“So why extend your invitation?” Donatello asks.
“All in the name of goodwill,” Mateo says.
“Goodwill,” Gregori harrumphs, but his eyes again dart toward the blond man.
He stands unobtrusively in the corner, watching this entire exchange with little to no interest. But just as I start to look away, I catch his eyes flicker in my direction. They’re an unusually bright shade in between blue and gray, enhanced by the lenses shielding them.
“Cut the bullshit,” Donatello snaps, drawing my attention. “What are you up to? Don’t tell me you make a habit of renting out the entire marina just for three men to take a waterfront tour?”
Mateo’s eyes narrow further. “And don’t tell me that you make a habit of showing up unannounced just for the hell of it.”
He returns to the bar and pours two additional glasses of liquor, one of which he offers to Donatello. “Word on the street is you’re attempting sobriety now.” His grin is anything but supportive.
If the statement catches Donatello off guard, he doesn’t show it. “I prefer a brand of liquor I don’t think you stock.”
“You still drink that shoe varnish?” Mateo chuckles and sips from the glass himself. “It’s good to see you on your feet again, old friend. I’ve heard stories about you. The once high and mighty Vanici hopping from motel to motel, lying in his own piss while his nephew was off to school. There was a particularly nasty rumor that, before you went on the straight and narrow, you needed at least a bottle of vodka just to get out of bed—”
“We all have our vices,” Donatello interjects coldly. I watch him, unsure of the emotion rising in my chest. Was anything Mateo said true? His eyes give nothing away. “I think I prefer mine to yours.”
Mateo chuckles, swishing the liquid in his glass with a flick of his wrist. “Beautiful women, you mean. A damn fine vice if I say so myself. Though, considering what the rumors say about your union with the lovely Ms. Stepanova here, perhaps our tastes are closer aligned than you think.” He drains his glass and sets it aside, grabbing the untouched serving. Holding it aloft, he slinks forward. “If you won’t have a drink, what about your friend?”
He’s close before I can react. Uninvited, his fingers capture my chin, lifting it. My first impulse is to recoil, but a burst of heat at my back roots me to the spot.
“Don’t touch her.” That voice…
It rings out like a beast’s growl. Mateo’s closed lips warn that it didn’t come from him.
“Relax, Donny,” the man taunts. He runs his thumb along my lip before brutally jabbing the pad between them. I bat him away instinctively—at the same time, my hair rustles, the only warning before another hand latches onto my shoulder.
“Touch her again, and I’ll—”
“No need for the dramatics,” Mateo says, laughing. He withdraws from me, lifting his glass in salute. Slowly, he takes a sip, his eyes glittering without a hint of remorse. “I merely wanted to see the beauty for myself. A Vanici landing a Stepanov. I wonder what she sees in you. I guess she likes living on the edge, what with your history of losing your wives to mysterious circumstances. If danger is what you’re after, my dear, I can more than oblige.”
Donatello says nothing.
Denied the fireworks he seems to be after, Mateo frowns. “I hope this union will be far different than the last, at least. You deserve some happiness. Though hell, from the rumors I’ve heard, I can’t lie. I would have done far worse to my wife—”
“Enough.” The hand on my shoulder withdraws, and I find myself shoved aside as Donatello takes a menacing step forward. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Mateo holds my gaze with a chilling smirk. “It means that your new little fiancée should know exactly what happened to the last—”
“Sir!” A man wearing a black suit races into the salon, approaching Mateo directly. He murmurs something into the man’s ear, and Mateo stiffens, all desire to provoke Donatello seemingly forgotten. “You can’t lose someone on a fucking boat,” he snarls. I don’t miss the way he glances toward the blond man before gritting his teeth. “Find her. Now.” His tone is low enough that I barely hear him.
“Yes, Sir.” The guard retreats just as quickly. The second he’s beyond view, another figure speaks, commanding the focus of the entire room.
“I think it’s time for us to retire to the fresh air, don’t you?” The voice is so startlingly different from Mateo’s rasp or Donatello’s baritone that it takes me a full second to pinpoint where it came from. The blond man. He steps forward, completely unperturbed by the tension in the room. Instead, his focus is on his wristwatch. Looking up, he clears his throat and heads for the exit. “Shall we, gentlemen?”
Mateo and Gregori share another glance. This time I pinpoint what passes between them. Wariness.
“After you,” Mateo says, following the men out.
Donatello’s hand returns to my back, drawing me to his side. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s worried. His jaw is clenched as we trail the other men to the bow of the boat. Even after a few minutes, we’ve drifted further from The Lady Killer, and the ever-present guards remain a visible reminder of the danger.
“A beautiful day,” the blond man remarks, running his hand along the railing. Apparently, he senses none of the unease. In fact, though it’s far removed from the typical expression, I’d define the slight tilt to his mouth as a smile. “A crisp, clear sky. A welcoming breeze. A wonderful greeting to this fair city.”
Mateo clears his throat nervously. “It’s good you’ve found everything
