Collateral (Collateral Damage 1)

“Weren’t you just singing his praises? Telling me how fair and understanding he is?”

“Just stay in his good graces.”

“I don’t think I am in his good graces.” I think I already fucked that up if I ever had it at all.

“He’s being careful with you. You may not see it, but I do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said.” Before I can ask more, the waitress returns with a large plate of fried calamari, wedges of lemon and a shaker of salt. “Just smell those,” Rafa says, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply when she sets them down.

They do smell amazing.

We eat the calamari then the catch of the day, which is a white fish roasted over a fire. It, too, is delicious and before I know it, I find I’ve drunk two glasses of wine and eaten my entire plate.

A few moments later, Rafa wipes his mouth and checks his watch.

“Are you going to be all right here? I need to go to my meeting.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll just be inside if you need me.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say. “Is it all right if I go to the square there and just check out the market? I’m not going to go anywhere.”

“I’m not afraid of you going somewhere. I can’t leave you unprotected. You’re with Stefan now. You’re valuable, Gabriela.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean taking his fiancée would give his enemies power over him.”

“Like kidnapping me?”

“Don’t tell me it’s never occurred to you growing up a Marchese.”

Guards surrounded me 24/7 then. I guess it’s no different than now. And I never thought about it. Maybe I thought it would be a blessing if someone would take me.

And now someone has.

“Stay on the beach. I’ll take you myself once I’m finished. I’ll even take you into Taormina proper. This market is for tourists.”

“Who’s going to be watching me now?” I ask, irritated.

“See those two men?” he asks, gesturing to the two who stand just outside the restaurant doors. I wonder how long they’ve been standing there because Rafa didn’t even have to turn his head to look for them, he just knew they were there. “They’re with the man I’m meeting. They know who you are and will keep an eye on you.”

He must see worry on my face because he reaches out and squeezes my hand. The gesture is odd. Out of place.

“It’s fine. Just pretend like they’re not there. They won’t come near you unless there’s a threat.”

“There are kids here, Rafa. What are they going to do? Take out guns if they think someone may be a threat?”

He checks his watch. “Relax, Gabriela, they’re not inexperienced men.” He stands and signals to the waitress who comes over right away. “Order a dessert. And have another glass of wine. I’ll be finished before you know it.”

I don’t do either as I watch him walk toward those men, nodding to them as he passes into the restaurant. I see him cross the window and shake hands with someone I don’t see. I turn my gaze to the beach, to the kids building sand castles, to the parents all smiling and happy as the music plays and I feel sick to my stomach.23GabrielaThe sun is descending when, two hours later, Rafa returns. I can see right away from the look on his face that he isn’t happy. I watch the guards who stood by the door walk away as he comes toward me.

“Ready?” he asks, and he can’t even muster a fake smile. “We need to head back. I’ll take you to Taormina another time.”

“That’s fine.” I don’t much feel like seeing the town anyway. I gather up my things and force a smile. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he says as we turn to go.

We walk out over the beach, not bothering to go into the restaurant and I can see the men who’d just been guarding the entrance flanking another man, a shorter, fatter one, for whom they open the back door of an SUV with windows tinted black.

When the SUV drives away, I find Rafa watching it and when the valet pulls up with our vehicle, Rafa snaps at the man.

I follow him to the passenger side, and he opens the door for me. I climb in and fasten my seatbelt.

Before he gets in, he takes off his jacket and tosses it into the backseat. He then takes the gun out of its holster and puts it somewhere in the side of the door.

“You have a gun,” I say, realizing that’s why he’d put the jacket on.

He looks at me like it’s the most natural thing.

“Why do you have a gun?”

“Don’t be naïve, Gabriela. You know what I am. What Stefan is.”

“But—”

“You also know what your father is.”

“My father isn’t the Sicilian mafia.”

“No,” he says, just glancing at me with a sardonic look before shifting his gaze to the road to merge with traffic. “He’s a saint.”