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CHAPTER
SEVEN
Angelo
When I get back to the hotel, Edwards is waiting in the reception. He gets up from the chaise by the window, his face ruddier than usual. Holding my gaze with a moody expression, he adjusts his jacket and meets me halfway across the floor.
“Have a coffee with me,” he says, tilting his head toward the bar.
I smile as I follow him, knowing what’s coming.
We take a seat at the counter where it’s quiet.
“Two espressos,” he says to the barman. Then, turning to me, “I want you to stay away from my daughter. I don’t want you going near my house again.”
The barman puts a coffee in front of each of us.
Pulling mine closer, I take note of the thin layer of sheen on his forehead, how he’d rather sweat in the heat than take off his jacket. “News travels fast.”
“My wife called me at the office when you turned up at our place.” He rips the packet of sugar open and pours it into his coffee, messing grains over the counter. “I left an important meeting to have this discussion with you.”
“I’m flattered. However, seeing me off in person wasn’t necessary.”
His jaw tightens, but his tone remains patient. “I thought we should talk before you go.”
“Without my father.”
“Yes.” He stirs his coffee and taps the spoon on the rim of the cup. “It’s better that we do this alone.”
The this he’s referring to is going to be interesting. “I’m listening.”
“You’re a young man with your whole life ahead of you. Being tied in a marriage to a girl you don’t know can’t be something you want.”
“Don’t assume to know what I want.”
He stiffens. “I can assure you it’s not what Sabella wants.”
I raise a brow. “Are you sure about that?”
The spoon clatters on the saucer as he drops it. “Arranged marriages may still be practiced where you come from, but it doesn’t work like that here.”
“Where I come from, family and duty come first. We honor our promises.”
His face turns red. “I did not make any promises. Your father is mistaken.”
“My father is many things, but he’s not a liar. I was there, remember? I might have been young at the time, but I did pay attention to your conversation, especially since your discussion involved me.”
He balls his hand into a fist on the counter. “If you’re not willing to back down from this ridiculous idea, you won’t leave me with a choice but to find another service provider.”
My smile is cold. “Meaning you’ll cut us out?”
He lifts his chin and says in an unwavering voice, “Yes.”
Up to now, we’ve always received our orders via third parties. No emails. Nothing on paper. No trails that can lead back to him. He’s clever, but I’m cleverer.
“If you’re bringing it up, Mr. Edwards, you must already have someone in mind.”
He raises his chin another inch. “I do.”
I study him as I sip my espresso. Judging from the sweat stains under the armpits of his jacket, he’s not as certain of himself as he likes to appear. Still, this is Africa. Nothing is impossible here. The continent has no lack of powerful criminals. We don’t have a legally binding contract that will prevent him from getting his services elsewhere. Our kind of deals are sealed with a handshake and retained with bloodshed.
I put my cup on the counter. “I see.”
He scrunches his eyes into slits. “Does that mean you’re going to do something about it?”
“I guess I am.”
He pats me on the shoulder and gets to his feet. “I’m glad we could come to an understanding. I’ll leave it in your hands to deal with your father. You’ll know best how to convince him.” His lips curve into a semblance of a smile, but the gesture is flat and formal. “I’m glad we’ll continue to do business.”
Leaving his espresso untouched, he walks to the door.
I stare after him with pity, because I am going to do something about it.
And he’s not going to like it.
I take a two-hundred-rand bill from my wallet and slide it over the counter.
If Edwards misinterpreted my meaning, it’s his bad.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Sabella
I hug a pillow to my chest where I lie on my bed as I replay the morning in my head, or more accurately, the part involving Angelo. Pirate is curled up against my side, his warm little body soothing.
I pick up my phone and check the screen like I did not five minutes earlier. There’s still nothing, no word from Angelo. Maybe he’s in the plane. Does he even remember my number? What if he forgot it? No. Somehow, an inadequate memory seems beneath him. He comes across as one of those people who’s both insightful and good at memorizing facts. Intelligent. Like someone who breezes through life, navigating the pitfalls effortlessly and efficiently, he’s clever on all levels.
