Page 26 of Tears Like Acid

“I’ll have the café swept for bugs before we enter.” He adds in a low rumble, “Can’t be too sure with these pigs.”

“Gianni.”

My cousin lifts his head and sits up straighter.

“Make sure we’re not followed.”

“Do you think it’s a trap?” my cousin asks.

“No, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” I ruffle his hair as I walk past him, roughing him up a little like I used to do when we were kids. It’s my way of telling him our tense moment is over, and that we’re good. “Never forget we have many enemies. They’re all watching. Waiting. Biding their time for us to screw up, for a weakness they can exploit. Remember what my father always said. It takes hard work to get to the top, but it takes blood, sweat, and tears to stay there.”

He watches me through the fringe of hair that falls over his eyes. “What’s our weakness?”

I consider that. I want to say nothing, but that will be arrogant, and arrogance is a weakness that can cost a man his life.

“Our strength is our weakness,” I say. “Being at the top of the food chain makes us a dangerous threat for many people.”

“Not Sabella?” he asks.

My body tenses. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The fact that she may be working with the cops,” he says, leaning away from me as if he expects me to backhand him.

Fuck. I do feel like slamming my fist in his face, but he’s right. That is one big ugly fucking weakness. I know what they want. My family wants me to eliminate that risk, to slit her throat and dump her body in the sea. To leave her funeral to the sharks. And I should. If I were wise, I would. But I can’t. Because of what I sacrificed. Because she’s mine.

“You don’t have to worry about her,” I say with something close to a growl. “Not while she’s living in isolation. Is that clear?”

He swallows. “Yes, Angelo.”

“We’ll find out what I want to know, and then it’ll become our strength. Lavigne won’t even see us coming.”

Uncle Enzo walks over and lays a hand on his son’s shoulder before giving a squeeze. The gesture is subtle, but I don’t miss the warning aimed at shutting Gianni up.

For the rest of the trip, I try to work in my cabin, but memories of the night I spent here with Sabella and how I punished her assault me. I don’t know what’s worse—how much I hated her for making me do that to her or that a deviant part of me enjoyed putting marks on her flawless skin. I guess I am the sadist she accused me of being.

I check my phone again for a message from Heidi. Sabella ate her lunch. She spent the morning reading.

I type a reply and hit send. Which book?

Heidi’s answer comes a second later. Recipe books.

I frown. Recipe books? Sabella can’t boil an egg. She always had staff to cook for her. When she lived in the villa in Camps Bay, she bought ready-made meals from an upmarket organic health store. The sudden interest in cooking can only be attributed to the fact that at the new house, she has to prepare her own meals. I make a mental note to employ a cook.

The captain knocks on the door to tell me we’re approaching Marseille. I thank him and put my phone away. Then I get ready, tucking my gun into the back of my waistband before donning my jacket and coat.

Our men wait on the marina. A party of armed guards dressed in casual clothes escort us in cars to the café. The owner cleared out the place. He greets us respectfully.

Not relying on my uncle alone, I call one of my men over and double-check that my instructions were followed. He ensures me the place is free of bugs and that no one followed us.

We take our seats around the table while the owner serves beer. At one minute before the agreed time, Uncle Enzo’s contact walks through the door. He looks jumpy. A sheen of perspiration shines on his forehead, and the armpits of his jacket are dark with sweat.

He comes over with a cocky smile, trying to appear brave.

“Sit,” I say, pointing at the seat opposite me.

He sits. Crosses his legs. Uncrosses them again.

“Drink?” I ask, scrutinizing him.

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