The island wind sliced across their skin like a damp blade.
Leo paced back and forth on the dirt path, breathing hard, his hands buried in his hair.
Damian scanned the thick vegetation as if he could drag Naiara out from between the leaves with sheer force of will.
Ethan watched the horizon.
Clara looked at each of them in turn, sensing they were seconds away from detonating.
"We're done," Ethan said. "We've searched this island up and down. There's nothing. Not a clue. We need to go back to Palermo, to base. Maybe we'll find a link there, a signal… anything."
"I'm not leaving," Damian shot back, jaw tight. "She was brought to this island. She must be somewhere."
"I'm not leaving you here for a second," Leo growled. "I don't trust you."
Damian turned toward him with that insolent half-smile Leo had always hated.
"What's wrong?" he taunted. "Hurts that she chose me to sleep with?"
For a moment, Clara, Ethan, and even the trees seemed to stop breathing.
Clara's eyes flew wide. Ethan stiffened.
Leo… snapped.
"What the fuck did you say?!" he roared. "You touched her?! YOU TOUCHED HER?!"
Damian laughed. A low, poisonous laugh.
"What did you think? That she'd wait for you? That you'd get married? You lied to her first, remember?"
Clara jumped in immediately, voice trembling: "Leo, listen! She thought he was you! She didn't know! Damian tricked her, he was vile!"
Leo tore himself out of Ethan's grip and launched himself at his brother.
The punch, a clean uppercut under the chin, knocked Damian flat. Sand sprayed everywhere.
Clara tried to reach Leo. "Stop it! Don't be like him! That's what he wants!"
Leo shook with rage, voice breaking: "He touched her, Clara… do you get it?! She… she let him have her. HOW DID SHE NOT KNOW IT WASN'T ME?! HOW?!"
He looked like a man who had had the air punched out of his lungs.
Ethan grabbed his arms again. "Brother, she had no way of knowing. You're identical. IDENTICAL. When we find her… you two will fix this."
Leo shook his head, eyes shining with a mix of grief and fury.
"There's nothing left to fix," he whispered. "I… I can't bear it. I can't imagine them together. I'll save her. That's it."
He turned to Clara. His voice cracked.
"I'll bring her back to you, Clara. You'll take care of her. And then… I'll leave."
Clara paled. "Don't say that, Leo. It's jealousy talking. Once you see her… "
"No." Damian stood, wiping blood from his lip. And he smiled. A smile that made you want to break bones. "Clara," he said, "I know him. He can't handle a betrayal like that. Not even an unintentional one."
Leo glared at him like he wanted to rip his throat out.
"You took her from me, bastard…" he hissed. "You're dead to me."
Clara wrapped her arms around Leo from behind, holding him together.
"Let's go back to Palermo. We'll find a trail there. We're wasting time here."
Leo, Ethan, and Clara headed toward the motorboat. Damian followed after a moment's hesitation.
The waves swallowed the sound of their departure.
The island remained behind them, mute and indifferent.
Naiara woke with a jolt. The room was dim.
She had dreamed all night of the Grey Man's skin, his scent, his grey eyes, his voice.
Her heart hammered.
The door opened: she froze, but only the three blonde women entered.
"Breakfast," said the one who always spoke.
The rest of the morning went by without anyone else coming.
Even at lunchtime, only the blondes appeared.
No sign of him.
"Where is he?" Naiara asked.
The blond hesitated.
"The master… is in a terrible mood today."
Naiara bit her lip… The slap. The slap she had given him. Is it because of that?
God, what have I done?
The afternoon crawled by, thick like water.
Evening arrived with no dinner.
She pressed her ear to the door.
Silence.
A hot wave of humiliation rose in her chest., she felt mocked, dismissed, invisible.
She eventually lay down in bed, staring at the darkness and she thought of grey eyes.
Always those eyes.
Deep in the night, her eyes snapped open.
A shadow sat in the armchair beside the bed.
Her heart jumped violently.
She turned on the lamp, instinctively: it didn't work, again.
Her voice trembled: "What do you want?"
The Grey Man stood slowly. He didn't answer.
"Oh, now you want to starve me? That's it? Humiliate me?"
The fact that he wasn't speaking was driving her insane.
He reached her in two strides. Grabbed her wrist.
"Get up. Now."
She spat, "You'll have to drag me, then. You rude asshole!"
He laughed softly. His hand slid into her hair, pulling her head toward his.
"Keep challenging me, Naiara."
Not "little strawberry"… Naiara. It cracked something in her chest.
In one swift movement, he threw her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.
Her short white silk nightgown slid up her thighs, exposing far too much.
She kicked. "PUT ME DOWN!"
He didn't even flinch. He carried her out of her room, down a hallway, and into another chamber: huge, luxurious, a massive bed, almost obscene in size.
He dropped her onto the mattress.
Fastened her wrists to the headboard with practiced ease.
She thrashed. "UNTIE ME!"
He leaned his head slightly, studying her like something precious and dangerous.
Then he spoke. His voice a weapon.
"Do you want me to touch you… or do you want to watch someone else touch me?"
The world stopped.
A sharp pain stabbed her chest. A pain she refused to name.
He repeated, slowly, "Answer me, Naiara."
She couldn't speak. She gave the smallest nod. No.
Something flickered in his gaze. A softness, barely there. Then the ice returned.
"Then I choose."
He snapped his fingers, the door opened and a woman walked in.
So beautiful it was almost offensive, a perfect body, glowing skin, fluid movements.
She approached him, sat on the edge of the bed beside Naiara's legs.
The Grey Man lifted his arms, bracing them against the top bar of the canopy, and he never, never, took his eyes off Naiara.
Not for a second.
With that calm, lethal voice, he told the beautiful woman: "Begin."