Chapter 8
Orvieto, Italy
There was only one way to spell coward: D-I-L-L-O-N.
Legit thought he was going to die, trapped in that crevice.
Might as well die of humiliation, because he’d sure never live it down that she’d saved his bacon.
Which had technically been the second time.
In Paris, she’d stopped her dad from having him arrested.
And while he’d taken some lead escaping, it would’ve been worse if she hadn’t intervened.
This girl… They might be heading to a fortress, but she had one within her.
Confined spaces were not his specialty. He’d conquered some tight spaces before, but this…this tunnel was eating his breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Now that they’d passed through that gap, at least he could walk with his head up.
A stiff compulsion to explain his claustrophobia to Cove wrestled to vomit itself into the cool, damp tunnel. Let her know he wasn’t the coward that was written all over his actions. That he just… Had no excuse. What must she think of him?
Why did he care?
No idea. But he did. He eyed her, remembering their banter.
The way she’d talked him down, walked him through that suffocating experience.
Good night, had he really told her she had beautiful eyes?
He recalled that slate-gray number she’d worn at the Ritz with the bare shoulder.
The kiss he’d nearly taken from her. Found himself wanting it all over again.
She stopped and turned to him.
Head in the clouds, Dillon nearly collided with her. Swung the rifle away to avoid cracking it against the wall or her.
She smiled and cocked a nod toward the path ahead. “Look.”
He did, but wasn’t—
“It’s lightening,” she said softly. “We’re getting close to the underground city.”
“The sooner, the better.” A weight lifted from his chest, knowing they were nearly done with this nightmare. “I almost died when I was a kid—got stuck in an old dryer.”
Cove drew in a breath and stopped to peer up at him with a wad of sympathy.
“Just didn’t want you thinking I was a chicken.”
Her wide gold eyes took him in. “I never thought that. I can’t imagine the terror you felt, being trapped inside.”
“Freaked out pretty bad when I realized I couldn’t get out. Then I fell asleep…” He shuddered a breath, not sure it was smart to talk about this while they were still stuck down here, but it kept his nerves at bay. “I was unconscious when the paramedics came.”
“What a terrible memory, and it explains your reaction to the confined space.” She smiled at him. “But I see no chicken down here.”
The thudding that sounded like ground-penetrating sonar was actually his heart beneath her gaze. He wanted to say something profound. But his brain was still lost in her gold orbs. He cursed himself when she started walking again.
Another twenty minutes delivered them to the first juncture with spotlights spaced sporadically along the path. They slipped past more than one rope barrier. And for another half hour, they climbed a winding circuit up…up…
“My calves are burning,” she complained. “Why aren’t you tired?”
He huffed a laugh and managed to shift ahead of her. “Life on the lam and a violent need to be out of these tunnels,” he muttered as they passed another cordon. “Plus parkour.”
“Park-what?”
He leapt at the wall, toed it, then did a backflip off it. Landed, facing her, hands out in demonstration. “Parkour.”
“We call that acrobatics here.”
“Dude. Not even close.” Dillon frowned. “Parkour is…cooler.” What are you, twelve? He had to get his head in the game now. Once they got out of this insufferable underground city, what would he do? Couldn’t stay with her. That wouldn’t work.
Down one passage, up a flight of stairs, down a narrow corridor—that felt a mile wide compared to the tunnels—and the lights grew brighter.
“Just a little farther now,” she said as they entered a central area with arches and doors up a solid six or seven levels. They passed a large circular piece. “Almost there.”
“You’ve been saying that for over an hour.” Even though he challenged her, he could feel the air taking on a more normal quality. “You have family in the area?”
She gave him a look.
“Other than your father?” By the time they reached the top, Dillon noted a slight burn in his muscles.
“No, my uncles moved away. No aunts or cousins.” Cove huffed, lagging farther and farther behind. “There,” she said around a panting breath as she took a breather and indicated to a gate with a sign attached with O-rings. “That’s the main gate. At this hour, it might be locked.”
“I can remedy that,” he promised, unwilling to be trapped underground any longer than necessary. “Got any cash on you?”
She frowned up at him. “What is this interrogation? My family, money…?”
He made quick work of freeing the gate and pushed it open, then climbed steep steps up out of the cave system. Night proved as smothering and potent an adversary in blocking his ability to see. A stone wall ran fifty or sixty meters straight up on the left side. A worn path led to an arch.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she pressed.
