Page 72 of One Secret

Rocco throws a hand out at me.

'But he—'

'Shut up!'

The room is eerily silent as Rocco lowers himself back into his chair. Lana has watched the little episode with a mask of boredom on her face. As if being surrounded by short fuses soaked in testosterone has long since lost its appeal. But there's also a quiet twinkle in her eye. One that she lays my way and then at Darcy. A hint of approval that we're messing with the status quo...

At Rocco's outburst, I turn knowing eyes on Felix: I rest my case, I tell him silently. A shadow of a grimace passes over his features. He exhales.

'As you can see, Mr. Alesi, my men have minds of their own,' Felix concedes. Like a true master, however, he loses the battle to redirect the war in his favor: 'Which is why I think it safer for all parties that we assess their overall tone at my annual festivities this Friday. This is my second condition.'

Friday. Two days away.

And we'd been planning to fly home tomorrow.

My stomach clenches and I search for an out.

'I thought we agreed that only a select few'—I glance around the table—'would know who I am and why I am here? I do not like my face being known to too many.'

Especially given that my identity is already being whispered around Felix's underlings. Hector Ramirez, for example.

'And it shall stay that way.' Felix vows an already-broken promise. 'I'll be announcing my consideration for taking on "The Ghost" as our latest wet worker but no one need know your face goes with the name.'

'Then my presence isn't needed at this party of yours,' I point out.

'Not at all,' Felix grins, neatly side-stepping my objection. 'But you will need to be here to sign contracts. Which I am not willing to do until after I have read the room at my event.'

I frown. My displeasure has Rocco grinning smugly. Vincent Omar continues to watch the debate back and forth, thin swirls of smoke passing over his features. His cigarillo is tainting the air with the scent of dark cinnamon.

I notice Darcy rubbing at her nose and exhaling heavily through her mouth.

Entrapping her—entrapping us both—on Felix Caruso's private island for another forty-eight hours is not a prospect that appeals.

'Contracts can be mailed.' I argue.

'Not by me.' Felix's conviction is hard as granite. 'I do my business in person, Mr. Alesi. I find it harder for men to stab me in the back if I'm staring them down face-to-face.'

'You have that issue a lot?' I quip, stalling for time.

'We all do.' Felix's gaze flashes dangerously. 'Would you truly be fulfilling your professional obligations if you didn't have a line of men waiting to take you out?'

I work my back molars. He has me there.

'Now, it seems foolish, does it not, to fly home and back again only a few days later?' Felix takes up his wine glass, returning to his jovial mask of hospitality. 'I insist you stay and continue to enjoy the island.'

I'm tempted to say no. Or to at least blurt a string of expletives and suggestions for what he could do with his contracts... all of which would amount to a "no".

The idea of taking Darcy back to Rome as soon as possible and returning alone is hugely tempting. The longer we're here, after all, the worse I'm on edge and anxious over her safety.

But if I don't take her back to Rome... I get to keep her. I delay her moving on for just a few more days.

God, I'm pathetic. Like an addict who knows he's going to be dragged to rehab. Who's hankering for a final fix whilst he can. No matter the danger and damage it risks to those around him.

Darcy nudges me in the side, her eyes wide and eyebrows stretched high in appeal.

I read her loud and clear but so does Felix.

'Are you not enjoying your time at Caruso Chrysoú, Miss Calabrese?' he asks. One of his fingertips is tapping against the side of his wine glass. The tick betrays his easy-going charm for the fake veneer it is. It hints at the dangerous offense lurking beneath.

---