Chapter 7: When She Tempts: Chapter 7

Breakfast wraps up shortly after, and when I finish my cappuccino, Giorgio leads me out of the dining room to begin our tour.

“The staff know better than to ask a lot of questions, but it appears they’ve forgotten their manners due to their excitement,” he says once we’re out of everyone’s earshot.

“Thanks for answering them,” I say quietly. “I didn’t really know what to say.”

“When in doubt, say less,” he advises as we enter the living room.

“Is that a life philosophy?”

His lips twitch. “Something like that.”

We stop by an enormous arched window, where I’m treated to another spectacular view of the forest I saw from my bedroom this morning. The skies are gray, but here and there, sunlight peeks out and paints patches of gold across the treetops.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Giorgio turn to me. “I should make one thing clear. You are not to leave the property under any circumstances.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at his grave tone. I mean, where would I even go? On the drive here last night, this place seemed like it was in the middle of nowhere. From up here, I can see a smattering of homes up on the hills in the far distance, but they’re on the other side of the forest. “Fine.”

“Besides that, you’re free to roam the property with the exception of the forest. It’s easy to get lost in.”

I send a frown in his direction. “Allegra said Tommaso and Polo go running there.”

His expression narrows with warning. “They know the land. You don’t.”

I let it go, not in the mood to argue over a point that doesn’t matter much to me. Hiking isn’t in my plans.

Closer to the castello is a large, rectangular pool with a stone deck around it. A small bird with a bright-yellow beak bobs on the surface of the water.

“Do you like to swim?” Giorgio asks.

I glance at him. He’s facing the window, his arms clasped behind his back.

“I’ve lived in Ibiza most of my life. Of course I like to swim. Do you?”

“Not particularly.”

“Really? But you’re from Naples, and it’s right on the sea.”

“My mother was afraid of water, so we rarely went when I was a kid.”

“Why was she afraid of it?”

He’s still looking out the window as he says, “She had a bad experience once. Nearly drowned. I must have picked up on her distaste subconsciously.”

“Hmm. My mom was very afraid of bees. Dem told me it was because her cousin got stung and died. My brother’s afraid of bees too, even though he won’t ever admit it out loud.”

Giorgio gives me an amused look, and something about it sends warmth spreading through my gut. “You shouldn’t tell people that. Your brother’s weaknesses are about to become extremely valuable information.”

I pale. “Crap. Forget I said it?”

“I’m afraid I have an exceptionally good memory.”

“Do you really?”

He nods. “It’s almost photographic.”

Oh, great. Well, there goes my hope that he’ll forget all the stupid things I’ve said to him so far.

We leave the living room and pass through a few sitting areas before drawing to another stop.

“This is the gym,” Giorgio says, holding the door for me to take a look.

I peer inside. “Wow, it’s big.”

“It’s the biggest room on this floor, besides the living room. It used to be the master bedroom, but I converted it after I purchased the property. Now, all the bedrooms are on the second and third floors, but only the ones on the second floor are in use.” He lets the door swing shut.

“There aren’t that many bedrooms upstairs, are there? Where does the staff live?”

“There’s a guesthouse in the east end of the property,” Giorgio explains. “It’s newer than the rest of the castello—only about seventy years old. We renovated it five years ago and made the interior more modern. Allegra prefers it that way.”

The last room we visit on this floor is the library. Lots of wood shelves with elaborate molding, aged tomes with red and black spines, and a window made of stained glass. It depicts a swan floating on a lake, a large, round moon above it. When a ray of sun hits the window, the colors come to life.

It’s achingly beautiful. Something eases inside my chest for a moment as I gaze upon the image. “Do you come here often?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Giorgio nod. “I like to read here in the evenings, although I rarely find the time.”

My gaze falls on the two leather armchairs by a coffee table, and I can totally see Giorgio sitting in one of them, nursing a glass of…

“Do you drink whiskey?”

His attention moves to me. “Sometimes. But I prefer a good Negroni.”

“Hmm. Too bitter for me. I like rosé.”

“Aren’t you too young to drink?”

I frown. Does he think I’m under sixteen? Surely, I don’t look young.

His lips curve, and I realize he’s joking.

“I already told you yesterday, I’m nearly nineteen,” I tell him haughtily. “My birthday is next week.”

“I apologize,” he says over a warm chuckle. “I’ll make sure Tommaso keeps the fridge filled with rosé.”

