“We spoke in Italian around her and the other prisoner.”
Adrian took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly, telling himself he was getting worked up over something that was out of his control. This, though . . . He watched Sam Fargo moving about his office. The multiscreen surveillance showed him stepping out into the hallway, pretending to be asleep, while his fool guards walked with the woman. The fact that they fell for such a ruse sent his blood pressure rising again—and he was actually grateful when someone knocked on the door. “Come in.”
One of his men entered. “Sorry to disturb you. You wanted to know as soon as your parents got here. They’re downstairs.”
Adrian tensed.
“Don’t worry,” he said, seeing Adrian’s reaction. “They missed the disturbance.”
“I’ll be right down.” The moment the door closed behind him, Adrian hit play, this time paying particular attention as Fargo went through his desk.
Ilya leaned closer. “What’s he looking at?”
Adrian pulled open the file drawer, approximating which folder he’d removed. Not that it mattered. All of these folders belonged to the olive orchards. When his gaze lit on the profit and loss statements, he hesitated. “Why would Fargo be looking into our olive oil business?”
“Crime of opportunity?”
“Maybe . . .” He returned his gaze to the monitor as Fargo looked up suddenly, replaced the folder, and quickly left the office. On another screen, the redhead was busy distracting his guards, allowing Fargo to slip out, then pretend to be sleeping on the floor in the hall.
Having seen enough, Adrian shoved his chair back. “Do whatever it takes to find those two.”
“Of course.” Ilya shut off the monitor. Adrian was halfway out the door when he added, “Good luck.”
“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.” But even Adrian didn’t believe the lie.
He found his parents holding court near the roulette table. His mother, her brown hair in an elaborate French twist, wore a sapphire-blue gown. She offered a small smile as he approached. His father, he noted, refused to meet his gaze.
“Adrian,” his mother said, turning her cheek to him. “A lovely party. I’m assuming you’ve received the letter from our attorney?”
“I haven’t yet had the opportunity to read it,” he said as they walked toward the edge of the patio, away from the other guests. Knowing what it probably contained, he hadn’t dared.
She sighed as she turned to her husband. “Darling. Can you get me a glass of champagne?”
He looked relieved to be given the errand.
The moment he left, she rounded on Adrian. “What on earth were you thinking?”
“About what?”
“This business on the Mirage.”
“Perhaps this isn’t the best place to discuss the matter.”
She smiled at a passing waiter, ignoring the offer of an appetizer. The moment he was out of earshot she said, “You’re putting the entire family name at risk. I won’t allow that to happen.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it?”
“An investment opportunity.”
“Let’s hope it’s a good one. As of today your name has been removed from the board.”
“Mother, please—”
“I love you, Adrian. But I’m not about to lose everything because of your carelessness. If your father were healthier, he’d be the one telling you this.”
“Not likely.”