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I take a position beside her, placing my hand on her lower back.
Lavigne’s gaze slips to the action. “Do you know why we’re here?”
She doesn’t skip a beat. “My husband told me there’s been a complaint about the noise.” Her cheeks flush as she continues, “We’re on honeymoon. I’m sorry about disturbing our neighbors.” She even manages to flash me a smile. “We’ll keep it down until we’re on the open sea.”
Lavigne squints. “We all remember how it is to be newlyweds. Do you mind if we have a word alone?”
“I prefer that my husband stays.”
“Are you sure, Mrs. Russo?”
Damn son of a bitch.
She wraps her arms around herself under the coat. “Yes.”
“We can go down to the station,” he says. “We can talk in private there. Do you prefer that?”
“She prefers nothing of the kind,” I bite out. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”
“Is this yours?” Lavigne asks, motioning at the cashmere coat draped around her shoulders.
She frowns. “Yes.”
“Do you mind if we have a look at it?”
“No,” she says while I simultaneously say, “Yes.”
“Yes,” I repeat, my jaw clenched. “We do mind.”
Lavigne ignores me. “You said no, Mrs. Russo, didn’t you? I heard you correctly. My hearing is good.”
What the fuck is he playing at?
“I–If my husband—”
“I’m asking you, not your husband,” he says. “The coat does belong to you.” He raises a brow. “You said so yourself.”
She shoots me a nervous look.
“What are you implying, Lavigne?” I ask, nailing him with a stare. “We’d like to get back to bed.”
He shrugs. “Just a routine check while we’re here. I do apologize for keeping you from your sleep.” Turning to Sabella, he adds, “You don’t have anything to hide, do you?”
“Of course not.” She shrugs the coat off her shoulders. “See for yourself.”
Lavigne catches the garment too eagerly. He passes it on to one of his colleagues who pats the coat down.
“Sir,” the man says, taking something out of the pocket.
A small plastic bag with white powder.
Sabella stands glued to the spot, her mouth dropping open.
In two long strides, I’m in front of Lavigne, reaching for his neck. “You son of a bitch.”
“Angelo,” Sabella cries out, grabbing my arm before my fingers can lock around their target.
Lavigne stands his ground, silently daring me to follow through with the action. It’s what he wants. He’s pushing me, waiting for me to lash out.
