The people of Brazil could look in—and see how the king reigned in his glorious mansion.
And River could see—he could clearly see. The windows opened to the elegant living room, which seemed to be filled with fine plush chairs and sofas and antique shelves and tables and a sumptuous chandelier.
All seemed to glisten in the myriad crystal light of that chandelier.
There were windows in the back of the living room as well. The room was lit up—but so was the patio and the charming pool and grotto beyond.
Tio Amato had to have arranged it all so that even the back could be seen from the street. Passersby might look in on his shimmering parties. They might see the beautiful people who lived there, or played at the pool or by the grotto.
Now it was quiet, though.
Through the windows, River could see that Grecian urns sat amid flower beds behind the crystal waters of the pool; tables and lounge chairs were set on a tiled porch that led to the pool, all of it enviable—all of it like a fantasy, especially as seen through the windows.
Standing there with Convict obediently seated at his side, River viewed it all.
He didn’t envy Tio Amato a thing.
The house was ostentatious, and it wasn’t something that mattered in the least. It was a showplace—because Tio Amato felt that he had to prove himself to the world.
River thought that the man was such a fool, because he himself knew what was important. River didn’t care about the mansion or the property or the flowers and silver within; he cared about Natal.
Natal was more beautiful than any piece of crystal, more precious than a house or land or any thing that a man might own.
He smiled.
But, of course, Natal could not be owned.
Tio Amato didn’t realize that yet; River was ahead. He knew. Even if Natal didn’t fully know it yet herself. Her words that she would really free herself needed to reach her soul and her will.
And they would.
But while River saw Tio Amato—sitting in his great plush reading chair, the day’s newspaper in his hand—he didn’t see Natal.
Amato was wearing an elegant crimson silk smoking jacket—how apropos. He was indulging in a large cigar and a snifter of brandy as he read. His feet rested upon a pillow on a footstool before him.
River must have stood there—just watching and waiting—for an hour. But Natal didn’t appear. She was asleep, he thought. She was asleep—and avoiding Amato because she didn’t want to be with him.
In his heart and prayers, River knew, she wanted to be with him.
At last, he left his vigil at the house, his heart heavy.
“I couldn’t see her,” he said, looking down at Convict. The dog perked up at River’s voice, tail wagging.
And what had he expected? For Natal to leave the house and fly toward him with open arms? She had a home and a job. She had a life outside of her relationship with River. And she’d told him not to come.
River remembered the way she’d fled from him that morning, without looking back.
Maybe he should have listened.
CHAPTER 13
But as they walked down the street away from the house, River paused and turned. He’d heard a car he’d paid no attention to at first.
Now, he did.
A large black limousine came out from the property.
He couldn’t help but wonder if the car was following him.
The windows were tinted; he couldn’t see within.
The car shot by him, and he told himself to relax. No doubt one of Tio Amato’s paid men was leaving the estate on some errand. The drug lord was not having him followed.
Tio Amato didn’t know that he existed.
“It’s all in my head, huh, Convict? The man doesn’t know I covet the woman living with him.”
Convict barked.
He was halfway back to the road out to Beluga’s, back to where he could try to hitch a ride for himself and Convict, when he noted the public bathrooms at the rest station off the main highway. He figured he’d make a quick stop—he might or might not get a ride and it would be a long walk.
“Convict, you’re going to have to spare me a minute. It’s not as easy for me as it is for you.”
He tied the dog to a bike post by the men’s bathroom and went in.
He was washing his hands when Convict started to bark. Glancing up in the mirror, he saw that another man was entering the restroom. He was about to apologize to the newcomer for the dog barking when the words froze in his throat.
He knew the man.
He was suddenly certain that this guy had been driving the black limo that had left Tio Amato’s house.
It was the man he had seen at the race track; the same man who had given Theo so much trouble.
He started to turn but the man was fast. Before River knew it, the man was at his back—and his knife was at River’s throat.
“Is the money all in the backpack?” the stranger asked, his English heavily accented.
“The money?” River repeated.
“Yeah, the money!”
“You’re after my money?”
“All of it, rich boy. All of it. And if I don’t get it the easy way, I will kill you. I’ll drag your body out and dump it and no one will even notice for days that you’re gone. You’re nothing but a drifter, drifting here and there … and when you drift into a shallow grave, no one will know.”
River was stunned. He’d been so certain that everything in life had to do with Natal—and through Natal, Tio Amato, and through Tio Amato, this man.
“You work for Tio Amato,” he said. “You don’t need money.”
“That kind of money you have—I saw you at the track. Yes, I need that kind of money. Stupid—this is our place; this is my turn. Give it to me.”
River could see the man’s twisted reflection in the mirror. The waves created by the dull old glass seemed to emphasize everything that was ugly inside the man: the curl of his lip, the dull blades of his eyes, and the greed within them. He worked for a murderer—for a man so consumed with himself that the lives of others meant nothing to him.
“Now!” the man demanded.
River’s training kicked in. He shifted in a split second, shoving the man against the sink and wall before hurling himself backward.
The fellow grunted in surprise, the breath taken from him, as River sent him crashing back into the far wall. The knife clattered from his hand as he stumbled for balance and to clear his head.
River quickly reached for the knife, stepping back.
“You’re not taking anything of mine,” he said evenly. Hadn’t Tio Amato already taken from him the most precious person possible?
But that wasn’t logical; this man was an extension of Tio Amato. Natal had been with Tio Amato before they had met. This man had nothing to do with his feelings of longing and frustration.
Logic didn’t matter—this man, like his employer, thought that he could take whatever he wanted. He was just as bad.
He wasn’t taking River’s money—or his life.
“Get out of here—now,” River demanded.
But the man let out a bellow like a raging bull. He thrust himself from the wall and came thundering across the few feet that separated them.