastiano is holding the knife at the perfect angle as he slices into the muscle and fiber. That meat is dead. It will not feel the sharp steel cutting into it. I too am dead. I will not feel the pain.
Ah, it’s that fucking door again. But I can walk away, and nothing in my life will change. I can remain dead.
I take a deep breath. I can still walk away. I should walk away.
But I don’t.
I open the door and enter the restaurant.
And Ella Savage turns her head and stares coldly at me.
TWO
The first sensation I have at the sight of him is one of pure disquiet. Like stroking a cat against the lie of its fur. Something perfectly silky and smooth has become ruffled. It neither feels nor looks right.
