Allies
Chapter Nine
Imake my way back to the bedroom, still in my damp swimwear, my skin prickling with goosebumps, not only from the coolness but from the thrum of feeling alive and alert.
Well past two in the morning now, and I doubt I will sleep.
In the room, I look at myself in the full-length mirror.
Mud is caked on my knees, down both arms and across my torso.
I strip off completely, tossing the watch Nishan gifted me onto the bedside cabinet.
A hot shower seems like the perfect antidote.
Beneath the rainfall shower, I let the water rinse the grime away.
What happened downstairs has me confused.
Should I feel concerned that the villa walls were breached and four assailants targeted me?
Because I don’t. If anything, I am exhilarated by the encounter, given permission to defend myself and submit to innate fighting instincts.
I am more confused at the quietly coordinated response of the house staff, Mrs Bellacci and her son.
I appreciate that they might need to protect themselves this far out in the countryside, but not only did they appear unsurprised, their methods were also coldly efficient.
And if I am wrong, and the men were not targeting me, then what was their purpose?
Are burglars in this country usually so heavily armed?
I find that hard to believe. We have a lot to discuss later this morning.
Still in the cubicle, I am towelling myself dry when I hear a sound from the bedroom.
“Gabriel?”
Although I know the owner of the voice, hearing Lorenzo call me by my given name for the first time takes me by surprise.
“In the shower. Give me a moment.”
From what I know of him, I doubt he will obey.
Perhaps he’ll come barging into the bathroom, dropping his clothes on the tiled floor, opening the shower’s glass door and stepping inside.
After ordering me to wash him, he will allow me to crush his body against the glass and claim him.
Or perhaps that’s my overactive imagination responding to the evening’s excitement and my suppressed libido after a long dry spell.
He won’t harm me because I know he’s not my enemy.
Instincts tell me that loud and clear. His attraction is wild and rugged, uncultured yet unaffected, with a solid, muscled, raw physique more suited to the brooding figure of a highly trained street fighter.
Even the thought of him makes me semi-hard.
I emerge into the bedroom with the towel tied around my waist to find him standing outside the door to my bedroom.
His expression is as unreadable as ever.
Wearing a loose black T-shirt now, splatters of blood are still slick on one of his forearms, with a spot on his right cheek.
No doubt there is more beneath the shirt.
He holds the towel I used for swimming in one hand, something he could have left at the end of the bed.
“I return this to you.”
“Thank you. Please come in.”
He hesitates a second before stepping into the room. The temperature has cooled with nightfall, and I have left a fresh pair of boxers and a white tee on the bed. As I twist around to pick up my shorts from the covers, I let the bath towel drop from around my waist to the floor.
“You can use my shower, if you wish,” I say, as I turn to face him.
“Why? You want to watch me again?” comes his response after a moment’s hesitation, but this time the ghost of a smile softens his face.
I observe him calmly as his gaze moves down my naked body, pausing a second to notice my slightly swollen cock. His eyes rest there a while but his expression gives nothing away.
“After the events of tonight, I thought you might prefer the relative safety of an indoor shower,” I reply as I haul on my boxers. “Rather than standing the chance of being attacked by more intruders.”
“We also have an indoor shower.” His eyes finally meet mine. “And I can take care of myself.”
“You most certainly can.”
As I pull on my T-shirt, he remains standing there, observing me, as though he is trying to figure something out or has more words he needs to speak. I notice his English is much better than I initially thought. Or maybe he had a reason to conceal the fact.
“You swim well,” he says. “You do this to maintain good health?”
“Until recently, I used to swim at least once a day. How about you? How do you manage to keep yourself looking so good?”
“You think I look good?”
“I—yes, I do.”
His face softens, not a smile exactly, but a distinct relaxing of his features.
“I carry out—how do you say—manual labour tasks. Outdoor work in the villa grounds. And in the past, physical training has been an important part of my routine.”
