Page 31 of Isle of Beauty

I step out of my en-suite and start my research on the infamous Alana Moretti.

There isn’t much to find about her. Her team really did an incredible job at hiding her and I despise that I’m appreciative of anything about her. I find a picture and crinkle my nose at it like it offends me. Because it fucking does. It’s dated from a year ago, two years after she disappeared.

She’s wearing a cocktail dress and poses next to a dark-haired older man at what looks like a charity diner. The picture says “Eduardo Garcia and wife Alana Moretti”.

My thoughts spiral and questions seep into every crevice of my brain.

Was she married when we met?

Did she love him?

Why would she marry Julian if she’s already married?

And Who. The. Fuck. Is. Eduardo. Garcia?

Research is much more conclusive when it comes to him. Eduardo Garcia was a prolific Mallorcan businessman who owned a chain of hotels and clubs across the Balearic islands. The latest article I read makes my heart beat faster. “His wife Alana Moretti inherited his seat as CEO of Garcia Hotel Management at his death, at fifty-seven, on July 24th 2023.”

A week ago.

The corners of my lips lift as I notice she didn’t take his name.

I don’t understand a single thing I’m reading. None of it makes sense.

And then I remember the latent sadness filling her eyes when I asked what she intended to do after graduation. She had answered cryptically “plans have been made” as if said plans weren’t made by her and weren’t making her happy.

My heart aches for my smart girl, laughing without restraint, full of life, eating like it was the simplest pleasure life has to offer.

Fuck, she’s not mine. She’s not my anything, and she’s about to marry my brother, for fuck’s sake.

And she fucking betrayed my trust.

And she knows my disgrace of a father. They’re close, my research showing that not only is she the daughter of his associate but also set to become the next leader of the Moretti-Bartoli Kalliste mafia. Out of all her sins, that one is the last straw, the one that makes me see red and brings the anger back to the forefront of my chest.

There’s nothing I hate more than my father.

I already had planned to ruin her. May as well kill two birds with one stone.

I look at the picture again, the only one I found. She’s thinner than I remember, the shine of her hair duller even with her formal attire. Her makeup can’t cover the dark circles under her eyes. Her husband laughs in the picture, a possessive hand on the hip of the unsmiling woman that looks more like an accessory than a lover.

That hold he has on her shouldn’t make my chest tighten.

It’s late when I reach for my phone and dial Julian’s number.

“You realise it’s two am, dickhead?”

Greetings aren’t our forte in the family.

“What did you say about you and Alana marrying? About an alliance?” I ask instead of acknowledging that I woke him up in the middle of the night. To steal his girl, unbeknownst to him.

No, not to steal her. To ruin her.

He groans loudly. “Is it really the time for this interrogation? I thought you didn’t want to hear about our business and you hung up on me so why do you care?”

I can’t tell him the real reason I need to know everything there is about how Alessio Bartoli and Pietro Moretti are linked, and how Alana comes into play.

“I want to know now. And I’m sorry I hung up on you. It took me by surprise and you know I’m not the best at dealing with surprises.”

“Papa and Pietro have been in business together for a long time. They’re already allied but we’re stronger together so as heirs, we’ll marry and form an unbreakable bond. It’s that simple. I know you don’t know shit about the mafia, but that’s how it works in the underworld. We marry for power. Alana and I have been friends all our lives so we’re good with it.”

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