Chapter 10
Orvieto, Italy
What was taking her so long?
Man, I do not belong in this world.
He hadn’t grown up poor, but this… Didn’t matter how beautiful Gelato was. How much he wanted to kiss her. They were not just from different worlds. Entire galaxies separated them.
And that two minutes had turned into ten. “Cove!” he whispered as loud as he dared without alerting anyone to their presence. Hoisting the strap of the satchel crossbody, he stilled at movement on the lawn.
Two men emerged from a small stone structure that was likely a shed. Gut tight, he watched them pause, the dull glow of a phone screen illuminating their faces. A third and fourth joined them. “Cove!” he growled, a little louder toward the stairs, still watching the men.
The guy holding the phone looked up at the house. Another pointed.
Holy fire, what had she done? “Incoming!” Dillon didn’t worry about being quiet.
The tap-tap-tap of shoes snapped him in that direction, weapon up and trained on the noise.
Relieved it was her, he then shifted to irritation at whatever had taken her so long.
“Move-move! They’re coming!” Even as she flung herself across the foyer, he shifted toward the side passage. “What’d you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullspit!” He palmed her spine and felt a backpack there now. “They got a signal.”
She drew in a breath and faltered, looking at him.
“Keep moving—the garage.” They abandoned stealth for speed. “The cars—are the keys in the garage?”
“Yes,” she said, hustling down the stairs to the rear hall. “Which one should—”
“Land Cruiser.”
She nodded and kept moving. Opened the garage door. Scuttled down the steps, swung over to a panel, and grabbed keys. Threw them at him.
Dillon caught them and unlocked the vehicle. “Middle row. Get in and stay down.” He climbed in and pitched Papà’s satchel to the back.
“The door button—”
“No time,” he said, starting the vehicle. After glancing back to be sure she was down, he pressed the brake and revved the engine. Tires squalling, he released it. They barreled through the garage door, bucking it away.
Shots pinged off the side and he ducked, whipping the wheel to the right and sending the antique Cruiser around the arcing drive. He gunned it up the hill, the bullets falling away.
“Is it—”
A man stepped into the drive, aiming an AK-47 at him.
Dillon accelerated as bullets pinged off the hood. Cracked the windshield.
Cove yelped.
“You okay?” he asked, unable to look back as he plowed toward the man, who dove away at the last minute. Dillon veered around the curve to the right.
“Go left! Go left!” she shouted from the floorboard.
“There’s no—”
“Left!”
He whipped the wheel to the left, and only then saw a small, narrow rutted road there. Jouncing along, he didn’t slow.
“It’s a quick access to the main road. The other way will take you straight past the house.”
In other words, the shooters. “Smart. Thanks.”
“I’m just trying to stay alive,” she muttered with a nervous laugh.
He careened down the dirt road, then spied the access to the road and took it. The Cruiser bounced and trounced off the rutted road onto a smooth, paved road.
“Is it safe?”
“Too soon to tell,” Dillon answered, knowing full well if those shooters had a vehicle—
Lights exploded behind them.
“Stay down! They’re coming!”
They barreled over the road, and he kept a sharp eye bouncing between their tails and the exit. Whoever was on them, whoever wanted Cove captured, had skills. “Got any ideas for us to ditch them?”
“After the next turn,” she said, staying low, “there’s a bridge. Lots of trees. If you go to the right before the bridge, there’s a side road. It’s often concealed by overgrown trees and shrubs, but it’s there. We could trick them…”
“Got it,” he said, pressing the accelerator even harder. The engine strained and he prayed bullets hadn’t done damage that would put them at the mercy of these thugs. Gaze flipping between the front and the rearview, he took the curve.
Saw the spot she’d mentioned. Maybe if they—
Lights blinded him from behind. Which meant they’d see him take the diversionary route. “No good,” he ground out, gunning it. “Stay down, but crawl up here. I have no idea which way to go. You need to guide us out.”
She dragged herself between the two front bucket seats and secured herself with the belt.
They’d gone several miles on the winding road without the thugs gaining. Why…why weren’t they gaining?
“I think we have a problem,” he said, eyeing their pursuers. “They should’ve already overtaken us.”
Cove peeked around the seat, looking back. “You sure?”
“Dead sure.”
She started at his phrase.
“Modern-day SUVs have more horsepower under the hood than this antique.” He indicated ahead of them. “What’s up there?”