“Now you make me sound like an alcoholic,” I grumble as I follow him out of the room, but for some reason, I’m smiling too.

We stop before the spiral staircase that leads to our rooms.

“Like I said, upstairs are the bedrooms, most of which you’ve already seen.”

“That’s all that’s there?” I squint against the sunlight streaming through a window. “What’s that door over there?”

“That’s my office.”

That’s got to be where he’s storing my phone. I need to get a closer look at the lock and see if it’s easy to pick. Not that I have much experience picking locks, but desperate times and all… There has to be some way for me to sneak in.

We exchange a look. “You spend a lot of time in there too?” I ask innocently.

Of course, he sees right through it. “Lots.”

“Huh.” I’ll get him out of there somehow.

We’re taking our first steps outside when Giorgio halts and takes out his phone.

“

,” he says under his breath as he reads whatever is on the screen. “I have to go take a look at something in my office.” He gestures at a building across from the garage. “Polo should be over there. Are you all right if he finishes the tour?”

“That’s fine. What’s his deal, by the way?” I ask.

Giorgio cocks a brow. “What do you mean?”

“He’s young. I didn’t expect someone his age to work here.”

A shadow passes over Giorgio’s expression.

“Is he Allegra and Tommaso’s son or something?”

“No. He’s not related to them. I hired him a few years ago, and he’s done good work around the castello.”

What a non-answer. Just then, Polo steps out of the small building holding something in his hands. He doesn’t notice us.

“How do you know each other? He talks to you very casually.”

“Sometimes.”

“Don’t think my brother’s employees would ever talk to him that way,” I say, trying to needle him on purpose. “Dem knows how to keep people in line.”

“Given how you turned out, I highly doubt it.”

“How I turn out?”

“Like trouble.”

I whip my head around at the comment, but all I see is Giorgio’s back as he steps inside the castello.

He’s right, I am trouble. Or at least, trouble seems to follow me everywhere. And yet unlike Polo’s joke from earlier, Giorgio’s comment doesn’t land badly. The way he said it was almost…playful. Was he teasing me again?

“Hey, Martina!”

Polo’s voice snaps my head in his direction. He’s walking over to me, his curls tossing in the wind, and when he gets close, he throws me a wooden basket.

“What’s this?” I ask, catching the object.

He puts his hands on his hips. “We need to gather the tomatoes before they turn too ripe.”

I frown at him, caught off guard. “And what does that have to do with me?”

He scans me with mischievous gray eyes and then smirks. “It’s a fun experience.”

“Fun experience? Sounds like free labor.”

“Hey, city folk pay a lot to come to places just like these and pick berries or whatever is in season. You’ve never done it?”

“No. Back home, I get my vegetables at the store, like a normal person.” I try to hand the basket back to him, but he won’t take it.

“Where’s home?”

“Ibiza.”

He whistles. “Wow. Not bad. You live there with your brother?”

I give up and place the basket on the ground. “Yes.”

“What’s his name?”

I give him a weary look. Giorgio really could have given me more clear instructions about what I can and cannot say to people. But he already introduced me to everyone with my full name, so it’s not a secret. If Polo really wanted to, he could just look me up and find out Dem’s name.

“Damiano De Rossi.”

Apparently satisfied with my answer, Polo nods and picks the basket back up. “Let’s go. I’ll show you the grounds and the garden, and then we’ll get to work. You’ll really be helping me out. There’s a ton to do this week.”

And that’s how he gets me. I’d be an asshole to say no to helping him, right?

“All right.”

Polo comes to my side and throws his arm around my shoulders. “I knew you’d come around. Now, soak it all in,” he says, gesturing at the yard. “The landscaping, the water features, that great old hunk of a castello—isn’t it glorious?”

I slip out from under this arm even as a smile tugs at my lips at his dramatic tone. He’s an interesting character. “Very.”

He laughs and places his palm against my lower back. “This way. We’re going to take the long way around, so that I can point out all the sights. Giorgio will have my head if you end up lost somewhere.”

We walk around the castello, with Polo pointing out the staff house, storage buildings, small gurgling wall fountains, and finally, the tower.

He stops ahead of it and shields his eyes from the sun with his palm. “We don’t use the tower much, but you get the best view from up there. If you’re interested, you can take the spiral stairs that lead up to the terrace. The place is a bit rickety, but it’s safe.”

I consider the old building. Unlike the castello, which is majestic and sprawling, the tower is narrow and prison-like. Tiny windows, gray brick facade. Not at all inviting.