Cove was bright—should’ve known she’d pick up on the questions. “Trying to get the logistics sorted.” He chided himself for the half-truth. “You know the way from here?”
She stopped and eyed him, then chewed her lower lip, her flashlight flickering. “I think before we go another step, you need to make good on your promise for answers.”
“Never promised.” Man, what was it about this chick that made him feel like a heel for protecting his interests and freedom? It was those eyes. The hurt that splashed across her gold irises. “Fine.” He flashed his palms. “What do you want to know?”
“Why were you in my papà’s office?”
“Looking for a trail.”
Tilting her head, she considered him. “A trail to what?”
“Not what, who.”
She lifted her eyebrows and wagged her head, as if telling him to expound.
“My dad. And no matter how you bat those pretty eyes at me, I’m not telling you more.
” Because he had a feeling he’d spill his guts if she kept prodding and looking at him like that.
He hiked up the steep path, itching to get to open ground.
“Now, do you have somewhere you can go or someone to stay with?”
Cove shot him a quizzical look. “Are we not going back to the house? And why are the questions only about me? What about you?”
Holy fire, she didn’t miss a thing, did she?
Her expression fell. “You’re planning to leave me.”
Ignoring the plaintive sound of those words, he had to help her see the logic.
“The house will be dangerous. They brought in guns and helos to get your dad, then asked about you—expecting you to be in a pink dress.” He gave a cockeyed nod.
“Which means you were part of their plan. That suggests they’d leave a scout or two—or ten—to wait for your return. ”
“That’s crazy. I’m nothing.”
Dillon arched his eyebrow, appreciating how the moonlight glinted off her hazel eyes. “Beg to differ—you’re the lone heir to a billion-dollar fortune.” He stepped out, the cool of the night swirling around him as he considered the route back up to the city. If he could get up there, maybe he—
She grabbed his arm and pulled him around. “You’re not leaving me.”
Surprised at her vehemence and warning tone, he tried to sort what brought out that venom. But one fact remained. “I can’t take you—”
“What does finding your father have to do with mine?”
Dillon started at the direct and sharp shift in conversation.
“Come on—you were in my papà’s office,” she persisted, her words terse. “You said that you were looking for your dad. Why were you looking for your dad in my papà’s office?”
He had nothing to lose at this point. And maybe this revelation would set her back a step. “Your dad was the last one to see mine alive.”
Surprise spiraled through her expression, her full lips parting. “My papà knows yours?”
“Apparently.”
Narrowing her eyes, she studied him. “What is your dad’s name?”
Dillon smirked. “Nice try.” When he’d offered the name Achilles and she’d questioned if that was truly his name, he’d expected her to ask for his real name.
“I wasn’t trying to trick you,” she growled, then sighed. “Before Enzo took everything over, I was my father’s admin and communications director—I handled appointments, communications, and events.”
He sniffed. “Yeah, pretty sure whatever they were doing wouldn’t be on a planner.”
She drew back, her reaction screaming offense. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” Grinding his teeth, he glanced around, searching for an exit so he could be done with this fiasco. “Look, we’re losing time. Do you have somewhere to go?”
“Yes,” she asserted, staying in step with him. “Wherever you are going.”
“Not happening.” He pivoted and started up into the old city that was jam-packed with buildings, one on top of another.
“You cannot just abandon me,” she argued, hustling after him, her words cracking on raw emotion. “I have no one here. No money—I do not even have a phone to call someone.”
“Welcome to my life,” he muttered and aimed in a southerly direction, hoping this elevated city could give him a decent vantage to see the Galtieri villa. “And you’re seriously going to tell me you’ve lived here your whole life and don’t have friends in this village?”
“You don’t have to make it sound so absurd,” she hissed. “Why do you think I traveled with my papà so much? We lived too far from the city, and when you have money, people assume things about you.”
At the clear insinuation that he’d assumed something, he cast her a sidelong glance as they wound along the cobbled streets.
“You should conceal that rifle,” she said, “before someone in the village looks out their window and sees an armed gunman prowling the streets.”
“It’s not like I can tuck it at the small of my back.” But her point was fair, so he held the weapon along the length of his arm and pressed to his side to conceal its shape as much as possible.