I had an inkling of it back at the bar when she ordered and paid for the wine. And now the question about Fabian. It was enough to get me to end the charade.
Put to good use, she could be quite lethal. Like a Venus flytrap, luring unsuspecting men in, only to surprise them with one quick twist of fate.
I was hardly surprised by her mentioning Fabian. Frankly, I would have thought lesser of her if she hadn’t taken a peek at my phone when I got the message about him back on the boat. That doesn’t mean I had any desire to spend the evening satisfying her curiosity about the man and who he was to me.
Down in the large lobby, I only briefly take a moment to admire the majesty of it. I purchased the hotel from the original owner, who was in the midst of near financial ruin.
Once I had it, I knew I had to add a casino, despite the strict, exclusive hold the Société des Bains de Mer had on any future gambling establishments in Monte Carlo. The company has exclusive casino rights in Monaco and wasn’t exactly inclined to allow an upstart to intrude. It took longer than expected—and an agreement to allow them to incorporate La Mer into their hotel group—but my usual carrot and stick tactics paid off.
Pressuring them to allow my hotel a casino license will eventually pay for itself, at least in terms of retribution. There is a certain poetic irony in getting the same casinos that had once banned my grandfather to now allow me entrance to their exclusive club in order to create my own casino. All the better to avenge Aloin LaCour’s reputation.
Once I’m on the private elevator that will take me to my office in the hotel, I push my grandfather to the back of my thoughts. I have far more important matters at hand.
Mainly, Sloane Alexander.
Once in my office, I make a quick call to my attorney to handle the business of “officially” hiring Sloane. The offices of Douglas & Foster will be staying active later than usual tonight, but they’ll no doubt find it worth it.
Then, I make a call to Jacques.
“Monsieur Reinhardt, he says,” as though expecting my call.
“I had an interesting conversation today, a conversation that revealed quite a bit about Sloane Alexander.”
“Yes, sir, I’ve continued digging and learned quite a bit as well.”
“And you didn’t think to call?”
“I had it under good authority that you were…occupied until now.”
“In the future, if you have important information to impart, please feel free to ignore any regard to proper etiquette,” I say in a low, but very dangerous voice.
“Yes, sir.”
“I certainly hope you didn’t ignore my earlier request in favor of focusing on Sloane?”
“No, sir. I’ve been looking into Giorgio Conti as well. I am able to handle multiple requests at once.”
I sense a tiny bit of impudence there, but I let it slide only due to my impatience.
“Start with him.”
There’s only the briefest pause, which tells me that perhaps the information about Sloane might be more pressing.
“Age twenty-nine, he’s the youngest son of Gennaro and Isabella Conti. The family owns a fashion house headquartered in Milan. There are two older brothers, Pietro, married, and Angelo, unmarried. Giorgio is head of marketing for the company.”
“I can get the biography in an email. Are there any red flags?”
“He was engaged once before but broke it off. The ex-fiancée eloped with a professional polo player.”
I try to dig into that for red flags and come up empty.
“And Sloane?”
He rattles off the same information that the Pirate told me, which I find irritating enough to cut him short.
“Again, next time, send me a message right away. I don’t care if you have it on ‘good authority’ that I’m in the midst of a threeway with the prince and princess of Monaco.”
Sometimes vulgarity is needed to get the fucking point across.
I’m not above the sort of self-reflection that tells me I’m lashing out in this way because of the Pirate somehow finding out all of this before I did. I pride myself on always being one step ahead of everyone else.
“I want everything you have on Sloane’s brother. Everything.”
“Yes, I figured you’d want to shift the focus to him after learning about his indirect ties to Gabriel through Linus Caldwell. But this is where it gets interesting.”
“How so?”
“Linus Caldwell was found dead three hours ago from a gunshot wound to the back of the head.”
Chapter Twenty Sloane
I won’t be sleeping in.
It’s going to be rather hard to do when I probably won’t get much sleep in the first place. Despite the stomach full of food and wine, I’m wired with excitement.
Because of Magnus.
Or rather, my phone.
I was in the shower when the call came. Still wrapped in my towel, I audibly groaned when I saw the notification that I had a voicemail from Jamie Reaves. Then I played it:
“Sloane, this is Jamie. We received a rather interesting request from Magnus Reinhardt? Apparently, he’d like to retain the services of the firm based on your recommendation. Do you know anything about this? He wasn’t clear on what exactly he’d like us to work with him on, not that it matters of course. The amount he wired was certainly enough to…well, just call me when you get this.” There’s a pause as he no doubt checks the time difference. “I assume you’re probably asleep now…in Monte Carlo.” He makes damn sure his tone expresses his continued disapproval on the choice of locales I chose to escape to “with inconveniently short notice.” “I expect a call first thing when you get this message.”
Naturally, I won’t be calling back tonight. I’m more than happy to have him assume I’m asleep. Let the bastard twist in the wind for a while.
I feel giddy at the tiny act of rebellion, and against a senior partner to boot. The old Sloane would have called right away if only to give him the absurd idea that I never slept. Every little bit helps—or
