38. Grand Theft Auto
CHAPTER 38
GRAND THEFT AUTO
S erena
Antonio grits his teeth as he carries the container of gasoline toward the banked Riva, its glossy hull protected by the boathouse we’ve been hiding in for days. I’m shocked he’s keeping to his word to deliver me to Alessandro in Milano. He hasn’t said more than two words to me since yesterday, and he’s waited until the absolute last moment to leave the confines of our little wooden cabin. In some ways, it feels like a lifetime has passed since the day Antonio snatched me off the streets of Manhattan, and other times it feels like it was only yesterday.
A vein pulses across his forehead as he lifts the cannister and tops off the engine for our trip. The wound on his chest has barely had time to heal and since he’s forced to keep it open because of my stupid attempt at sewing it with a needle and thread, he’s clearly in a lot of pain. But of course, he’s too stubborn to admit it.
“You sure you don’t want me to help you with that?” I call out, leaning against the exterior wall of the boathouse, the wood worn and warped from the moisture in the air.
“No,” he rasps through clenched teeth. “I can handle it.”
“Sure, if handling it means you’re going to pass out any second now.”
He swings a glare in my direction as he fits the nozzle into the tank and the gasoline gushes out, the distinctive noise muffling his ragged breaths. He doesn’t even bother to tell me he’s fine for the hundredth time, only continues to ignore me.
Tipping my head back, I pretend to watch the stars winking overhead, while keeping one eye on the stubborn Italian who’s attempting to single-handedly drag the boat back into the water. At this rate, he’s going to bleed out before we make it to the other side of the lake.
Instead of arguing with him, I stomp toward the stern and give it a good shove, so it dislodges from the sandbar.
Antonio glances up over the windshield and shoots me a pointed glare. “I told you I could handle it.”
“And you’re no good to me if you’re bleeding out or dead,” I hiss.
Before he can answer, I give it another good shove, and he has no choice but to refocus on the task at hand or risk getting run over by the Riva. By the time I hear the waves lapping against the hull, I’m dripping in sweat and cursing myself for ever offering to help. Who knew that thing would be so heavy?
But at least we’re finally almost on our way. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be sitting on Ale’s jet heading back to Manhattan. As much as I would love to ignore Papà ’s wishes altogether, I know that if I don’t at least make an appearance back home, he’ll completely lose his shit and drag me back himself.
Antonio leans against the side of the boat, wiping the beads of sweat from his brow. He’s back in his clothes, the canvas of scars and tattoos across his back once again hidden. I’m so tempted to ask what happened, but given his current mood, I don’t waste my time.
Toni lifts his eyes to mine, the pain clearly visible in the clench of his jaw and the deep furrow of his brow. “Grab the supplies from the boathouse, and I’ll get her ready to sail.”
“Yes, captain.” I bring my hand to my forehead in a salute, but all I get is a half-smile in return.
Damn, what has gotten into this man?
Even when he first captured me, he wasn’t this quiet. Sullen and angry? Yes. But this? This was ten times worse. He seems… sad. As I march back to the boathouse, I can’t help but analyze the last forty-eight hours.
Because I’m psychotic, my mind keeps going back to the mind-blowing sex and somehow, I lose my train of thought every time. Which reminds me, I’m supposed to be angry at him for withholding that last orgasm.
Okay enough, Serena, focus . Rifling through our remaining paltry supplies from the wooden cabinets, I fill the bag with the first aid kit, bottles of antibiotics and painkillers the good dottoressa left, and the remaining fruit. I’m shocked to find Antonio’s gun still lying on the counter. Either he’s certain I’m not a flight risk anymore, or he wants me to run and take his gun with me.
I don’t think I’ll ever understand this man.
Either way, I pocket the gun, then grab the bag with our measly supplies before saying a quick goodbye to our temporary home. “You weren’t much, girl, but I’ll never forget the sex. So thanks for that.”
“Are you talking to the boathouse?” Antonio’s voice echoes from behind me, and red-hot embarrassment races up my neck, blanketing my cheeks.
I spin around to find him propped against the doorframe, the ghost of a smile twitching at his lips.
“Did you just thank this pile of old wood for the incredible fuck I provided?”
I force out a laugh, but it’s so fake it grates on my own ears. “Oh, you thought I was talking about you?” I shake my head and wave a dismissive hand. “Since you refused to let me come, I had to take matters into my own hands while you were asleep last night.”
