Page 46 of Isle of Beauty

Julian is quick to introduce me as his brother, forever the smooth talker and peace keeper. An air of responsibility hangs around him though. He’s taking this seriously. This centre is not just Lana’s baby, it’s his too. Maybe with them at the helm of the organisation, they’ll step into legality for good.

We walk toward the fourth door and the keycard opens it with a soft click. As we step into a white long corridor with only one door at the end of it, I immediately regret my thoughts.

Once a criminal, always a criminal.

I know what waits for me behind that door.

We enter a neat and clean workspace, well ventilated and arranged. Each section doesn't come in contact with the other more than necessary.

Three people work at a chemist table in the first section, separated from the next by a large window with an automated door, where three other people prepare small packages of the little pills with a Y embedded on them. In the final section, two more people pack the orders away into a storage room that has an access door to a dock at the back of the facility.

It’s as organised and secretive as I expected but more professional than I anticipated, with high tech machines taking most of the room and making the mixture into pills in a record time.

“Don’t touch anything,” Julian demands as he puts a sterile mask over his mouth and nose and hands me one.

Nausea and self-hatred swell in my guts at the speed of production and my hypocrisy. My father and Pietro Moretti might have developed the drug, but the lab, the operations, the vastness and complete control of it? It has Lana written all over it.

And yet, it’s not disgust I feel at her genius. I want to hate her but I can’t. I want to punish her for putting this shit on the market, sure. But mostly, for making me see the potential for it, for recognising and approving of her strategy, and for making me want her even more for her smart mind than I do her sharp tongue and gorgeous body.

Julian is in deep conversation with one of the chemists when I hear a commotion coming from the storage room where one of the two employees disappeared a few minutes ago. The second person turns toward the noise with a distraught look and gets to the storage room.

The automatic doors expand then close behind me in a soft woosh, muting the sound of Julian’s conversation. I reach the last portion of the lab and hear grunts and the unmistakable sound of flesh on flesh. I burst into action, running past the desk into the room to see two men assaulting our workers and one carrying a box of Y out the back door.

I don’t think, instinct takes over.

I jump onto the man closer to me. He’s built like a fucking mountain, but I have the element of surprise on my side. I hold him in a chokehold that puts him to sleep in a few seconds. A nice trick Julian showed me earlier this week.

These men are here to steal from my wife. They’re threatening her.

I’m a rabid dog, ready to protect what’s mine. I see red and run to the second man, tackling him to the ground. He lands on his back, his breath cut short with the impact. Taking advantage, I straddle him and start punching as hard as I can. The crunch of his nose under my knuckles and the blood spurting out abate the lust for violence only marginally. It feels so fucking good to channel my rage into my fists.

He struggles and pushes his hips up to dislodge me, punching my sides but I can’t feel it. My hands start to tingle and a manic laugh escapes me, the guy’s eyes widening in horror. I land a last right hook and the thief passes out just as I hear Julian yells for the door.

The last assailant is halfway across the street, running to a black sedan without a plate, a box of Y under his arm. Julian has his gun out but I’m in front of him; he can’t shoot from where he stands.

I wish my morals would wake the fuck up. Why do I care if someone steals drugs from a family of criminals? But I do. If Y gets out and into the wrong hands, it’s gonna get worse. That’s what I tell myself as I pull out the glock Alessio gave me on my first night on Kalliste, that I promised I’d never use, and shoot.

The goon goes down, hit in the left leg.

My morals may be shifting but I’m not a murderer.

Yet.

Julian jumps to the street, one of our men following behind. They drag the injured man into the lab. Without pause, he brings the butt of his gun to the back of his head, rendering him unconscious and limp on the storage room floor.

“I need you at Sant Armellu Centre. With the cleaning crew.” Julian states into his phone, his voice hard and unyielding. His dark eyes promise retribution and pain. I have no clue who he called. I haven’t been introduced to their enforcer yet. Even though I know everyone chips in when the dirty work is concerned, I also know Julian’s not the man for the job. He’s pissed, annoyed that someone dared to come in and steal from us in daylight, and potentially hurt the people in the medical centre. He might even participate in causing pain but torture isn’t his style. He’s all about mind games, not brute force.

“Come on, fratellu, we’ll go to the other lab in Monte Cinto City. It’s bigger.”

“Aren't you going to take care of them?” Before I even finish my sentence, Igor walks in. I frown; I thought he always shadowed Lana.

“We’re not needed.”

I know what’s about to happen to the men strapped down to the chairs and already bleeding on the concrete floor.

I wait for the disgust to wash over me. Nothing. I wait for the hate to choke me and invade my system. Nothing.

Or rather, a whisper of a thought. They had it coming.

---