Page 4 of Blue in the Deep Blue Sea

I drew one last breath of the salt-filled air before climbing down from the roof and slipping back through the window into the room.

1. mother

2. sister

2

SQUALO

My phone rang twice before it died completely. My father again, trying to convince me to come to dinner so we could play happy family in front of his new fiancée, who was the same age as me. Another woman trying to fill the role of my mother while looking more like a sister, or a distant cousin.

Once, he told me he kept doing this because he was lonely. But I know he feeds his ego more than the hole my mother left behind when she died. Part of me believes he does it out of guilt. I found a note she wrote, explaining in detail how she caught him fucking one of the maids while I burned with a high fever and she was too busy taking care of me. She wrote that she knew he had never loved her, that their marriage had been nothing more than an alliance between two families filling their own pockets.

But deep down, I know she loved him.

And she loved me.

Death ruins lives. The dead rest in peace while the living suffocate beneath their own guilt.

His punishment was being stuck with an arrogant asshole of a son like me. Mine was growing up with a father who couldn’t show affection or love, but never hesitated to throw money at me, raising me to become exactly what he was.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

I guess we all came from the same rotten one.

Turns out I was always meant to be this way. Being an asshole was in my blood, a spiteful reflection of my own father.

He wanted me to take over the company, and I wanted to be as far away from him as possible. So I did what I knew best, drowning my sorrows in alcohol and women.

Living on the Amalfi Coast meant tourists were always coming to have fun, and fun happened to be my favorite thing. The coastline stretched for miles, lined with sprawling villas, while the marina overflowed with yachts. Almost every weekend, I rented one for a party everyone was desperate to get into.

My reputation as the rich fuckboy wasn’t exactly breaking news. It was gossip everyone already knew, including the two women draped over each of my arms as I sank into the white leather sofa on my father’s yacht. Both wore red sequined bikinis. Both were blonde, hot as hell, with faces similar enough to make me wonder if they were sisters. Then again, that could’ve been the alcohol talking.

I laughed, my eyes half-open, catching a glimpse of someone weaving through the crowd before the blonde on my left shoved her tongue into my mouth. The music grew louder, the heavy bass buzzing in my ears. The speakers were close enough that I could feel the sofa vibrating beneath me.

“Oliver!”

A man’s voice cut through the music. Judging by the familiar tone, it could only be Gianni.

The blonde pulled away and leaned back against the sofa. Her palm settled on my chest before slowly trailing lower, stopping at my crotch.

I laughed, looking at Gianni.

“You finally made it.”

“Can we talk?” His eyes moved to the two women before settling back on me.

“Sure.” I draped an arm over each of their shoulders, giving him a clear signal that he could say whatever he wanted in front of them. Somewhere between the shots and the kisses they’d been stealing all afternoon, they’d mentioned they were flying back to Poland tomorrow morning at ten.

He didn’t budge.

“Alone?”

I shrugged, pushing out my bottom lip in an exaggerated pout.

“Ladies, how about the two of you take a walk to my cabin?”

They giggled and nodded. One took the other’s hand, and they slipped between the dancing bodies toward the cabin where my bedroom was.