“Sure, baby. Come round whenever you want.”
Twenty minutes later Christian pulled up outside the mansion. He got out of the car, walked up the stone steps, and rang the bell.
“Jesus, you look terrible,” Rosie said. “What happened?”
He didn't say anything until he was sitting down on the sofa in her sitting room. “I feel like shit, and I don't know what to do about it.”
Rosie was Christian's mother. Not his real mother, but the next best thing. She was fifty-five, the widow of one of Fabio's former enemies. She and Christian had met at a party and gotten on so well that they'd talked through the night about a whole range of things, many of them deeply personal. They began to meet and talk. There was never any mention of the having sex. It was purely platonic, just two people who got on.
“Tell me,” she said. She ran a hand through her dyed blond hair and crossed her legs.
“A woman. I feel like shit because of a woman.”
“Have you killed someone?”
“No. Nothing like that. I feel I have betrayed her. It was one of Fabio's jobs. I had to win her trust and kidnap her.”
“Ah. One of those jobs. Tell me, how many people has that asshole kidnapped in his life? It seems to be his stock-in-trade.”
“I don't know.”
“So you led a girl to believe you were a nice guy, had sex with her, and then handed her over to Fabio,” she said.
“You know me so well, Rosie. I often feel I don't have to explain anything to you. I shouldn't have had sex with her. It was a horrible thing to do.”
“Jesus, Christian, it's not like you to have regrets like that.”
“No. That's why I feel like shit. Do you know what I've been dreaming the last few nights?” Rosie shook her head. “Dreams of remorse. I kneel in front of her, naked, and plead with her not to leave me while she mocks me.”
“Wow.” Rosie raised her eyebrows and folded her arms under her considerable breasts.
“What the fuck should I do? “
“You're in love with her.”
“No way. Me? I don't love anybody but myself.” He looked around the room and wondered how many people Rosie's late husband had robbed to get that rich.
“It's true. You are arrogant, self-obsessed, and vain, but take it from me, you love her. What do you feel when you think about her?”
“Like I've let her down. Like she's important to me. But I've screwed women and abused their trust before and never thought twice about it.”
“That just proves it. You care about her.”
Christian stared at the Ming vase on the table in the corner. “I guess so.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I don't know. It's too late. She'll never forgive me whatever I did.”
“Set her free. Tell her it was a huge mistake and that you're sorry. Then tell her you love her and want a chance to date her.”
“Sorry and love are words that don't leave my mouth. Besides, Fabio will kill me if I do that,” he said.
“Then stop being a wuss. Leave her where she is and get on with life.”
“I can't. I want her.”
*****
Fabio stormed into the room and looked at Amy. She was tied to the bed by her arms and ankles.
“Why didn't you tell me?” he growled.
Amy was lying on her back and had to crane her neck to see him. She'd spent the last few hours staring at the ceiling.
“What the hell are you talking about? Let me go. You should be ashamed of yourself. You're a bully. I'm just a young woman who has done nothing to you.”
“Your father doesn't give a shit about you, does he?”
“If you'd spoken nicely to me in the first place, I would have told you that you were wasting your time. My father hasn't bothered with me since I shopped him to the authorities for his lurid behavior with young girls.”
“‘I don't give a shit about her. You can kill her as far as I'm concerned.’ That is what he said to me,” Fabio said.
“So your plan to get him back here won't work. Let me go.”
“No. I'm afraid that won't be possible. If I let you go, you'll tell the cops.”
When Fabio left the room, Amy screamed and tried to break from her shackles, but it was useless.
The kitchen in the terraced house they called “number two” was in a terrible state.
“You're a pig, Alberti. Look at the state of this place. Clean the fuck up,” Fabio said.
“Okay, boss,” Alberti replied gruffly.
“Her father doesn't care about her, so he's not going to exchange himself for her. We're stuck with her. If we let her go, she'll go to the cops. Here's what I want you to do with her. You remember how we killed the mayor's wife?”
“Morphine, boss?”
“Yes, morphine. I'll get someone to deliver it. Inject her, wait till she's dead, and then dispose of her body. Dump her at least ten miles out in the ocean.”
“Yes, boss. Will do.”
“And, Alberti, if you fuck up, I'll kill you.”