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That half-amused smile lifts onto his face again, then quickly disappears as he unlocks the cuffs and grips his large hand onto my bicep to lead me to the bathroom on the opposite side of the room. I see now there’s a balcony in this space that overlooks the late afternoon sea.God, how long have I been out?I reach out for the bathroom door, steadying myself against the rocking ship, and step inside before he barks out another order.
“You have three minutes. If you’re not out by then, I’m coming in.”
I could rebut to this, but I don’t. Instead, I step into the tiny water closet and shut the door, relieving my full bladder with an immediate sigh. Ugh, I can’t imagine how long I’ve been holding that in. When the high of my monumental piss subsides, I scan the room for windows to jump through, but the space is small and there is nothing to see aside from the small toilet and marble sink. Even if there were a porthole, I’d sink faster than a stone out there. I’ve never been the best swimmer. I always skipped those classes in high school gym class because I didn’t want to ruin my hair. Now, I’m wondering if maybe that was a bad decision because knowing the backstroke or forward roll or whatever they call those over arm swim motions would really come in helpful. Instead, I spent my time sneaking out to the baseball field to make out with whatever jock happened to be practicing. I have a thing for tight uniforms, which unfortunately does me zero good right now.
After washing my hands and checking my face over in the mirror, I’m convinced that it’s been longer than a day. It has to have been. My skin is ruddy like I’ve been through hell, and I don’t remember this much regrowth on my roots. Not only that, but my lashes look like they needed to be redone two weeks ago. I guess it could be the salty air.
“Come on, Cinderella,” the Italian growls from outside the door.
I check the bathroom for something to swat or stab him with, but a toilet paper roll and a pump container of foaming soap don’t seem to fit the bill for murder weapons.
“I’m here,” I say, opening the door. “Sorry. It takes a few minutes to go under pressure. Can you tell me what’s going on here? I thought we were off to a good start, and I don’t even remember your friend Dante showing up, let alone punching him in the face.”
The Italian whistles and a moment later, two enormous men step down into the bedroom. One wears a suit, like the Italian, while the other looks more relaxed with a pair of board shorts and a half buttoned linen shirt. I’m going to have to start learning names now though, because by the looks of them, they’re all Italian, and they’re all mob. So‘gangster’isn’t going to work on all of them, though I’m hoping I’m not around long enough to call them by their names because I’m on shore, at my house, not dead at the bottom of the ocean.
The one in linen steps forward and holds out his giant palm for me to shake. I notice immediately that he’s the one I’ve hit. There’s a dark purple mark just above his eye.
I can’t believe I did that. Should I apologize or act tough like I meant to do it?
I decide to garner some goodwill.
“This guy says I hit you last night. I’m sorry. I don’t remember much.”
“The Wolf said you hit me, huh?” The man darts his eyes back at the man who I’ve spent the week with, as though he’s embarrassed and a little angry he was called out. But I can’t get over‘The Wolf’thing. I guess he does look like a wolf, in the whole eat you for lunch kind of way.
I smile. “Yeah, Wolfie over here had a lot to say about all the damage I’ve done, but not a whole lot about why I’m here. Do you have any idea?”
“Wolfie…” the ringed man laughs, holding his hand up for a high five. “I’m Dante. That there is Luca.” He nods toward the man on the other side of the room, who doesn’t look as forthcoming with pleasantries and laughter. He’s tall and dark featured like the other two, but his build is thinner.
No one else laughs at Dante, but I don’t want to leave him hanging, so I slap him five with pride. The Wolf doesn’t look amused, but I don’t care. I punched the guy in the face, the least I can do is slap him five and make a joke at what I guess is their leader’s expense
“That’s great,” Dante says, straightening when he meets eyes with The Wolf. I get the feeling there’s a certain amount of respect for Wolfie that these guys are supposed to uphold, and Dante has just gotten out of line.
“Anyway,” I say with a ragged breath, “I haven’t been updated on what’s going on here. Can someone fill me in?”
Dante looks toward Wolfie, and Luca toward them both. “You need to tell her.”
“Need to tell me what?”
Wolfie lets out a heavy sigh. I really need to learn this guy’s name. His real name, not the nickname the guys have given him.
“Do you remember your boss, Patrick Collins, at Legacy bank?” Dante says, running his hand back through his hair.
I narrow my gaze and cross my arms over my chest, wondering what the hell that guy has to do with anything. He’s an asshole who hit on me too many times to count.
“What about him?”
“He has ties to a man named Liam Wilde. Have you ever heard of him?”
I shake my head. “No, but we have clients from all over the world.”
“Liam isn’t just any client. He’s a billionaire and, subsequently, the largest cartel runner in the world. He runs his company from the United Kingdom and he’s a total freak.”
“What kind of freak?” I grin. “Like a bow-chicka-wow-wow freak?”
The Wolf shakes his head. “Did your mother drop you on your head when you were born?”
I pinch my lips together and nod. “Quite possibly. She was on a lot of drugs; I know that much. Maybe she bought drugs from this British guy? Is that what this is all about? What does my bank have to do with this?”
