Chapter 14
Pescara, Italy
It had been a long time since she’d been on the Ilaria, but even seeing it listing next to the speedboats and sailboats made her heart soar, recalling happier times.
When Mamma was still alive. Cove plodded down to it, feeling an excitement she’d all but forgotten.
“Here we are.” Stopped at the speed cruiser, she smiled back at Dillon. “Do you know how to drive a cruiser?”
Dark eyes took in the boat, then her. “Do you people know how to do anything small?”
She shrugged. “Ad maiora.”
He frowned. “What is—”
“Toward greater things,” she explained. “It is an expression that means you wish someone bigger, greater success—always toward bigger things.” She cocked her head toward the cruiser and stepped from the dock onto the transom.
Passed through the kitchenette on the right and the L-shaped seating arrangement on the left—where she deposited her backpack—and headed to the safe by the cockpit.
Accessed it with the code, then retrieved the key.
“And this is the small boat?”
She grinned at him standing just inside the saloon, gaping. “Papà bought a superyacht from a Saudi prince when I was at boarding school. But it requires a crew and staff, so I thought that might be risky.”
Dillon walked closer, shaking his head in disbelief. “We are from very different worlds, Gelato.”
Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she felt this tug in her chest at that comment.
She did not like that he was putting a gap between them.
“And yet, we fight the same battle, Dillon.” She moved to the cockpit and used the key to power up.
“There are two cabins below,” she said, pointing to the opaque hatch to her left that led belowdecks. “And ahead—toilet and shower.”
As she worked the instruments, he joined her at the helm, peering out through the windshield. “How far to your uncle’s house?”
“It will take a full day, give or take…”
“And this thing has enough gas?”
After checking the instruments, she nodded, then cast off from the dock. “It does.” Back at the helm, she eased the boat from the slip.
“Do you have to notify a dockmaster or something?”
She pursed her lips and gave a one-shouldered shrug.
“It’s not busy. They like you to give notice as a courtesy—mostly to be sure there are slips available upon return—but they’ve never hassled anyone here.
” It felt good to be back on the water, though it also made her miss Mamma again.
She sensed his gaze on her and looked up at him.
Liked the way his gaze took her in, assessing. “Surprised I know how to drive it?”
“Impressed,” he admitted, lowering himself to the leather sofa curving near the captain’s seating. “Did your dad teach you?”
“My uncle,” she said. “Zio Santino and my mamma were practically raised on the water. We would leave the villa and holiday down in Mykonos every summer.”
Dillon snorted. “And here I was impressed my uncles—who aren’t even really my uncles—took me out on the Potomac for fishing on their little dinghy.”
She accelerated, slowly increasing speed as they put distance between them and Pescara. “Who were they?”
“Huh?”
“You said they weren’t really your uncles…”
“Ah.” He leaned back, the water sparkling against his dark eyes. “My dad was part of a military team. Very tight. He didn’t have any siblings. Mom has a brother, but our family came from the team—they were my uncles and aunts.” He met her gaze for a second. “That’s where Achilles came from.”
“So it was your name.”
“Callsign. The team dubbed their kids the Scions and gave each of us a name to maintain operational security. Protect their kids.”
“So, the other Scions,” she said, hesitating over the name, “they are like cousins?”
He bobbed his head. “I guess. To me, they’re brothers and sisters.”
“How many Scions were there?” She really liked that he was talking to her, sharing and opening up about his life and past. He had been so uptight, mysterious. But she supposed the way they were running for their lives created a bond, changed the dynamics.
“Ten, besides me.”
“You are close?”
Nodding, he watched the coastline.
A jealous thought squirmed through her. “Girls?”
His gaze flicked to hers. He held it for a long second. “Yeah.”
“And you are close…”
“Already answered that.”
She hated herself for the jealousy that she could not overcome.
The thought of him having a female friend that he was close to…
“That is nice.” It was not—not at all. Because it did not make sense that a girl might be close to him and not have other feelings too.
One only had to look at him or be around him for two seconds to know he was incredible.
They fell into silence over the next hour, ate one of the loaves and some cheese from Signora Barbieri.
“You said there’s a shower…?”
She pointed to the hatch. “Down and on the right. You might even see if any of Papà’s shirts fit you. And there is a washing machine down there too.”
He nodded but didn’t move. “You good up here on your own?”
She smiled, liking that he asked. “Yes, I am fine.”
Dillon vanished belowdecks and left her to her thoughts.
She itched to check her phone, but she would not violate his trust. He had been so angry when he realized she’d brought it, but she could not risk losing it.
If she had not locked it up during the party—a practice Papà had insisted on for many years so no one would spy on him and his guests—the men who had taken him might have found it. Taken it, too, or worse, destroyed it.
He emerged a half hour later in one of Papà’s polo shirts and a pair of board shorts. Mercy, even his calves were well-muscled. “Put my clothes in the washing machine.” He cocked his head to the lower deck. “You want to shower?”
“I do,” she said, then glanced around the instrumentation.
He hovered, looking nervous. “I have no idea what to do…”
Cove stood, shifting aside to squeak past him. “It is on cruise assist, so you do not have to do anything. Speed and GPS course are set. Only trouble might be other vessels.” She scanned the Adriatic Sea. “Should not be a problem.”
Acutely aware of how close he stood to her, she recalled him holding her when she had fallen apart last night. It had been very nice. “Okay. I will be back.”
Showering the dirt and grime off herself felt so good—save the minor pinch of pain from the glass cut at the back of her head. Cove slipped into a tank top and lounge pants. She grabbed a hoodie since the waters got cold at night, then searched for a scrunchie or hair tie but came up empty.
Back topside, she smiled at him standing by the wheel, uncertain but seemingly at home. “You survived your first turn at the helm,” she said, braiding her hair so it would not get tangled in the sea air. “The Scions would be proud.”
“You mocking me?”
She scrunched her nose. “Maybe a little.” She plodded over to the cabinets and found protein bars and noodle packets. “Want something to eat?”
“I’m good.”
Protein bar in hand, she sat on the curved sofa and drew up a leg and opened the packaging. “I was thinking, since it is a long trip and you did not sleep last night, you should go down and get some rest.”
“I’m good.”
She frowned at him. “Not true. You might be superhuman, but you are not immortal. Bodies require rest.” She wagged her bar at him. “You have bags under your eyes.”
Dillon considered her and the offer, and he seemed to need some encouragement to go ahead and rest.
“Go on. I will be okay,” she said, taking a bite of the bar. “There is quite literally nothing to do for the next twenty-something hours but sit or sleep.”
He indicated to the sofa in the saloon. “I can sleep there.” He stretched out on the leather cushions, grabbed one of the waterproof decorative pillows, and soon snored so loud it vied for dominance with the engines.
Cove peered back over the small serving station at him and smiled.
To sleep that hard told her he trusted her, let his body relax that much.
As the sun went down, so did the temperatures.
It was soon quite cool, so she slipped on the hoodie.
When she checked on him next, he had huddled, arms crossed. Cold.
She hustled down to her cabin, snagged a blanket, and returned topside.
Afraid to wake him, she gently laid the blanket on him.
Stood over him, appreciating the view. Thankful that he had been there during the attack.
That he had protected her, guided her… “Thank you,” she whispered, then returned to the helm.
No matter what he said, he had broken into Papà’s office. And she had never been so glad for a criminal act or its perpetrator.