30. Tomas
30
TOMAS
T he moment I finish teaching my class, I text Ali.
She doesn’t respond.
Which is a little weird. I thought she’d be itching at a chance to remind me I now owe her a hundred thousand euros.
I make myself wait ten minutes and text her again.
Once again, nothing.
She was supposed to go to get groceries. She didn’t go back to the gym after, did she? I’m not too far from Groff’s—the university is only a short walk away—so I head in that direction, mocking myself the entire way there. She probably just forgot to charge her phone. What are you going to say when you see her? Are you going to pretend you forgot something in the office? Idiot.
This is starting to approach stalker territory, and I find I don’t care.
I arrive at Groff’s, and there are about a dozen or so people here, half of them lifting weights and the other half in a class being taught by Luke Barnes, Ali’s new instructor. I watch for a little and grudgingly realize that he’s a good hire. He’s firm but patient, and he doesn’t take himself too seriously. A little too good-looking, though.
Fine, I’m jealous. I admit it.
Ali isn’t in the lobby, and she isn’t in the postage-stamp-sized office either. I pick the lock of the door leading to her apartment with laughable ease—note to self: get her better locks—and knock at her front door loudly, insistently—but there’s no reply.
My heart starts to race.
Where is she? I talked to her at seven, right before I headed into class. It’s now a quarter after nine, and she’s not at the gym or in her apartment. Where could she be? She didn’t have plans for the evening; she was going to buy food and then head straight back home. She couldn’t have forgotten to text me; one hundred thousand euros is riding on it, and Ali wouldn’t pass up the chance to gloat about what a terrible deal I made. So where is she?
You’re freaking out for no reason.
Maybe I am. But something about this situation feels off.
I call Valentina, the Venice Mafia’s resident hacker. “I’m sorry to disturb you so late,” I say when she answers. “But I need a favor. Could you locate someone for me from their cell phone number?”
“Sure,” she replies. “Who?”
“It’s Alina,” I admit, feeling a little foolish. If word gets around, the guys will have a field day with it. Joao will laugh his head off. “I’ve been trying to reach her for the last half an hour, but she isn’t answering her phone.”
“She hasn’t gotten in touch with you for half an hour, and you want me to track her phone? Have you considered that maybe she’s busy?”
Valentina sounds skeptical, and I don’t blame her. “Please look. All my texts to her are unread. This isn’t like Alina.”
“Or maybe her phone died,” Valentina says. “No, hang on, it’s not. I’m getting a signal in Castello.”
“Castello?” A sudden sense of dread fills me, and I start to move. What the hell is Alina doing in Castello? “Can you get me a precise location?”
“It’s going to take me a few minutes. Hang on.”
My boat is in Tronchetto, the opposite direction of Ali’s location. Not enough time to get it. I hurry alongside the Grand Canal until I find a suitable speedboat moored to the side. Perfect. I cut the docking rope and jump in. It’s only a moment’s work to hot-wire the boat the way Joao taught me. Then I rev the motor.
Valentina’s voice sounds in my ear. “Tomas, did you just steal a boat?”
“He did what?” I hear Dante say in the background.
I can’t pay attention to them—not now. I speed north on the Canalasso and then turn onto one of the narrower canals that will take me to Castello. The moment I do that, I curse out loud. A gondola carrying a couple of lovestruck tourists is blocking the way, the ancient gondolier paddling at the speed of a snail.
I drum my fingers impatiently against the dash. “Well?” I bark into my phone. “Where is she?” Castello is a narrow slice of the island. “North or south?”
Valentina’s reply comes after a moment. “North. Between Ospedale and Celestia.”
Ospedale and Celestia are vaporetto stops. The gondola finally turns into another narrow canal, clearing the way in front of me. Just then, my phone beeps.
Another call is coming through.
Alina.
“I’ll call you back,” I tell Valentina, then switch lines. “Ali, thank fuck.”
She giggles. “That seems like a very un-Tomas thing to say. You’re always so calm and collected.”
Giggling? Alina doesn’t giggle. Her voice is higher pitched than normal. Breathier. The hair at the back of my neck stands up. “I’ve been trying to reach you for an hour.”
She giggles again. “I went out to grab pizza with a friend.”
“What’s wrong with your voice?”
“Have I ever told you that you’re hot?” She’s slurring her words as if she’s had one too many glasses of wine. Is that the reason for the giggles? If she’s drunk, I don’t like the thought of her wandering around these streets at night. Antonio’s made sure that Venice is a safe city, but even he can’t control everything. This is a city with a lot of tourists, and one of them might be tempted to take advantage of her.
