26. A Moral Dilemma
CHAPTER 26
A MORAL DILEMMA
S erena
Shit. Shit. Fuck .
A thick cloud of smoke billows from the rooftop of the villa, blanketing the serene blue sky in a dark haze. Where the hell is the fire department? If we were in Manhattan, a cacophony of sirens would be blaring by now.
I pace the length of the boat, my movements so quick and erratic I’m making myself dizzy. Why am I still here? I should have run by now. But for some insane reason, my feet are planted to the worn wooden floorboards. Yes, my ankle would be a problem, but it’s not like I haven’t tried running with it before.
My spinning thoughts whirl back to a half hour ago, to that scorching kiss. My fingers move to my lips, trailing over my skin. Antonio’s breath still ghosts over my mouth, the overwhelming fire from that single touch permanently branded in my memory.
But that has nothing to do with why I can’t move…
My thoughts swirl to Mariuccia, to the kind woman who tried to make me as comfortable as a prisoner could be, who cared for the estate, and more than that, clearly still cared for Antonio. Possibly the last person left on this planet who does.
Please don’t let her be dead . I send the prayer up to the heavens, hoping Dio will hear. Not that I’ve put much stock in religion, but Nonna was a fervent believer.
A sharp blast detonates, then the rumble of collapsing concrete rolls through the still afternoon. My head whips in the direction of the villa, and I can’t help my heart from sinking. What fell? A tower, a terrazzo? I shouldn’t give one shit about Antonio’s beautiful home, but I do. It’s just a travesty for an architectural masterpiece like that to be destroyed. It has nothing to do with the memories housed within those walls. Or that painting in the foyer.
I glance at my watch, staring at the face as the minutes wind down on the timer. He promised he’d be back. I rise to my tiptoes to see over the dense foliage along the shore. Come on… Two minutes left. I start to mentally prepare for the possibility of escape. If he’s not back, I have to go. I’d be insane not to.
How is this even a moral dilemma?
I should absolutely, one hundred percent be attempting to run away from my kidnapper. And still, I’m rooted to the spot, eyeing the thick shrubbery he disappeared through like my life depends on it.
The buzzer goes off, the sharp sound sending my heart leaping up my throat. “Son of a bitch,” I grit out, my hand on my chest to settle the wild thumping.
Fuck this . I don’t owe Antonio anything. He’s lucky I waited this long. I stagger toward the edge of the boat and climb up, steading myself on the canopy. It’s a good thing he beached the vessel before he left, or I’d be swimming out of here. Instead, I just have to jump a few feet onto the shore. Which with my sprained ankle isn’t ideal, but still doable.
But what if he comes back, doesn’t find me and goes for Bella instead?
I hover on the ledge, fingers curled around the mahogany siding.
Shit. What do I do?
A gunshot explodes in the distance, and I duck before dropping to the floor. For the hundredth time, I curse the loss of my Dolce. Fucking Antonio. If I had my gun right now, I would not be crouching here defenseless.
More shots pepper the silence, then the rumble of an engine draws my attention around the bend. Peering over the gleaming wood siding, I catch a glimpse of a boat speeding away from the direction of the villa. The roar of the engine grows closer, and I mutter a curse, dropping my stomach to the floor and wedging myself in the tiny space between the bench seat and the stern. Shit. I need a weapon.
Whipping open a cabinet beneath the steering wheel, I rifle through its paltry contents. Life jacket, rope, fire extinguisher, first-aid kit… It’s too late for the fire extinguisher, but the first aid kit could have something. The steady rumble grows closer, and my pulse escalates in time with the sound. Unlatching the container, my heart soars at the sight of a little Swiss Army knife nestled within the bandages and alcohol swabs.
I flick it open and find the small blade sharp at least. Throwing a few supplies in my purse, just in case the worst happens, I eye the tiny space built into the stern. I might fit inside it… I don’t dare risk another peek over the side of the boat. Drawing in a breath, I crawl into the dark space, just barely getting my legs in and use my foot to close the cabinet door. A pungent, moist odor fills my lungs, and I barely restrain the urge to gag. I bury my nose in Antonio’s sweatshirt, his now familiar musky scent an odd comfort to the rising panic. Forcing my lungs to take small, measured breaths, I strain to listen for the approaching boat.
Muffled voices resound over the engine, and I tense, my fingers curling around the pocketknife. They’re still too garbled to determine how many men are aboard the vessel, but any more than two and I’m screwed. I could catch one with the knife using the element of surprise, the second one would be difficult but not impossible to subdue, but a third or more and there’s no way I’d be able to fight my way out.
