Page 57 of Thorns of Love
“Enrico Marchetti.” Isla’s face turned bright red, her freckles more pronounced than ever and I stared at her in amazement. She knew Enrico Marchetti?
“You know him?”
“Mmm.” She swallowed, keeping her eyes on the screen. “Not really.” Oh, there was something she wasn’t telling me. Something big. Huge… if her blush was anything to go by.
I wouldn’t push it though. She’d tell me when she was ready. I returned my attention to the little group of friends she had. They seemed extremely close. You could tell. A shared glance and it was as if they knew what each one of them was thinking.
“Have you known each other very long?” I questioned her.
“High school and college,” she answered.
“How did you bond?” I couldn’t help the curiosity.
“Murder.” The word seemed to slip past her lips without thinking. She immediately stiffened and I held my breath. Murder per se didn’t shock me. I mean, hello. Look at my brothers. Her gaze met mine. A mischievous smile played on her lips, but it didn’t match the panicked expression in her eyes. “Just joking.”
I didn’t think she was but decided not to push it. Her spine was so tense, it might break in half.
“Do you know where Marchetti lives?” I asked casually, keeping my posture relaxed and my eyes on the phone.
“In Paris, I guess,” she muttered.
“For some reason I guessed Italy,” I remarked. “He has a lot of luxury brands in Italy.”
Isla’s brows furrowed. “Hmm, it could be. Reina mentioned he owns half of Italy, but I assumed she was exaggerating.”
“Any chance you’d be able to find out his address?” If Illias refused to share details, then Marchetti would give me answers.
Isla shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe. It’s not like I’ve been to his place.”
I stifled a snort. It didn’t even cross my mind that she was in his place until she made this comment. Now, I was fairly certain she had been to Marchetti’s place.
“Duh,” I replied, storing this for another day. “Now tell me who the rest of the girls are? And how do you know Enrico Marchetti?” Her cheeks reddened again. Interesting. “He’s only one of the most desirable men in the world,” I remarked. If Isla knew anything about him, I needed her to spill it. The man was responsible for Adrian’s death, and I’d use every piece of information I could get on him.
She chuckled nervously. “Right! Like hello hot daddy, where have you been all my life?”
An awkward heartbeat, then I burst into a fit of giggles. I laughed so hard that my eyes stung with tears. Illias had no fucking idea who his sister was. I bet underneath that innocent face and shimmering emerald gaze, she was a downright freak.
Yes, I definitely liked her.
“You know, I’m happy you’re my sister-in-law,” I noted. “You and I will teach Illias a lesson.” She had no clue how literal I meant that.
She shook her head, smiling. “I have to keep my troublemaking on the down low. I get the sense you set the streets on fire as you drive down them.”
“What an adequate description of me and my family,” I joked. Isla was perceptive, more than her brother gave her credit for. “I’d bet Enrico Marchetti wasn’t far off the crazy mark.”
A heartbeat passed.
“Here. Let me show you who’s who so you know them when you meet my friends,” Isla remarked. The change of subject didn’t escape me, but I’d table Marchetti for now. Certain questions have to be asked delicately.
“Okay, tell me everything about your friends,” I agreed, then added softly. “And about Marchetti.” It was time to dig for information.
She let out a sigh as if she knew I wouldn’t let it go.
“Okay, this is Reina,” she started explaining, pointing to the pretty blonde with wild curly hair. “Her sister is at the piano,” Isla continued. Every so often the view was obstructed by another model wearing Reina’s designs. My eyes followed her finger. The girl with dark brown curly hair played the piano, a serene smile on her face and with a face that was almost identical to her sisters. “Phoenix is incredible at playing the piano. Reina is amazing too, but she loves her fashion more.”
“I thought you said Reina’s sister is deaf,” I remarked curiously.
They all looked to be Isla’s age. About twenty-three or so. Except Reina. She seemed to be younger.