I’ve reached the open waters of the lagoon. “Ali, where are you?” I ask as I speed toward Ospedale on my stolen boat, my heart pounding. No doubt I’m being paranoid, but she’s all by herself. Anything could happen.
She doesn’t reply, not right away. Her answer, when it comes, doesn’t make any sense. “So weird,” she mumbles. “It’s far too warm for skiing.”
“It’s far too warm for skiing? What the hell does that mean? Alina, where are you?”
My gaze snags on something that doesn’t quite add up.
Venice is brightly lit at night. The city prides itself on it. On the Piazza San Marco, the ornate pink-glassed streetlamps are a famous tourist attraction. Even in quieter Castello, the docks are typically illuminated. But cruising past Ospedale toward Celestia, I see a section that is completely in the dark.
Why?
On instinct, I pull in for a closer look. Just in time to hear Ali say, “These guys are wearing them…”
The moon comes out from behind a cloud, and I see something that makes my blood run cold. Two black-clad men are on the dock, trying to get a struggling woman into their waiting boat.
It’s Ali. They’re abducting Ali.
Hot rage smothers me. Their craft is small but built for speed. I can’t let them get her on the boat—it’s too risky. In open water, in the dark, there’s a strong chance I’ll lose them. Only one thing to do then. I gun my motor, heading straight for their hull and bracing myself for the collision.
I leap forward onto the dock right as my boat tears through their escape vessel.
The impact sends a shockwave through the old, weathered wood, but I’m already moving past the wreckage, adrenaline surging through my veins. The first kidnapper doesn’t even see me coming. I pull out my knife and stab his kidney, twisting the blade as I yank it back. He’s dead before he hits the ground.
The other man has a knife. A knife he threatened Alina with. He lunges toward me, but I step out of the way and snap a high kick to his chest that sends him staggering back. He trips over a coil of rope and loses his grip on the blade. His eyes widen as he takes in his dead friend, and he scrambles backward as I advance, hoping to avoid the death that’s staring at him in the face.
Then he wraps his hand around Alina’s ankle.
I don’t know why. I don’t know if he’s thinking he can use her as a shield. All I know is that the moment he does that, he signs his death warrant.
I yank the rope, pulling him toward me. “You dared to touch her?” I snarl. My reflexes are honed by years of relentless combat in the octagon. I grab his face and snap his wrist and then his elbow. He shrieks in pain, and Ali stirs. In the moonlight, I can see her face, and something clenches in my stomach. Her eyes are glazed, and her skin is pale.
Too pale.
This isn’t a glass or two of wine. She looks drugged.
They roofied her?
One of the kidnappers, the one still alive, takes advantage of my momentary distraction. He comes for me, arm hanging limply at his side. I want to make him suffer. I want to carve him open like a turkey and watch him bleed out.
But Ali’s scrambling on her feet, her body swaying unsteadily, and she needs me.
I snap his neck and fling his body into the water, rushing forward and catching her before she hits the ground. The moon shines down on her face, and she’s never looked more beautiful because she’s alive. She’s so fucking precious, and she’s alive. “Hey,” I say softly. “Ali. Open your eyes, dolcezza.”
She smiles at me, her eyes unfocused. “Tomas? Is that you?”
She’s unharmed. “Yes,” I confirm, relief shuddering through my body. “It’s me. I found you.”
Her forehead furrows in confusion. “Were you looking for me?”
I’ve been looking for you all my life.
The thought comes from nowhere and strikes me like a bolt. When the hell did this happen? And how? For five years, I’ve been nursing my wounds, using Estela’s rejection as a shield. I don’t date; I meet women at Casanova for short-term flings. For five years, I’ve been afraid of getting close to anyone. Afraid of being vulnerable.
But somehow, Alina’s undermined my defenses. With her snark and her sass, her passion and her fire, her supposedly poisoned café bombon, she broke through.
And I didn’t even realize it. Not until it was almost too late. She was right in front of me, and I almost lost her.
I let out a long exhale, and my heartbeat slowly returns to normal. “Come on, dolcezza. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Bed?” she purrs. “I like the sound of that. You’re really hot, Tomas. I masturbate thinking of you all the time.”
And before I can process that unexpected revelation, her face turns green, and she leans forward and throws up on my shoes.