Page 42 of Last Shot

‘Well, I’ll sort of prioritise it then.’

Grey shook his head. He was about to protest and maybe even get Luca to chime in to assist when the message tone he saved for Jett buzzed from the rocks behind him. Having been more strategic than Max with the placement of his belongings, he grabbed his phone with ease but it took three attempts to unlock the screen with his damp, wrinkly fingers.

‘Fuck.’

‘Please don’t swear in the hot spring.’

‘Shut up. Hand me that towel, will you, Frank?’

‘What’s wrong?’ He barely heard Max over the rushing in his ears and Tomaso’s protests at being spoken to that way in hisown hot spring.

The towel Frankie had thrown at him tight around his waist, Grey clambered over the rocks and speed-dialled number 1.

‘It’s lunchtime, Greyson.’ Giovanni spoke as though Grey had thrown a rock through his bedroom window.

‘I know, signore. I wouldn’t disturb you if it wasn’t important.’

‘What is it?’

‘Poppy Raven’s dead.’

13

Max

Grey made them meet in the cellar. It was the only place, he said, that was soundproof and where they wouldn’t be disturbed by any of the workers.

Turns out it was more than just soundproof. Max lost count of the security measures: passcode, retinal scanner, fingerprint reader. Were they storing wine down here or creating a new Marvel villain?

For a cellar the ceiling was high, but the temperature dropped a few degrees as she descended the wooden steps after Grey. Barrels lined the rough stone walls and the hanging lanterns cast dark shadows across the echoey tiled floor. A portrait hung between two full cases of red wine, and a scowling dark-haired man with a handlebar moustache watched her take in what seemed to be the inside of the beating heart of his dynasty.

Emilio Barbarani, she guessed. ‘What does it say,’ she hissed at Grey, ‘under the portrait?’

‘Il segreto è nel vino: The secret is in the wine.’

‘Cryptic.’ She shivered involuntarily as Emilio’s descendants started down the stairs.

As they filed in, Max studied each of the Barbaranis. Tomaso’s and Grey’s hair was still damp at the nape of their necks. Grey had done his best to get out of the pool without Max’s perverted eyes seeing anything before he wrapped himself in Frankie’s towel. He hadn’t completely made it. It was a testament to how long it had been since she’d had sex that she was having inappropriate thoughts about the Barbaranis’ Fixer when she was supposed to be focused on getting her job back. But it wasn’t her fault – the man was ridiculous. It looked like he’d never even smelled a carbohydrate.

The absence of Jackie gouged at her. This was the kind of thing they’d talk about for hours. On the phone when they were younger, and then online, separate chats for separate conversations, often at the same time. Max knew exactly what Jackie would have said in her crude, grammatically ignorant messages and what meme she’d attach:

Fuck him with a paper bag over his head then u don’t hav 2 think about his personality. Does he hav nices eyes tho? Cut out holes 4 his eyes.

The meme would be a still from theLonely Islandmusic video to ‘I Just Had Sex’ with the caption ‘Still counts!’

Focus, Conrad. For Christ’s sake. Someone’s dead.

But are they connected to the gala murder?

Was it a coincidence that the Barbaranis’ famous wine had been compromised days before their most important event of the year?

‘What do you know, Greyson?’ growled a gravelly voice from the top of the stairs.

Max immediately knew she was about to come face to face with the head honcho. The big fish. The Pablo Escobar of Western Australia.

But as the squat form of Giovanni Barbarani bobbed down the stairs behind a slight, straight-haired woman in a lilac dress (presumably his wife, Vittoria), Max felt like she’d ordered a main meal and got the entrée instead. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but from the way Grey talked about him, she’d at least thought he’d be taller.

Giovanni spotted her instantly. ‘Who is that?’ He jabbed a finger at her.

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