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Anissa
I linger a few feet from the sheer curtain, my pulse heavy in my throat as I wait for war to break out beside the pool.
I should be searching for a weapon. A phone. An escape plan.
Instead, I’m transfixed by the ferocity on display.
I’ve never seen Cole this way. He’s out of control. Spiraling, just like Luca said.
But it’s more than that.
The volatility presents like vulnerability. It’s raw. Brutal and honest. And God, I wish I wasn’t bearing witness, because now I’m finally begi
Cole plans to kill his father. And I’m here to watch the bloodbath.
He takes another step, the two men toe to toe. “Get out of my face. And stay out of my fucking head.”
Luca stares down his boss. “I’m trying to help.”
My ribs grow tight, my unease narrowing on the possibility of Cole desperately wanting a way out. Is he trapped in this situation? Has he made me a victim because he’s one as well?
I glare, despising the tiny flicker of empathy working its way into my bloodstream. These men aren’t entitled to anything other than my dedication to bring them to justice. They deserve four cement walls and a lengthy sentence, not my contemplation of their hardships.
“Help by doing your fucking job. Be prepared for when my father arrives. That’s all you’re here for.”
Cole maneuvers around Luca, clipping his shoulder as he stalks toward the house. Toward me.
Shit.
I turn and run, fleeing the living area on the tips of my toes to race down the hall and into my room. I inch the door closed with exquisite patience, the handle making the tiniest click as it latches.
I shudder out a relieved breath, only to question my response seconds later.
Why am I hiding? I’m not scared of Cole. And now is the perfect time to poke him for more information. To push him toward the edge of honesty.
But I guess honesty isn’t a necessity. Not when getting out of here is far more important.
I sigh and lean back against the door as the loud boom, boom, boom of his footfalls approach. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even pause. Those pounding steps continue down the hall until a door slams, the loud crack of noise plunging the house into silence.
I should be happy he’s unravelling. If he’s losing control it means he’s more likely to make a mistake. And mistakes will allow me to gain the upper-hand.
The tailspin is great news. If only his volatility didn’t u
There was desperation in his eyes. A sense of him being cornered prey. Did he know I was watching? Is this yet another layer to his sophisticated plot?
My stomach twists, and this time it has nothing to do with rabid hunger. I can’t figure out his motives. And without understanding, I’m lost.
The only option I can think of is to convince him I’m on his side. I don’t know how else to approach this. Not when he sees me as an antagonist instead of a victim.
Taking on his warped sense of reality may be the key. I’m never going to change his corrupt foundations. But I can learn to understand them in an attempt to use it against him.
The door slams again and I hold my breath, waiting as those thunderous footsteps storm back down the hall in the opposite direction before I slide to the floor in a heap.
The silence returns.
I don’t hear another sound apart from the heavy beat of my heart for what feels like an hour. There’s no clock in here. I don’t have any association with time apart from knowing mine is ru
I need to work on a plan—to manipulate Cole, to get away from Luca, to escape this fucking island. But none of my thoughts have substance. Everything returns to Cole’s anger. Its severity. His uncharacteristic show of emotion.
If the display was real, I want to know whether it’s an everyday occurrence for those close to him, or something entirely out of the ordinary. Is this situation tearing him apart? Was the dominant display an outlet for the pain he’s hiding?
“You’re a fucking idiot.” I bang my head gently against the door, hoping the soft brain massage will kick me out of my stupidity.
It doesn’t.
I can’t stop seeing him when I close my eyes. I even shove to my feet, stalk to the bed, and slump onto the mattress in the hopes a new position will bring a new outlook, but that doesn’t work either.
I curl into the fetal position as I scrutinize Cole’s face in my mind, when a gentle knock at the door sends me snapping upright.
I’m not ready to speak to him.
I don’t know how to play his game yet, let alone win. And I sure as hell don’t know how to stop clinging to the hope that he’s just as vulnerable as I am.
“Anissa?” The knock raps again.
It isn’t Cole, and I’m even less interested in talking to the man who stood by while a maniacal old Greek mocked me.
“Yes?” I slide my legs off the bed and sit up straight.
The handle clicks, the door opening slightly.
Luca’s stern face comes into view. “You need to eat. I’ve made sandwiches.”
I hold back a response, not succumbing to the ravenous way my insides tingle at the offer.
He left me on the pier yesterday. Alone. With a man filled with giddy excitement at the thought of blowing my brains out.
For reasons that don’t hold a wealth of rationality, I find Luca’s actions more despicable than Cole’s. I’m well aware my prejudice doesn’t make sense. And regardless of my own insight, I can’t change my perception.
Cole has antagonized me for weeks. He’s torn my life apart and sabotaged my career. But I’m not scared of him.
In contrast, Luca frightens me. He’s an unknown entity. A threat.
“I’m not going to hold your hand.” His expression hardens. “If you want them, they’re in the kitchen. If not, it makes no difference to me.”
He snaps the door shut, the noise reverberating around the room. I stare, dumbfounded, as I wonder if the sandwiches are meant as a peace offering.
Am I supposed to be grateful? Does he expect me to fall to my knees in thanks?
I scoff, mind-blown at his audacity, while I contemplate whether or not to play nice. Not only do I desperately crave food, I need answers, too, and Luca may be able to give me both. He’s as deep in this mess as Cole. I won’t leave either of them off a criminal report. So if he’s just as likely to fry for his actions, but less invested in the family betrayal, maybe he’s a better target for my questions.
I walk across the room and pull open the door to an empty hall. “Luca?”
“Kitchen.”
I make my way into the open living area and find him leaning over the island counter eating one of those highly anticipated peace-offering sandwiches.
God, they look good.
All I can see is white bread, but damn, they’re like clouds of heaven as he wraps his lips around them and takes a bite.
I inch toward him, moving to the opposite side of the island counter.
“Help yourself.” He slides a clean plate toward me and I willingly take it, offering a look of civility in thanks. “I’ll make more if necessary.”
Next, he pushes over the tray of stacked sandwiches with a mass of the same type of filling—lettuce, tomato, carrot.
“Ham salad,” he offers. “That’s as good as it gets when I’m left in charge of meal prep.”
I nod, letting his kindness sink in. “I’m not fussy. But I am starving.” My mouth salivates as I grab one of the sandwich halves.