“Try not to enjoy this too much,” he teased.
Only a mafioso would joke after a freaking car bomb went off.
With a beep of his pathetic horn, he took off down the alley, sticking to the narrow streets as he wound way from the cathedral toward the water.
“Aren’t we going to the airport?” I asked, because that was our original plan.
Pull of the fake wedding of a century and get the hell out of Naples. We’d talk about going to Costa Rica where the Camorra funneled most of their ill begotten money. I didn’t speak Spanish and I wasn’t skilled with languages, but I’d learned Dante spoke it, and four others, fluently. It was another new start, this one completely foreign to me, but I didn’t care.
I’d go anywhere with my capo.
“Change of plans,” Frankie shouted over the rush of wind and then said nothing more.
We arrived at the porti di Napoli docks within ten minutes. Two cruise ships nestled in the harbor and countless little boats, luxury speedboats for the tourists and the wealthy, weathered fishing boats for the many Neapolitans who made their money off the sea.
Frankie drove straight onto the concrete docks to the very end of one vacant mooring and turned off the engine.
“What the hell are we doing?” I demanded as I got off and removed my helmet. “We need to call and see if they’re okay.”
“They will be.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” I hissed, stepping forward to give his biceps a shake. “They did this for Dante and me! Don’t you get that? They were never meant to get hurt.”
Frankie gave me a cool look then pulled his phone from his pocket, pressing a button before handing it to me.
I took it eagerly, almost dropping it in my haste.
As it rang, I followed Frankie’s gaze to a small wooden speedboat racing in from the ocean, froth at its bow and a single captain at its helm.
It rang and rang.
My heart moved into my throat.
The boat moved closer.
A man, dark haired and broad shoulder stood at the wheel.
I stopped breathing.
The phone clicked then went dead.
The vessel aimed straight at the mooring, the engine so loud I almost didn’t hear the phone in my limp handing ringing.
I raised it to my ear.
“Hello?”
The man on the boat bent as he brought the vehicle to a sudden, swerving stop at the dock. Only his dark head was visible.
“Lena mia,” my sister said breathlessly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t answer. We just got away.”
“Are you okay?” I demanded.
She laughed.
A high, lilting laugh like drug addicted after a good fix.
Like a villain who had just pulled off the ultimate evil plan.
“Si, sorella mia,” she crowed and I couldn’t help but smile. “Xan says his scalp is itching from the dye, but other than that and a nasty cut on his cheek from some loose schrapnel, we are both fine. Fine and happy because it worked.”
I grinned, holding the phone with both hands, about to answer when the captain of the small boat in front of us straightened and turned to face us.
It wasn’t Dante, as I’d hoped, but Salvatore, his face creased into the widest grin I’d ever seen.
“Come,” he beckoned, tossing a rope to Frankie who caught it and held it taut. “Hurry, Elena.”
“I have to go, Cosi,” I told her even as I moved to the boat and accepted Tore’s help getting in. “Grazie mille. Thank you for taking such a risk for me. It means more than I can say.”
“Then say nothing,” she suggested easily, as if she hadn’t just put her and her husband’s life in danger to help us. “Both you and Dante have spent your life trying to protect Xan and me. It was our turn to return the favor. Buona fortuna and I’ll see you later.”
“Good luck,” I echoed. “Be safe.”
Frankie clapped his hands at me so I tossed him the phone.
“Where are we going?” I demanded of either man, but they ignored me as they maneuvered a saddle bag from the Vespa onto the boat and Tore started to push off the dock.
“Tore,” I called, nearly falling into the water as he gunned the engine forward.
Frankie tossed the rope into the back of the boat and waved jauntily as if we were off for an afternoon delight and not fleeing the scene of a crime.
Tore helped me into my seat and retook his spot at the wheel.
“Tranquilo,” he shouted over the noise of the boat cutting through the blue waves and tossing up foam. “Be patient.”
I made a face, but I didn’t really have a choice in the matter.
The wind whipped over my body and through my hair, as violent as the conclusion of Dante and Mirabella’s fake wedding.
It had seemed so obvious when I looked at Mira in the alleyway that day. She had a passing resemblance to Cosima that would be easy to emphasise with the right dress and veil. Dante and Alexander were almost identical when you stripped away the different coloring and wildly opposing personalities.