"Son of a bitch!" David snapped, getting to his feet.
The chair scraped loudly against the floor. Well, looked like the ruse had come to an end. No more quiet watching. No more waiting behind fake smiles. No more letting Bianca improvise.
No one ever listened to him. This would have ended a long time ago.
*****
Marco was buried beneath a mountain of printouts. They covered the floor in uneven stacks, spilled across the bed, climbed over the bedside table, and spread beneath the windows. Bianca, it seemed, was not short of money, nor was she frightened of spending it. If anything, the figures suggested a woman who understood the power of wealth and wielded it without apology.