We stand there awkwardly. Lorenzo seems almost as inept at small talk as I am, something I find endearing. I notice he is still holding the towel he brought, and I step forward.
“Shall I take that from you?”
He holds out the damp cloth, and as I reach for it with one hand, I can’t help but brush my thumb over the spot of blood on his cheek with the other.
My thumb grazes the bristles of his face while I watch his expression.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t flinch or move but I am sure he leans a fraction into the touch. He gazes back at me until I am done.
“I’m sorry,” I say, stepping back. “You had blood on your face.”
He slides his tattooed fingers across his cheek but maintains eye contact with me. There’s a subtle shift in his expression when he lowers his hand.
“She is not my mother, la signora Bellacci.”
“I see.”
“You are not surprised?”
Am I? The news does not come as a revelation. After seeing them in action tonight, even if they are not related, they are clearly a tight unit.
“You work well together.”
“Yes, we do.” He hesitates, appearing to weigh up whether to tell me more. “We shall speak more later when we have breakfast with Romano.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to use the shower?” I ask again. “I have a fresh towel, and I promise I’ll stay in the bedroom and not spy on you—however tempted I might feel.”
Once again, his expression gives nothing away, but I am sure he’s assessing me, wondering if he can trust me. For a moment, I wonder if I might have broken his resolve when a tiny curl forms into a sexy grin on one side of his mouth .
At that moment, Mrs Bellacci’s voice calls his name from below the stairs, breaking the spell.
“Sleep,” he says before turning away and leaving.
No evidence of anything untoward is visible as I head towards the lights of the kitchen. No sign of bodies lined up outside or of blood on the tiled floor, everything cleaned up with ruthless efficiency.
After Lorenzo left, I lay awake for a long time, wondering if he might return.
Eventually, I masturbated to thoughts of Lorenzo, spilling the tension away in a small pool on my stomach before cleaning up and sleeping for a few hours.
Once awake, I considered calling Josh, but decided to find out more about what had happened the night before.
As I near the kitchen door, I reach to rub my wrist and falter a moment, realising I’ve forgotten to put on my watch.
Instead of retreating, I continue towards the light and company.
Breakfast is served inside at the long oak table.
Dr Romano is already seated, sipping coffee.
When I join them, I sense that words have been spoken.
Apart from a brief nod, no explanations are offered.
Coffee odours pique my appetite, and I help myself from the large pot Mrs Bellacci pushes my way.
Bread rolls, preserves, fresh fruit and some cold meats are laid out.
Nothing has been cooked this morning, but even so, lingering scents of old meals hover in the kitchen air.
The table fare looks colourful, but I cannot help noticing the dull grey metal of firearms, three piled on the stone floor and one sitting at the end of the table. Nobody else pays them any attention.
We eat breakfast in silence, which should seem odd considering everything that has happened, but this morning feels companionable, and my appetite is undiminished by the night’s dramas.
Moreover, I am in no rush for any rationalisation, content to remain patient and let them explain.
At one point, when he has finished eating, Dr Romano stands from the table.
“I—we—owe you answers, Gabriel. Lorenzo and I will first go to check on our guest. Another of the men is still alive but unconscious. I have patched him up as best I could, but he will need medical treatment at a hospital after I have dealt with our awake guest. Smart thinking of you, allowing one to survive relatively unharmed. As a rule, our instructions are to erase any intruders. We will speak more when I return.”
Dr Romano murmurs something in Italian to Mrs Bellacci before he heads out into the breaking light of morning with Lorenzo in tow. Mrs Bellacci begins tidying until most of the surfaces are clear.
“This is an interesting choice of weapon.” I indicate the assault rifle collected from one of the men, which is still sitting at the end of the kitchen table.
“It is Italian—”
“I know what it is. A Beretta manufactured circa mid-nineteen-eighties. But I’m surprised they were carrying such outdated weapons.”
“You know about rifles?” she asks.
“I know this one.”