The corner of his lip kicks up. “Oh, really?”
“Yes, and it was the best I’d ever had. I even came twice.”
“With me sleeping right next you?”
I nod because I’m just too far down this rabbit hole already to even try to get myself out. “Pain meds must have knocked you right out.”
Antonio creeps closer, smoldering dark gaze fixed to my mouth, then travels up to meet my eyes. He leans in so his lips are only a breath away and whispers, “ Tesoro , I’d have to be dead not to wake up from the irresistible sounds that spill out of your mouth when you come.”
A chill skates up my spine at the rough edge to his tone. The way he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me has heat racing south. Dio , this man’s mood swings are making my head spin. First, he refuses to speak to me, and now, I’m not sure if he wants to fuck me or murder me.
Before I can string together a coherent thought, he spins on his heel and marches toward the door. “Let’s go,” he calls out over his shoulder, and finally, free of that hypnotic gaze, my feet begin to move.
This is going to be a long twenty-four hours.
Antonio’s master plan of navigating the boat north along Lago di Como instead of directly to Como which would be the most direct route to Milano, seems to have paid off. When we reach Bellagio, a smaller town along the lake a few hours later, the streets of the downtown are quiet.
It’s also almost midnight now, so not many tourists still linger along the banks of the quaint lakeside town. Still, Antonio circles for a few minutes, sharp eyes on the dimly lit shore before finally cutting the engine alongside a small dock.
“Are you ready?” His eyes chase to mine. It’s the most he’s said to me since that awkwardly hot moment back in the boathouse.
I hug the shopping bag to my chest and nod. The feel of Toni’s gun hidden beneath the waistband of my jeans gives me a sense of comfort I haven’t enjoyed in weeks. I noticed him eying it about an hour ago as we traversed the waves of the sleepy lake, but he never said a word.
“So what’s the plan exactly?”
The boat glides up beside the dock, and Antonio ties it to the wooden piling in an expert knot. “The plan is to find a car and drive the rest of the way into the city. At this hour of night, we should be back in Milano in just a little over an hour.”
“And by find a car, you mean steal one?”
He nods, the hint of a spark back in those midnight irises. “Exactly, tesoro .” Then he offers a hand, and I surprise myself at how easily my fingers wrap around his palm. He crosses the gap easily then turns back around to help me.
I’d been so worried about his wound, I’d forgotten all about my ankle. For the first time in days, it doesn’t hurt when I land on it. As if he’s remembered too, Antonio’s eyes meet mine, unease in those bottomless orbs.
“I’m fine. I can barely feel the sprain anymore.”
“ Grazie a Dio .”
Thank God is right. If I’m about to add grand theft auto to my rap sheet, I better be ready to run.
“There.” Antonio ticks his head at a two-door Alfa Romeo. It’s sporty but not too showy, and definitely a common enough car not to attract unnecessary attention. Best of all the window is open just enough to slip a hand through. “Can you?—”
Before he finishes his sentence, I slide my hand through the opening. Papà didn’t only teach me how to handle a gun. I’m also damned good at picking locks, and I know how to hotwire a car.
I can feel Antonio’s weighty stare over my shoulder as I stretch my fingers to reach for the interior door handle. Just a few more inches… The driver’s side door pops open, and I take a step back, offering the spot to Antonio. “Do you want to do the honors or should I?”
He watches me, mouth curved into a grin. “You can hotwire a car too?”
“Of course I can. Only one of my many talents. Maybe someday if you’re lucky, I’ll show you more.”
“I only wish I would be so lucky.” He smirks before taking my hand and tugging me to the passenger’s side and opening the door like an actual gentleman. “The least I can do is start the car. If I don’t make myself useful, then you won’t have any reason to keep me around.”
“That is true.” A stupid grin flashes across my face before I can stop it.
As I settle into the car, Toni gets to work on the wires beneath the steering wheel. In less than a minute, the rumble of the engine breaks the silence of the quiet street. He turns to face me, an unreadable expression on his face, then he leans in, and his lips are suddenly only inches from mine. His eyes dart down to my lips, and tension thickens the air as anticipation tightens my core. Slowly shaking his head, he heaves out a breath and stretches his arm out, reaching for my seatbelt.
I sit there, barely breathing, as he draws it across my hips and snaps it into place.
Merda , what is this man doing to me?