In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(87)

The men stared each other down. Svetlana wanted to melt into the ground. “So,” she said tightly. “Shall we go on in?”

“Please, get a glass of champagne,” Hazlett said. “I have a friend coming up the drive whom I must introduce you to. I’ll join you soon.”

Sam and Sveti strolled into the vaulted, frescoed entry hall. It was lit with dozens of candelabra. The warm glow made the arches of cobalt blue sky from the loggia that opened toward the sea intensely vivid. On the terrace outside, waiters wandered with trays of champagne flutes. Both of them refused. Sam gave her a questioning look.

“Why not?” he asked. “It’s time-honored relaxation trick number three. Although numbers one and two are still my favorites.”

She shook her head. “I have to be brilliant tonight, remember?”

“Ah, yes. How could I forget, with Hazlett fawning all over your hand. You’re the perfect woman! Carefully chosen to touch that precise magic place that will cause him to erupt in paroxysms of bliss!”

She glared. “Don’t you dare get into a pissing contest, Sam.”

“I won’t start one, but I won’t back down from one either.”

“Svetlana! Mr. Petrie!” Nadine hurried toward them, resplendent in a stunning teal taffeta gown with a vast, pouffy skirt.

“Call me Sam, please,” Sam said.

She smiled, flirtatiously. “All right, if you insist. Thanks, Sam. Svetlana, excellent choice of dresses! It was one of my favorites, too! It looks stunning on you. Armani is just classic.”

“Sam picked it,” Sveti admitted.

“I’m not surprised.” Nadine looked through her lashes at Sam. “I must run and take care of business. Enjoy yourselves!” She hurried off.

She raised an eyebrow. “You made quite the shirtless impression on Nadine, didn’t you?”

He lifted her hand, kissed it, and kept kissing it. “Who?”

“There she is! Svetlana! Let me introduce you to a friend of—”

Crash. The champagne glass of the tall, salt-and-pepper haired man next to Hazlett shattered on the floor.

The man stared at Sveti, eyes wide. “Dio mio,” he whispered.

Sam drew her toward himself. “What the f*ck?” he muttered.

“Renato, are you all right?” Hazlett asked. “What’s wrong?”

The man tried to speak, his mouth working. “Per l’amor di Dio,” he whispered. “Uguale. Ugualissimo.”

“Uguale to whom?” Sam asked sharply. “Someone clue me in.”

“Sam?” Sveti clutched Sam’s arm. “What is it?”

“You evidently resemble someone this guy knows, babe.”

Two white-clad attendants appeared, one with a broom, another with a long-handled dust pan. In tandem, they swept up the shards and as swiftly disappeared. More arrived, one with a mop, another with a dry cloth, and a third, holding out a fresh glass of bubbling wine.

The tall guy did not deign to notice. He just kept staring at Sveti. Hazlett waved the champagne bearer impatiently away.

“I’m sorry.” The man’s English had a heavy Italian accent. “Forgive me. I was not expecting—but you’re just so much like her. Your eyes, your lips. It’s extraordinary. I . . . I was not prepared.”

“Who?” Sam and Sveti asked in unison.

“Sonia,” the man said.

Sveti gasped. Cold sucked on her from below. Her blood pressure dropped. Sam’s arm slid around her waist, strong and bracing.

She rested her hand on it and squeezed, drawing strength from him. There was so much of it to draw. “You knew my mother?”

“Yes.” The older man’s eyes looked shiny. His mouth was set. “We were together. For over a year, before she died.”

“Oh, God.” Sveti’s heart gave a painful thud. “You’re the conte. Renato Torregrossa. With the villa on the sea.”

“Yes. Here, look. I have her photo on my telephone, always. I transfer it over every time that I change phones.” He pulled out his smartphone, thumbed around on it, and held it up to Sveti.

Sveti leaned forward. Yes, it was her mother. Dressed in some flowing white gauze thing, laughing. She was next to Renato, their heads together. Renato had held out the phone to snap a selfie.

Her heart clenched. Grief, and a blaze of raw, childish jealousy. Who the f*ck did this arrogant old Italian conte think he was? Having snapped pictures of her mother that Sveti had never seen, sharing days that Sveti would never remember? He had a piece of her that she would never touch. He’d been with her, spoken to her, touched her, more recently than Sveti had. By a year and a half. Bastard.

She clamped down on her emotions. She would not make a spectacle of herself, and be that pathetic crazy girl. Poor thing. She’s been through so much, you know. Understandable, really.

No. Her jaw ached from clenching. “She told me about you.”

“It’s true.” Hazlett’s fascinated gaze darted from Renato’s cell phone back to Sveti’s face. “The eyes, the mouth.”

Sveti felt Sam’s arm tighten. “Yes, we were very similar. Everyone always said so.” Her voice seemed to come from very far away.

Sam spoke up. “This can’t be a coincidence,” he said, to both Hazlett and Torregrossa. “How do you two know each other?”