The incessant rumble finally falls away, and gentle waves lap at the hull of my boat from the approaching craft. I hold my breath as they draw closer, and their unintelligible mutters grow more distinct.
“ La barca è abbandonata, vedi ?” A male voice shouts in Italian. “ Non c'è nessuno .”
“ E la ragazza ?”
My heart stops. They’re looking for a girl. Me?
“ Deve essere scappata. Forse ci ha visti eliminare Antonio, è entrata in panico ed è fuggita .”
Oh, shit, Antonio. They eliminated him? An unexpected jab of something I refuse to name spears me straight in the ribs. He’s dead? My heartbeat races, kicking at my ribs as I attempt to steady its manic pace. I’m sure it’s so loud they’ll hear and find my hiding spot.
“ Il capo non sarà contento.”
The boss? Who’s your boss, dammit !
“Bene, attracchiamo la barca più avanti, vicino al centro della città e possiamo cercarla là.”
“Va bene .”
They’re going to search the center of town for me? They’ve killed off Antonio and now they want me? But for what?
My head spins, a desperate tangle of fear and a twinge of that which will remain unnamed. He can’t be dead… His musky amber scent still lingers on his clothes. Dio , I should be happy if he was. Though now with these guys hunting me down, it looks like I have a whole new set of problems to worry about.
The engine starts up again and I wait, calmly forcing air in and out of my lungs until the sound completely recedes, and I’m convinced whoever torched the villa is gone. Carefully, I hook my good foot onto the interior handle and push the door open.
A part of me is certain I’m going to meet the barrel of a gun once I squirm my way out of this floating coffin.
But I don’t…
Once I’m free from the claustrophobic enclosure, I stuff the Swiss Army knife into my pocket, crawl on hands and knees, gulping down semi-fresh air and peer over the siding. No other boat in sight. Dropping down onto my ass, I heave out a breath and search the skyline for the remnants of the villa. From this side of the hill, all I can make out is the dense cloud of smoke.
I have to get closer.
If Antonio really is dead, I need to know.
For Isabella.
Liar . An annoying voice in the dark corners of my mind calls me out. Weirdly enough it sounds a lot like my cousin, Matty. Shoving back the pointless thoughts, I throw my purse packed with first aid supplies over my shoulder and heave myself over the side of the boat.
I land on my good ankle, but still a twinge courses up my leg when the second hits the moist sand a second later. Thank Dio I opted for sweatpants today which of course made me choose the sneakers to go with it. At least, I’d have some ankle support for the trek back to the villa.
Which I actually have no idea how to get to.
Luckily, I saw where Antonio had disappeared through the lush greenery, and I start off by simply following his path. From there, it’s not hard to track the billowing trail of smoke to the grand estate.
Considering I’m still limping, I make it back to the villa surprisingly quickly, some unknown force guiding my footsteps. The familiar pastel terrazzos appear at a distance, and a gasp parts my lips. The beautiful gardens are aflame, the orchard, the towering pines, all of it, nothing but ashy remains.
Dio , I hope Mariuccia and Fabi made it out.
As I skirt the perimeter of the grounds, I search for any signs of the women. Not only are they nowhere in sight, but also, the guards that prowl the property are missing. They’re dead… they must be.
That unnamable feeling returns, my stomach sinking at the thought of Antonio. I should get out of here. There’s nothing and no one left. I can’t go to the village, but there must be somewhere else I could hide out for a few days. Then I just need to get a hold of Pa, and he’ll come for me.
I glance across the swath of destruction, the brilliant flames licking up the sides of the grand villa, and the open wrought iron gate at the edge of the compound. Go . It’s time to get the hell out of here.
Still, my feet refuse to obey. Just one quick circle around the house.
Mariuccia and Fabi were in the kitchen the last time I saw them. Maybe they got out somehow…
My feet are moving before I can convince myself otherwise. I skirt the outer edge of the property, sticking as far away from the raging flames as possible. Where the hell are the vigili del fuoco ? It cannot possibly take that long to get firemen out here. I circle the terrazzo where I first chatted with Mariuccia as I sunbathed on the lounger, and my chest tightens. Nothing but charred remnants.
A pit of unease tightens low in my belly. I finally reach the easternmost side of the house and dread coils in my gut. The kitchen windows are blown out, glass shards strewn across the scorched lawn.
A figure catches my eye, splayed out on the ground, just a few yards away from the burning house. My heart catapults up my chest, and I’m sprinting before I realize what a bad idea it is, but the adrenaline numbs the pain.
As I draw closer, that pit of dread only expands. Black shirt, dark jeans and the head of wild midnight hair.
Shit, Antonio.