ISLA POV
"This kitchen is obscene, Isla," Ruby said.
She dropped two heavy brown paper grocery bags onto the white marble island. The sound echoed off the high, glass walls of the beach house.
She unzipped her bright green rain jacket, hung it over the back of a sleek leather chair, and crossed her arms over her chest. Her hair was cut into a sharp chin-length bob, and her eyes swept over the polished stainless-steel stove, the dual refrigerators, and the floor-to-ceiling windows showing the gray Atlantic Ocean.
"It looks like a commercial for kitchen knives," Ruby added, shaking her head. "Where does Moretti keep the salt? Is it locked in a vault like the rest of his life?"
I let out a soft laugh—the first one that felt completely real in days. I leaned back against the counter, res