“Maybe later,” I offer. “Have you been up there?”

“A few times.”

I turn to look at Polo, my curiosity about him stirring back up. “So when did you start working here?”

“When I was twenty-three. So two years ago.”

I was right. He’s not much older than me. “What brought you here?”

Polo flicks his gaze to me. “It’s a boring story, to be honest. My mom knew Giorgio, and she arranged it with him. I’d graduated university, studying agriculture, but there was no work. So I took the only option I had available.”

“How does your mom know Giorgio?”

“Knew. She died a few months after I started working here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Polo ignores my condolences. “My mom knew his mom. They used to live in the same neighborhood.”

Strange. If this place is as big of a secret as Giorgio made it sound, how come he just hired Polo that easily? How did Polo earn his trust?

Our next stop is the greenhouse, which is just on the edge of the garden. Even from here, I can already spot the heaping tomato plants in the distance.

Polo holds the door of the greenhouse open for me. “Leave the basket here. I’ll show you some of the plants we have and that will be it for our tour.”

I enter the building and take it all in. The construction of a white frame closed in with plexiglass lets in abundant light and, as far as I can tell, the plants here are thriving. For a moment, I close my eyes, and inhale the earthy, wet smell. It sinks right to the bottom of my lungs, smooth and calming.

Polo comes to stand by my side. “There are a lot of herbs and leafy greens over here.” He points to the section on the left. “Tommaso uses a lot of it in the kitchen.”

I take a few steps closer and break off a piece of what looks like dill, bringing it to my nose and inhaling the distinctive scent.

“Many plants here are native to the region,” Polo says, “but some are from places far away. This is a kava-kava plant.” He points out a plant with big, heart-shaped leaves. “And Mexican epazote. And here are the usual suspects: tarragon, rosemary, marjoram.”

“Sage and mint,” I finish.

He hikes a brow. “You know plants?”

I shrug. “I grew some herbs back home to use for cooking. Nothing special, just the basics.”

“Well, if you ever feel like cooking dinner, I can guarantee you that Tommaso would appreciate the night off.”

We wrap up the tour and head back outside, making our way to the tomato plants.

Polo gets his own basket, and after a quick demonstration, we both get to work. It’s slow and monotonous, but it doesn’t take me long to get into a mindless kind of flow. It’s the same calming feeling I get when I work on a jigsaw puzzle. After a while, some pressure in my head eases, and my muscles relax.

It’s surprisingly nice.

Polo doesn’t say much while we work, but sometimes, I catch his eye.

“What?” I ask the next time I notice him glancing at me.

“It’s just weird to have someone other than Tommaso and Allegra here. Giorgio never brings anyone.”

“You ever feel like a third wheel?” I ask. I’ve felt that way before around Dem and Vale. Given how remote and secret this place is, does Polo even get a chance to leave now and then?

He chuckles under his breath, but it’s humorless. “Oh, yeah. It’s the worst when they fight. Doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s like being in the middle of a war zone.”

I pluck off another tomato. “Do you get bored out here?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Maybe it won’t be so bad with you around,” he says, nudging my arm lightly with his elbow.

Heat creeps up my cheeks. Is he flirting with me?

“Of course, I might not be here for much longer,” he adds.

Scratching an itch in the center of my forehead, I look at him from under my hand. “Oh?”

He nods. “There might be another opportunity opening up for me. I just need to convince Giorgio to let me try my hand at it.”

“What kind of an opportunity?”

Polo wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and places one more tomato inside his basket. “Can’t tell you. I don’t know how much you know about Giorgio, Martina De Rossi.”

“Not much,” I say, although I suspect Polo is alluding to Giorgio’s affiliation with the clan. Still, there’s no way I’ll be the first one to broach that topic.

He appears to feel the same way, redirecting the conversation. “Nothing’s been confirmed yet. I just have some ideas. This property is beautiful, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life taking care of it.”

I glance back at the main building. “Why did he buy it?” The castello is enormous. If Giorgio wanted to have a safe house somewhere, I’m sure there are plenty of smaller places he could have bought that would be far easier to maintain.

“Giorgio had his reasons, but in truth, I think he hates this place.”

My brows pinch together. “He does? Why?”

Polo stands and heaves his basket over his shoulder. He seems like he’s about to say something, but then he gives his head a shake, and says, “You’ll have to ask him yourself.”