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I darted down the corridor, needing to get away from everyone on this goddamn yacht. Nic was more dangerous than I’d imagined, a potential murderer, and I couldn’t stay here. I had to escape as quickly as possible.
I hurried to the rear of the ship where I knew I wouldn’t be overheard. I pulled out my phone and found the contact for a designer friend. A very wealthy one.
“Bonjour, Theo, mon ami!” the voice said. “I thought you were on a yacht in the Mediterranean.”
“Bonjour, André. I need your helicopter. Is it free?”
“For you, of course. But tell me. Is everything okay?”
I pressed my lips together, unsure how to answer. We were close, but I didn’t want to drag André into my mess. “I have an emergency back at the studio and I need to get there immediately. The yacht is too slow, n’est-ce pas?”
“Oui, oui,” André said with a chuckle. “Such are the troubles of your fabulous life, eh? Text me your location and I’ll send it out for you.”
“Merci. You are a lifesaver.” Perhaps literally, if Giulio’s fears over my safety were to be believed.
And fuck him for not telling me himself.
I strode back in and went to the helm to see the captain. I’d never walked in before, so I wasn’t surprised by the shocked faces that greeted my presence. “I am sorry to bother you, but I have a terrible emergency back in Paris. I have asked a friend to send his helicopter to come get me. So I need our exact location.”
The two men at the controls exchanged a look. I could see the indecision. Were they worried I was alerting the authorities to our location, as their boss was clearly some sort of criminal?
I went with a lie of my own. “Nic is aware that I am leaving.” Or he soon would be. “But one of my warehouses caught fire and I am desperate to get back. Can you please just tell me where the helicopter can find me?”
“We cannot give that information without checking with Mr. Kuznetsov first.”
“Of course.” I gestured to the phone. “Call him. There isn’t a moment to lose.”
One of the men reached for the phone and my mouth dried out. Easing closer, I pretended like I was scrolling my phone, not a care in the world, while I was actually zooming in on the digital control panel and taking photos to send to André.
“He is not picking up,” the man with the phone said.
“Try Ilya,” the captain suggested.
I waved my hand. “That’s not necessary. I’ll go find one of them and have them ring you. Merci!”
I left, then darted into an empty room to study the photos. Right there, I found it. Longitude and latitude. I forwarded the photos to André. He responded with a thumbs up emoji.
AN HOUR, MAYBE MORE, he texted.
I could survive an hour. I could laugh and pretend, never giving the slightest hint of how I felt on the inside. I sent him back a heart.
Weeks ago I had searched the internet in Paris for information on Nikolai Kuznetsov, only to discover nothing. But now I have more to go on. I opened up a browser and started typing.
I searched his name, plus this Golubev person they had been discussing. Several Russian websites popped up. I couldn’t read any of it, but I scanned them. The men in the photos all had tattoos like the one Nic had on a shoulder. A star. Was that symbolic of something?
Another search. This time I got results. The star tattoo meant a high-ranking official in the Bratva.
I slumped against the wall. Madre di dio. The fucking Russian mafia. They were the worst of the worst, with human trafficking and drugs and prostitution.
This was how Nic made his money. How he afforded this yacht and all these men. It also explained why Giulio was worried that Nic planned to kill me at the end of our time together.
I felt sick. Bending over, I took several deep breaths to keep from throwing up my breakfast. When I was stable again, I straightened and deleted the search histories. Then I went to the head and splashed cold water on my face. I could do this. One hour. That was sixty minutes. Three thousand six hundred seconds.
After that I would go back to Paris, block Nic’s number, and forget this ever happened.
My insides were vibrating, like the thin threads holding me together were stretched to the breaking point. But I couldn’t let anything show. I needed to keep my cool until I got on the helicopter.
First, I needed to pack. I had to do this quickly and quietly, never giving away that I knew who Nic was. At the end of the day, I had no idea what he was capable of. If he wanted to stop me from leaving, he could easily do it. He could kill me and dump my body overboard. And I was far too pretty to die.
