37

37

The phone went dead before I even processed what I’d heard. The guard reached over me so fast it made my shoulder jerk back, and he snatched the receiver out of my hand like I’d just picked up a bomb. He shoved it back onto the hook, the bell giving this weak, shaky ring like it was tired of everything already.

“Who was that?” he asked, eyebrows pulled together.

I just shook my head. Talking felt like chewing glass. And I didn't plan on answering someone who was that rough with me.

He muttered something about beach idiots and prank calls, and motioned for me to move. So I did, following him back across the sand while the melted ice cream dripped between my fingers. My brain was still stuck on the voice in the receiver. Enzo. His tone and that stupid little smirk I could hear without even seeing his face. Was he also watching? How the heck is that even possible??

It should have made me panic. Another Moretti in my ear? Great, just what I needed. But instead—God help me—it felt like finally breathing after holding it too long. Just for a second. Like someone tossed me a rope while I was floating alone in the dark. A very disturbing comfort I felt, but comfort is comfort, I guess.

How did he even know where I was? I won't even ask why he was calling, If anyone knew Lorenzo, they'd know he's an idle weirdo.
Like, it was Enzo. If he wanted to track the exact air I was breathing, he would. Especially when he was bored. And Enzo was always, always bored.

So I pushed the feeling away. Or tried to, even as it kept clawing back.

The guard, worried that it was someone else that might've called, or maybe tipped me off on a way out, he dragged me to the restaurant's direction. Moretti was still at the table with that business guy. Two glasses of whiskey with fruit slices floating like they were pretending to be lighthearted. Moretti's eyes cut toward the guard when we got in.

“She’s fine,” the guard said quietly. “Wrong number or something. Just some call she picked up.”

Dante tapped the rim of his glass once as his gaze shifted to me. That small sound was enough to freeze the man talking to him mid-sentence.

What?

Should I fall on my knees and beg him to forgive me for trying to tell who I thought was calling that their friends or relative was not around the phone anymore?

If he wanted me doing nothing, he might as well cut off my hands.

Their meeting ended not long after and he stood up, slid his sunglasses on, and a motion to the guard, “Let’s go.”

The ocean wind hit as we stepped out and the sky had that late-afternoon softness, like everything was starting to dim down. I caught one last look at the waves before the door shut behind us.

Closing every chances I thought I had.

The car ride back was the definition of quiet. Lissa kept scrolling through her phone with that annoyed concentration she's had all through today. I could pay whoever pissed her off, to do it again, but if it was... me, killing Marcus.

Then I'd do it again.

Kill one million more Marcus' if I could...stab them with shards and watch them bleed to death.

I should've done the same to Dante, stab him with anything I could find and watch him bleed. It was self defense and I was kidnapped surely the police will understand that, except they're on his side or I was just killed instead of being taken to the station.

“What?”

I blinked back to reality to see an annoyed Moretti raising a brow at me. Only then did I realize I was staring at him.

Too annoyed to even think about glaring at him since I subtly rolled my eyes I looked away. All my thoughts were just thought, if I had done them I wouldn't be in the cage.

The guard in the passenger seat hummed along to some random old-school song on the radio.

I looked at my hands. The dried sand was caught in the lines of my fingers and it scratched when I rubbed my thumb over them.

“Who called you?”

“Nobody.”

When we got back to the penthouse, Moretti didn’t say anything to me. He already had his phone out, talking fast in Italian. I couldn’t understand him but he sounded irritated, slightly impatient, and I hope things continue to piss him off. Lissa disappeared somewhere down the hall, and the guard just nodded to me before leaving.

I sat on the bed still in the clothes from the beach, the smell of salt and vanilla sticking to me.

What was Enzo doing?

Don't get me wrong, with all this happening, I'd take weird over anything.

He was probably laughing about calling me. Probably already planning whatever game he’d play next.

I lay down at some point, staring at nothing until the ceiling blurred and dozed of. Halfway into a deep sleep when a knock came at my door. The sound sending my heart into a frenzy. I quickly pick my hairpin from under the bed.

“Who is it?”

There was a pause, then a voice I didn’t recognize said, “Security check, ma’am. Just confirming you’re in for the night.”

I hesitated, then opened the door a crack. The guy standing there wasn’t familiar. He looked younger than most of the people I've seen today, maybe late twenties, with short dark hair and a tired smile.

“Didn’t mean to bother you,” he said. “I’m taking over for Marcus while he’s on leave.”

For a second I just stared like he’d spoken in a different language.

“Marcus?”

He nodded innocently. “Yeah. Poor guy lost his mother in a car crash.” He tutted.

Cold ran down my spine so fast it made me grip the doorknob.

“Right,” I murmured. “On a leave.”

“Have a good night, ma’am.” He gave a little nod and walked away keys jingling against his leg as he went.

I closed the door slowly and leaned my forehead against it, staring at the floor.

On leave.

That’s what they told him?

Does that mean, this new guy isn't part of Moretti's people?