She looks at me in horror. “Definitely not, ma’am. I’ll have my stewardesses handle it.”
“No, it’s my fault. I’ll?—”
“Please,” she cuts in gently. “It would be an insult to my staff to let a guest clean.” She crosses the room and grabs the silver tray from the floor. “We see things like this all the time. Passionate people sometimes have to release their emotions through—” She hesitates, glancing down at the deconstructed bruschetta bites scattered across the floorboards. “—destruction.”
I wince. “I’m not typically adestructionkind of person.”
Her lips twitch. “Around a man like Mr. Cavallo, I assume it wouldn’t be difficult to succumb.”
His name is enough to siphon my guilt and replace it with annoyance.
I glance away, the city lights fading into the distance out the window.
“Please, Ms. Cross.” She approaches, gesturing to the hall. “Let me have this cleaned up while you wait in the dining room.”
I guess there’s no point staying in here. Sulking in solitude won’t get me off this damn boat. I still need more information. Answers. And there’s only one person who can give them to me.
Holding the folder to my chest, I climb to my feet, my blood pressure already rising with the thought of the confrontation that’s to come. “Lead the way.”
Elena smiles, nods, and sets off down the hall, back past oil paintings, intricate sconces, and soft light, each opulent detail another reminder of the empire built on corruption.
I’m seated at the expansive dining table, stiff-backed and borderline petulant. There are two place settings, but only one plated meal is delivered.
The other setting, presumably Raffael’s, is quickly removed.
“I’m eating alone?” I ask, the delicious scent of lamb making me queasy.
“Yes. Mr. Cavallo requested to dine in his cabin this evening.”
“Why?” There’s a bite in my voice and a violent calling tingling in my limbs. Apparently I crave destruction more than I’d thought. “Is the puppet master suddenly afraid to face the marionette?”
“Excuse me?” Elena pauses. Frowns.
I shake my head, placing the file on the table. “Forget it.”
“Okay…” She moves toward the hall. “Is there anything else I can get you before I leave?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Wine. Please bring lots of wine.”
Chapter
Ten
RAFFAEL
She’s stalling.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. Hours have dragged with no word from Isla. No statement. No hint as to when she’ll fix the mess she created.
I’ve given her time. Space. But I’m running out of patience. And I know my brothers will be, too.
On cue, my cell buzzes on the bedcovers beside me. Eliseo’s name lights up the screen.
I sigh and toss back the scotch that’s grown warm in my palmed glass, then answer the call. “Yeah?”
“It’s been hours,” he bites out. “What the fuck is going on?”
I drag a hand down my face, cursing Isla and everything she represents. “You’ll hear from me when there’s an update. Until then, learn some fucking patience.”