Page 93 of Last Shot

Max didn’t go back to the cottage after Nella was done with her. She’d missed make-up and having her hair done and looking like an actual human being. Frankie had left after a shouting match because of an eyeliner brand Nella owned that used to test on animals. Sisterly love.

Max figured she looked all right. Nella had seemed satisfied at least, and proclaimed that Max was her best project since decorating Grey’s cottage. The dress was tight but not constrictive, and Max had been right – a sharp kitchen knife fit snugly against her thigh. Nella had contemplated putting Max’s hair up but after several failed attempts she’d conceded and said it looked ‘acceptable’ down.

As they made their way through the halls of the mansion, Max caught glimpses of herself in the reflective surfaces of the Barbarani house and she was shocked to see that Nella’s make-up abilities were far less controversial than her clothing choices. She looked pretty good.

Nella led her to the ballroom. They passed one of Grey’s security guards, who glared down at them in a way that made Max relax. Frankie, Tomaso and Vittoria were already there, along with a group of seven men and women in suits and dresses, lots of piercings and multi-coloured hair – including Quinton. Max recognised some of the others from Frankie’s videos. Tomaso was glaring at the group like they were treading dog poo through the regal ballroom. Max thought they seemed friendly – even Vittoria was laughing with one of the purple-haired ones.

Grey had said this was classic Frankie – if Gio was going to forbid her to leave the gala to run back to her ‘hippie commune’, she’d bring the commune here. But Tomaso had also clearly deemed some non-Barbarani humans eligible for an invitation. The group surrounding him were almost all wearing an elegantly draped scarf and had seemingly coordinated their outfits to fit the same ‘librarian-detective’ vibe. Tom and his friends were turned away from the rest of the group, surveying a floor-to-ceiling wine cabinet that spanned the entire western wall. Max had a feeling it wasn’t built for browsing – it was a display of dominance: a deer head on a wall, an armoury.

As she took in the Barbarani children and their friends, Max’s mind went back to Vittoria’s odd phrasing yesterday:Giovanni’s children.

She watched Vittoria sip from her wineglass, wishing she could find some loophole to lock up the woman under suspected terrorist charges and use any means necessary to get her to talk. But something told Max that Vittoria Barbarani was not the kind of woman who would give in to torture.

Also, she wasn’t a cop anymore.

For now.

She took a breath as she took in the room.Enormouswasn’t the right word. Gargantuan, perhaps. The ceiling appeared to be made of glittering gold and silver jewels from diamond chandeliers and white columns ran from ceiling to floor like stalagmites, giving the impression they were in a large, underground cave. Portraits of all the Barbaranis adorned the gold walls. In the centre, above the staircase already lined with black-suited security and below an ironed Italian flag, was an almost identical portrait to the one in the underground cellar: a short, dark-haired man with a stern face and cold eyes. Emilio Barbarani, creator of the ‘blood wine’. Bits of Giovanni were there, as well as Tomaso, but there was something else that Max couldn’t put her finger on.

‘“Security”, hey?’ Jett sidled up beside her. He looked impeccable in a fitted black suit and tie, his scar stark against his clean-shaven face. Max was again trying to resist the urge to ask where he’d gotten it when another thought occurred to her.

Jett was the only security personnel Grey trusted to be with the Barbaranis when his own back was turned; he was the only one left out of the vetting process. What did it take to become someone the ever-suspicious, eternally sceptical Greyson Hawke trusted so completely?

She smiled at him. ‘Grey wanted me to blend in. In case someone decides to take out the security first. We agreed I’m best on the ground, in disguise.’

‘Uh huh.’ Jett looked her up and down. ‘That’s why.’

‘What are you ...’ she started but clamped her jaw when Grey walked in, Giovanni and Luca either side of him. The Barbaranis looked like they were in a James Bond movie – each in a tailored black Armani suit and slick, gelled hair. Grey looked like ...

He looked like ...

Max’s mind had melted. She was so far gone, down a well, nothing but a shadow and an echo of who she used to be. Jesus, she was actually losing it. How was she going to stop a killer when her mind was playing out a very intricate scene of Grey pushing her up against that pillar by Giovanni’s left elbow and ...

‘Cat caught your tongue, Conrad?’ Jett smirked.

‘I’m just—’

‘Drooling?’

Fuck it. She probably was. Grey was an arsehole, an absolute arsehole who took what he wanted all for the ‘greater good’ of the Barbarani name, and he’d left her completely unsatisfied in that bed in Perth and made her feel like a desperate husk of a thing that he kept around because she was more trouble out of his sight than in it, like a dog he didn’t have the heart to put down. But she couldn’t deny what he did to her and probably every human person within a fifty-mile radius in that suit. It was tailored just as sharply as the Barbaranis’ and as black as her hair. He’d showered – as he came closer, she could see the edges at the nape of his neck were slightly damp and he’d ...

‘What did you do?’

Too late – she’d said it out loud. Thankfully, only he heard – the others were being briefed by Jett.

‘What do you mean?’ That Christmas wrapping smell was stronger – enhanced by a cherry, musky cologne she wanted to overdose on.

‘You ...’ She couldn’t help the illicit hand she reached up. Gently as she dared, in the split second she had while all the Barbaranis and their friends were distracted by Jett, she brushed the smooth surface of his jaw where that rough, erotic stubble had been just hours before. ‘Shaved,’ she finished pathetically, dropping her arm.

‘You don’t like it?’ His voice was unsheathed. Vulnerable.

‘I ...’ Her fingers twitched, wanting to touch him again.You pathetic fool. ‘I like the stubble. This suits you too though.’ Her voice was meek, a watered-down version of itself.

Something shifted in Grey’s eyes – storm clouds over a sun, tide over rocks. What she’d give to turn on the subtitles to his thoughts.

‘Doesn’t she look gorgeous?’ Nella’s voice shattered the moment. Max wanted to stab her with the shards. But the Barbarani woman looped her arm through Grey’s and grinned at Max like they were both in on a secret.

Grey turned his full attention to Nella, but when she prompted him again, pointing at Max, he glanced back quickly and shrugged one shoulder.

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