Page 7 of Capuleto

"Then I want to talk to the damn director," I replied harshly. She jumped at my aggressive tone.

"Mr. Oikonomou is not here..." I didn't even let her finish. I slammed my hand down, causing her to let out a frightened yelp.

"Then make sure he is found, because if not, it might be you who doesn't make it home tonight if you don't get me to speak with him." She looked at me, very frightened, and then glanced over at the flowered woman, who had put a hand to her chest. "My wife has disappeared in your hotel, and I want to know who took her." Her expression filled with anxiety.

"Disappeared? Have you checked the bar? Maybe she's on the terrace."

"You'll be flying off the terrace if you don't tell me where your boss is."

At the threat, the flowered woman pulled out her phone and said she was going to call the police. I turned my head toward her.

"Do it, and the next flowers you wear won't be on your dress but at your funeral."

As I was shouting, the door behind the reception opened. A tall man with a stern expression looked at me.

"What's going on? What's all this commotion?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Oikonomou, this man says his wife is missing, he wants to see the cameras and speak with you. I told him I couldn't help him, but..."

"Don't worry, I'll handle it," the man said dismissively.

We both entered the office, and he made me recount what had happened.

The first thing he suggested was that we call the police as soon as I mentioned the gunshot and the bloodstains.

I demanded to see the footage before notifying anyone.

The cameras were working, but he hesitated because of the damn Data Protection Law.

"I couldn't care less about that law. My patience is running thin," I shouted, slamming my fist down with a dull thud that made the glass table tremble. His Adam's apple bobbed in fear.

"Calm down, Mr. Capuleto!"

"Calm down?! I'm telling you the villa is flooded, there's blood, a bullet, and my wife is missing, and you ask me to calm down?"

The man, who looked to be around fifty and had a wide range of incidents under his belt, tried to show empathy.

"I understand your state."

"You don't understand a damn thing! What would you do if it were your wife? Wouldn't you be going crazy trying to find out who the hell took her?"

The director watched me thoughtfully, then moved his hands to the computer mouse.

"I would ask you not to mention to anyone that I let you see the video."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to post it on social media or make a banner if that's what concerns you." He nodded slightly.

"Very well."

He entered the security system with a few clicks. He asked what time Nikita had returned to the villa to narrow down the timeframe, and once he found her image, he turned the screen so we could both watch what had happened.

We saw her enter, and then the hallway was empty. He fast-forwarded until half an hour later, when a woman in a hotel uniform appeared, pushing a cart with an ice bucket.

"It has to be her, the one who left the Moët in the room. Do you recognize her?" I asked hopefully.

"No, I'm sorry."

"And do you know all the staff that work here?" Directors often weren't involved in many hires.

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