Collateral (Collateral Damage 1)

“I’ll give you that. Five minutes then.” He walks to the door. Opens it. “Car’s waiting to take you to the airport.”

“Where’s my father?” God. Fuck. Is this so bad that I’m asking for my father? What is wrong with me?

He turns, cocks his head to the side. “Daddy can’t help you now, Princess. Five minutes.”5GabrielaI shove whatever I can into my duffel bag, feel for the cash and fake passport sewn into the lining. At least they’re still there. John didn’t find those. But maybe he didn’t bother to look considering this impromptu change of plans.

Just before I walk out of my room, I glance back at the pistol my father left and, without overthinking it, I pack that too and am out of my room in five minutes.

But it’s not Stefan waiting for me downstairs. It’s two of his men, neither of whom introduce themselves.

John stands nearby watching.

“Where’s my father?” I ask him.

“Meeting,” he says.

“At this hour?”

He only nods once, and I don’t know why I feel hurt that my dad’s not here. That he won’t see me off. See me taken.

One of the two men clears his throat and gestures for me to walk outside. I do and an SUV, probably one of the two from last night, is idling.

The man opens the back door for me and takes my duffel as I climb in. I’m surprised when they sit on either side of me on the drive to the airport, like they think I might try to jump out of a moving vehicle.

My father must have given them my passport. We’re ushered quickly through security to our gate and onto the plane. Once again they sit on either side of me in our first-class seats to Italy.

I hate flying. I’ve always hated it even as a kid, and in these circumstances, it’s worse.

The only time they talk to me is when they ask if I need to use the bathroom or if I’m hungry and I’m not surprised when I get up to use the bathroom and one of them follows me.

The flight connects through Rome and it’s almost fourteen hours later when we arrive in Palermo. It’s the height of summer and if I thought New York was hot, it’s absolutely steaming here.

But I’m not outside for long as a car pulls up almost as soon as we set foot outside of the airport. This time, I’m not sandwiched between the men and sit by the window in the backseat to take in the view as we drive to our destination.

It’s another forty minutes by the time we turn onto a private road a little outside Palermo proper. A mile in, large gates and a thick wall tell me we’ve arrived at what I want to call the Sabbioni compound because that’s what this is. A highly secure compound.

Our driver greets one of the men at the gate and the striking difference between these men and those at my father’s house is that they have large automatic rifles slung over their shoulders. My father’s men are a little more subtle, though, I’m sure, no less deadly.

They’re all smoking, and I see the curious peering eyes of the men as they get a look at me through the open front window. The back windows are tinted black.

I push the button to open the window but it’s locked.

“Can you unlock my window?” I ask. “Please,” I add for good measure.

The driver glances in the rear-view mirror and the one beside me tells him in Italian to unlock the windows.

Although I speak Italian, I’m out of practice. But I do understand almost everything.

I push the button to lower my window to inhale a warm, salty breeze and catch glimpses of the blue sea in the distance.

My father still brings us to Italy at least twice a year, but I’ve never been this far south.

It’s another few minutes until the house comes into view.

Well, house is an understatement.

I guess I expected some sort of prison with barred windows. That’s not what this is. Not even close.

This is probably one of the most elegant houses I’ve ever seen. It’s big, but it’s somehow not pretentious. With the blue backdrop of sea and sky, the impeccable white of the exterior seems brighter. Columns that support a balcony stand perfectly spaced, two of six framing the large carved wooden front doors. The windows on both floors are large, the shutters nailed back, everything in pristine condition with a chimney on either end of the house.

As the SUV comes to a stop, I can already see from here that the back of the house must have spectacular views of the sea.

The men who rode with me climb out and two of them light cigarettes the instant they’re outside. I wonder if Stefan doesn’t allow them to smoke inside the car.