Page 45 of Isle of Beauty

Knowing that Lana is involved with all that shit leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Ever since I came back, I can’t get her out of my head. Who am I kidding, ever since London, I can’t get her out of my head. I thought she was bull-headed even then but I’m seeing the proof of her dedication to her Empire in every move she makes.

After training two to three hours every morning, earlier than me and mostly in combat and strength building, she goes to meet in person with the dancers and managers at the clubs she owns. That’s her front. Julian and Alessio own properties but she is Kalliste’s nightlife, where all dreams and fantasies come true.

Her afternoons are dedicated to meeting with all departments of the Moretti business, reviewing budgets, approving mergers and acquisitions, overseeing daily operations and well-being of her “firm”. Sometimes meeting politicians or journalists. She isn’t shy with her image, the beloved prodigal daughter of the island who studied abroad and came back to make sure the territory flourishes. It’s as boring as leading Pierce Security Company, but she does it with more flair and passion than I could ever muster.

If I didn’t know she deals in drugs, I’d never guess.

The Moretti-Bartoli empires rest upon the shoulders of a brilliant woman who walks into rooms like she owns them all, which she does, and talks like no one can refuse her anything. No one does. She’s charming with those she wants something from, and stern when decisions are taking too long or conversations don’t go her way.

Her viciousness in business gets me hard as fuck everytime I’m close enough to witness it. She’s a force to be reckoned with, and the need to be around her doesn’t abate. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t mince her words, she goes for what she wants. She’s my fucking mirror, and I hate her for it with every breath I take.

“Fratellu,” Julian approaches me, his hand landing on my shoulder, drawing a half smile from me. He’s like a chaotic puppy, loyal and driven but impulsive and prone to fits of anger. He’s in a particularly bright mood today. “Dad wants me to show you our lab today.”

Years of disguising my emotions barely help me contain my excitement at finally seeing the heart of the beast. I need as much information from the inside if I am to deliver Alessio to Interpol on a silver platter.

“Is Alana coming along?” I ask before I can think better on it.

The cocky smile on Julian’s face tells me that I’m fucking transparent with my need for her, but before he can answer, the devil herself does it for him. “I’m not going to babysit you everywhere you go, Pierce.”

“I wouldn’t want you to forget your duty as my mentor, wife.”

Her eyes light up with ire and I smirk. I revel in getting a rise out of her. Any lashing from her wicked mouth is better than the nothingness of the past three years.

“I’m not your wife, pinzutu.” She comes to stand right in front of me, her breasts almost to my chest. Even with a foot shorter than I am, she manages to look down her nose at me. “And you better remember what happened to my first husband before you fuck with me. Don’t push your luck, Pierce. I have better things to do today than train your sorry ass of a wannabe mafioso. Julian will take over. I’ll see you at dinner. Unfortunately.”

She adds the last word under her breath but the dark edges of her eyes and the change in her breathing tells a different story. She remembers what I can do to her, what she craves even if she hides it behind venom.

Tonight, instead of family dinner, we’re having a gathering with the elite of Kalliste. The crowd will be made of journalists, senators and policy makers, a few business owners more or less connected to the Moretti-Bartoli, and the upper level of the organisation. We have an announcement to make, and I can’t wait to show everyone who Alana Moretti belongs to.

On our way to the lab, Julian explains what Y is and how it’s made. Up until this point, I knew what everyone else did: a drug so revolutionary it’s as effective as any other recreational drug on the market but not as addictive and no death through overdose has ever been recorded for the drug. The addictive effect it has on people actually comes from how well they tolerate it, not the chemicals themselves.

No one else has been able to reproduce it anywhere else in the world. And it’s driving a new kind of tourism to Kalliste and The Baleares, where it’s distributed, that authorities aren’t a fan of.

It might not be deadly, but it’s still illegal, and hasn’t been tested in sanctioned facilities. It’s still a product that you can’t control and properly tax to benefit the government. And it’s still purchased by people of all fringes of society who want to attain an altered state of mind and escape their lives. Even without the tolerance build up and potential addiction it can cause, people pay shit ton of money to access it and I’m ready to bet my company some would kill to get a piece of that cake.

I won’t lie to myself, my motives for shutting it down are selfish. I’m not delusional about who I am. I’m not a hero. Revenge and lust are the only intentions I have.

When we get out of the car, I’m confused as to why we’re here. We’re just on the outskirts of Sant Armellu, in a residential area save for a small convenience shop and the Private Medical Centre we parked in front of. The streets are clean, with rows after rows of beige facade houses with empty front yards waiting for the family cars to line up there at the end of the day.

It’s the middle of the afternoon so it’s quiet, without a soul in sight.

I raise an eyebrow at Julian who just gives me a knowing grin. He walks to the Medical Centre and invites me in with a tilt of his chin. Hiding in plain sight, of fucking course. I curse myself for being as gullible as the suburban families living here.

Inside, white PVC floors and white walls with accented colourful shapes makes me feel like I just stepped into a private clinic of some sort. There’s a welcome desk to our left, a lobby with a coral sofa and matching seats, and on our right, a stand with a Nespresso coffee machine. At the back, three smoked-glass doors seem to lead to actual medical consulting rooms. A woman in her sixties in a white blouse is currently guiding another younger one inside.

Where the fuck are we?

Julian remains silent next to me, watching me taking it all in. After a long moment, he finally takes me out of my misery. “This Medical Centre is Lana’s pride and joy. It provides care to the women and non-binary workers we have at the clubs around Kalliste.”

“Why would you need a special centre for that? Can’t you pay better healthcare for your staff?”

I’m aggravated that every step I take into this “training”, and I use that term loosely, I feel more pride for the work Lana, and therefore the entire organisation, is doing. Each day, my respect grows and chips away at the iron wall I built around my heart to do what’s necessary.

Julian isn’t remotely bothered by my surly tone. “Why pay for better healthcare when we can build it for them? Besides, some of these people have survived horrors you would not even imagine.” He continues, more serious, “At this centre, we guarantee that they receive the proper care they need, and have the best doctors to help them through whatever happened to them, physically and mentally.”

I contemplate his words, conjuring up worst-case scenarios of human trafficking and vile slavery trades. Our eyes collide and he simply nods, confirming what I already guessed. I’m glad this centre exists. I’m glad Lana and Julian use their dirty money to help a community of people who needs it.

I look at him again. Really look this time. He’s in his element here. His shoulders are relaxed, his chest open in pride and joy. The receptionist and doctors greet him with a smile and even the few patients seem at ease around him. That quickly changes when they see me. I don’t hold it against them, I’m a stranger and I’m sure I look like I ate sour fruit.

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