“Farms, a small village.”
“Do the roads intersect?”
“No, I—” She gasped. “Wait! Yesss,” she breathed. “The road from the winery leads to this one, which has a roundabout way into Orvieto.”
“Then why in heaven did you tell me to go this way?”
“I do not usually use this road,” she balked, her tone plagued with defensiveness, “but I suggested this because of the turnoff, which you passed.”
“They were too close.” Dillon muttered an oath, then exhaled as he tore up the road, trying to put more distance between them. But no matter how fast he went down the winding road, the vehicles stayed back a quarter klick. He huffed. “I need a way to ditch them. Any ideas?”
“A kilometer or so ahead there should be a side road. It leads to the vineyard.”
Did she really think they could hide in a vineyard?
“The roads are very twisty that way,” she explained. “A lot of abandoned buildings. If we can get enough of a lead, maybe we could pull into one of them and hide.”
“We’ve already tried the ‘enough of a lead’ thing. Didn’t work.”
Hope bled through her gold eyes. “It might this time.”
Dillon considered her, frustrated. Worried. He did not know what hornet’s nest he’d stepped into by coming to Italy to pin down Massimo Galtieri. But it was massively blowing up in his face.
“This road with its switchbacks will also lead to the autostrada.”
“Highway?” he guessed.
She nodded, then indicated to the side of the road. “That white sign—turn there.”
Not sure that was the right call, he considered their tail. Wondered if things might be different this time with the “enough of a lead” for him to trust her again.
“You should slow down to make the turn,” she said with a hint of nerves.
But doing that meant committing to her suggestion. He wasn’t there yet.
A car erupted from a side road, fishtailed, and whipped straight—facing them. Coming head-on.
“Guess we’re taking that road,” Dillon said. “Hold on!” He accelerated, not wanting to slow down and give the gunmen behind them more opportunity. Waited until the last possible second, nailed the brake, and yanked the wheel. The Cruiser fishtailed. He compensated, aiming for the narrow side road.
Cove screamed as the back tires skidded off the paved road. Thudded into the ditch.
Calm, focused, Dillon pulled it out and trounced back onto the road. Gunned it, dirt and rocks spitting from beneath them.
The rear windshield exploded.
Crying out, Cove grabbed the back of her head.
Alarmed, Dillon snapped to her. “You okay?”
Still cupping her head, she nodded, but her expression was pained. That looked like blood on the seat and her hand.
“Cove—”
“Turn!” she shouted, pointing.
He faltered for a split-second, worried about her, then whipped his focus back to the road.
Spotted a sharp curve. Nailed the brake and spun them around the corner, the backend fishtailing again, but not near as bad.
They tore off. The road ahead was straight, giving him time to count the seconds until the first black SUV took the turn.
Freak! That’d only been five seconds—
The vehicle went airborne, having taken the turn too sharp. It spun like a top. Bounced. Flipped again.
Dillon kept driving. Saw the second vehicle even as he was taking the next turn. Ahead, a nightmare was playing out. From opposite sides of the road, a large tractor and a massive harvester advanced toward each other. If those vehicles blocked the road, they were as good as dead.
“No no no…” He pressed the gas, but he was already giving it all he could.
“We won’t make it!” Cove quailed, drew her arms and legs to herself, anticipating a crash.
“We will!” Have to.
“They’re too close!”
“Don’t…don’t…” he warned the drivers of the farm equipment as if they could hear him. Felt his breath stall as he raced closer.
“No! No!” Cove shouted, curling in on herself with a squeal.
Narrowly diving between the two scraped off a mirror. But they made it. Dillon let out a whoop!
Behind them, the two entered the road.
No. Blocked the road.
Cove laughed. “That was Signore Giordano in one of Papà’s grape harvesters and Signore Barone, a vineyard manager!” She caught his arm. “How did they know?”
Dillon did not slow down as he raced to the next curve, took it, even then stealing a glance. Seeing the SUVs fighting to get around the large equipment.
Laughter dying, Cove drew in a breath as she watched the confrontation. “No…” She slapped his shoulder. “They’re shooting at them!”
Tightening his jaw, Dillon knew he couldn’t slow. Not yet.
“Stop! Stop, stop—they’re going to kill them!”
“We can’t.” A breath caught in his throat. He swallowed. “If we stop, they’ll kill us.”