The drug dealer turned puce, his belligerence dropping a touch when confronted by Francesco’s sheer physical power.
Who makes the rules?
‘You are throwing your life away,’ he said harshly before turning to Mario. ‘Call the police.’
‘The police?’ squeaked the dealer.
It was obvious that the same question echoed in Mario and his fellow guards’ heads.
First the stealing, cheating gambler and now a drug dealer? He could see the consternation on all their faces, could feel them silently wondering if he was going soft.
Naturally, none of his men dared question him verbally, their faces expressionless.
‘Yes. The police.’ As he walked past the dealer, Francesco added, ‘But know that when you’re released from your long prison sentence, if I ever find you dealing in drugs again, I will personally break your legs. Take my advice—get yourself an education and go straight.’
With that, he strode out of his office, out of his nightclub, and into the dark Palermo night, oblivious to the cadre of bodyguards who’d snapped into action to keep up with him.
CHAPTER TEN
HANNAH BROUGHT HER bike to a stop outside her small front gate and smothered a yawn. She felt dead on her feet. The Friday-evening traffic had only compounded what had been a very long week.
She dismounted and wheeled her bike up the narrow path to her front door. Just as she placed her key in the lock, a loud beep made her turn.
A huge, gleaming black motorbike with an equally huge rider came to a stop right by her front gate.
No way...
Stunned, she watched as Francesco strode towards her, magnificent in his black leathers, removing his helmet, a thunderous look on his face.
‘What are you doing here?’ Her heart had flown into her mouth and it took all she had not to stand there gaping like a goldfish.
‘Never mind that, what the hell are you doing back on that deathtrap?’
He loomed before her, blocking the late sun, his eyes blazing with fury.
Hannah blinked, totally nonplussed at seeing him again. Only years of practice at remaining calm while under fire from distressed patients and their next of kin alike allowed her to retain any composure. ‘I don’t drive.’
Breathing heavily through his nose, he snapped, ‘There are other ways of getting around. I can’t believe you’re still using this...thing.’
‘I’m not. It’s a new one.’
‘I gathered that, seeing as your old one crumpled like a biscuit tin,’ he said, speaking through gritted teeth. ‘I’m just struggling to understand why you would still cycle when you nearly died on a bicycle mere weeks ago.’
‘I don’t like using public transport. Plus, cycling helps shift some of the weight from my bottom,’ she added, trying to inject some humour into her tone, hoping to defuse some of the anger still etched on his face. Her attempt failed miserably.
‘There is nothing wrong with your bottom,’ he said coldly. ‘And even if there were—which there isn’t—it’s hardly worth risking your life for.’
The situation was so surreal Hannah was tempted to pinch herself.
Was she dreaming? She’d had so little sleep since returning from Sicily five days ago that it was quite possible.
‘Like every other human on this planet, I could die at any time by any number of accidents. I’m not going to stay off my bike because of one idiot.’ She kept her tone firm, making it clear the situation was no longer open for discussion. She was a grown woman. If she wanted to cycle, then that was her business. ‘Anyway, you’re hardly in a position to judge—do you have any idea the number of mangled motorcyclists I had to patch back together when I was doing my placement in Accident and Emergency?’
A cold snake crawled up her spine at the thought of Francesco being brought in on a trolley....
She blinked the thought away.
‘My riding skills are second to none, as you know perfectly well,’ he said with all the confidence of a man who knew he was the best at what he did. ‘In any case, I do not ride around on a piece of cheap tin.’
‘You can be incredibly arrogant, did you know that?’
‘I’ve been called much worse, and if being arrogant is what it takes to keep you safe then I can live with that.’
His chocolate eyes held hers with an intensity so deep it almost burned. Her fingers itched to touch him, to rub her thumb over the angry set of his lips.