Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
FINA
The bus to Rome winds through the Italian countryside, past sun-drenched vineyards heavy with grapes, silver-leafed olive groves, and crumbling ruins. Midday light spills across the fields, warm and nurturing.
I see none of it.
Only his face—and his surprise the moment I shot him.
Bianca heard that he survived, though nothing more.
I try to pick up the pieces and slip back into the rhythm of my new life. Pretend I’m the same girl who fell in love with Rome and freedom’s illusion.
But everything’s changed, hasn’t it?
I’ve been exposed. Renzo and Dante know exactly who I am. Worse, I’m entangled with two mafia families now. I shot at the Cosa Nostra, wounded a capo di tutti capi’s son, and didn’t just ignore Aunt Teresa’s warning to not get noticed but turned it into a freaking spectacle.
Running’s an option, but what good will it do without a plan in place?
Nearly three weeks have passed; I feel like I’m suspended in air, feet dangling after my shoes have already dropped. Still, there’s no sign of Renzo or Dante.
Does he want me to let go? It seems that way.
A light rain falls as I exit the bus. Of course, I grabbed two corn husks instead of an umbrella when leaving the house, so I’m unprepared.
I tuck in my chin and, as the rain picks up, dash along the nearby sidewalk. Most people step inside, out of the elements. My prozia will be pleased—additional business is always welcome.
I’m two blocks away when a man slams into my side.
Then his arms wrap around me, and I’m being dragged into a narrow side street.
“Togliti le mani di dosso, stronzo,” I screech, struggling to break free.
He loosens his grip just enough to slam a fist into my ribs, driving me face-first against the stone wall. Pain blooms across my cheeks, raw and burning. I gasp, desperate for air, my lungs screaming. My mind in a state of shock and outrage.
The stench of cigarette smoke clings to him, thick and choking. Triggering the nightmare I escaped, the burn marks on my skin feeling as raw as the day Settemo assaulted me.
You escaped him and his uncle, Fina. There’s a way out of this, too.
Rain pours down in buckets, soaking my hair, my clothes. Undeterred, I brace my hands on the wall slick with water and grime.
Slide a foot behind his ankle.
And go slack, like I’ve given up, before he comes at me again.
It’s basic self-defense 101. The oldest trick in the book.
I draw courage from my outrage at all the men who’ve touched me without permission, who underappreciated my worth.
“Ahhh!” I scream, raw and sharp, shoving off the wall with everything I’ve got, ramming into him.
He slams onto the cobblestones with a sickening thud, his right hand flung useless at my foot.
“Wrong woman to fuck with,” I growl, seizing the moment.
I raise my leg and drive my heel down onto his fingers.
The crunch is cruel, and oh so satisfying. As is the scream that tears through the rain.
I bolt, heart hammering.
Thankful to have escaped with just a few scrapes and my dignity intact.
Dante Lucchese walks into the restaurant, and the place falls silent.
I pause midstep, then set two steaming plates onto the nearest surface before I drop them. His appearance isn’t unusual, but his manner is, as is the fact he’s alone.
This day keeps getting worse.
The couple at the table protest. “Tesoro, quella non è la nostra cena.”
I’m too focused on Dante to care.
His eyes skim the crowded room until they land on me.
Oh shit.
He stalks toward me.
“Bianca isn’t working tonight,” I offer.
Without answering, he grabs my elbow and directs me into the kitchen.
My aunt stops stirring her sauce. “Dante,” she exclaims, as surprised as I am by his appearance.
Still no response as he tugs me along into the back storage room.
The door slams shut.
He releases my arm, but I remain trapped beneath his ferocious glare. “What happened to your face?”
“Excuse me?”
He rakes his eyes over me.
My cheeks are scraped pretty badly. I didn’t cover them with makeup, hoping fresh air will offer a quicker healing process. Like everything, it’s temporary, as will be the memory of today’s attempted robbery.
“Nothing.”
“Answer me, Elia.”
“It’s Fina.”
“What?”
“My friends call me Fina.” Not that Dante Lucchese is my friend, but I certainly hope he’s not an enemy.
His lips tighten. “You avoiding my question?”
“A man tried to rob me on the way to the restaurant. Pulled me into a side street and threw me against a wall, where I scratched my face.” I clench angry fists, so tired of men believing I’m their victim.
“What did he look like? What was he wearing?”
“Why?”
“I’ll take care of him.”
I sigh with frustration. “He wore black jeans and a black hoodie. That’s all I saw.”
“I’ll ask around the neighborhood. See if someone knows anything.”
“Okay …” I say, unnerved by his kindness.
He pauses for a few seconds, like he’s choosing his next words. “Has Renzo seen your face?”
“Renzo,” I exclaim. “No.”
“He hasn’t been in contact?”
“Contact? No. I thought he was recovering.”
“Damn it.”
My stomach drops. “Are you sending me back to my father?”
“How about we make a deal?” he smoothly replies.
“What kind of deal? You want me to put in a good word to Bianca on your behalf?”
His face crunches, and I almost laugh. This big-dicked, talented-mouthed hunk has women falling all over him. The idea he’d need my help is comical.
“This remains between us, capisci?”
A nagging feeling settles in. “What did he do?”
“You’ll be under my protection if you help me. Your father will no longer have a say over you.”
Oh. My. God. He’s handing me years of missed birthdays wrapped up in one enormous gift. No more running. No more being a pawn in my father’s games. “One more thing.” I force the words out. “My mother disappeared when I was five. I want to know if he did it, if he killed her.”
“Done.”
I’ll finally know. And now under Dante’s protection, I’ll find ways to hurt Darling Daddy that would make any made man proud.
Dante silently watches me, waiting for my question.
“What’s the deal?”
“Renzo. He’s missing. And I need you to track him down.”