In place of the supersonic golf cart gleamed a steel-gray sports car. A silver Ferrari, built for luxury and speed—more of a sleek bullet on four wheels. The windows were tinted black, accentuating the slick slate paint job, giving it a sexier, even more dangerous feel.
Being a feeling woman, I knew it was well equipped to take a barrage of bullets to the exterior too. All of the Fausti vehicles came close to indestructible, custom-made to keep the inhabitants as safe as possible.
Seeing me into my seat, Luca then handed me my jacket, which I fixed upon my lap after strapping in.
Luca enjoyed driving fast. It was the only speed he knew behind the wheel. The golf cart expedition had blown my hair back.
Sliding into the seat like he was a natural extension of the sports car, he smiled at me as he got comfortable.
“Where are we going?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.
“My son will not let us be. We will take a ride.”
“A ride?”
“In a car. It goesvroom.” He smirked.
“I know what a car is! Where are you taking me?”
He started the car, revving the engine, and it almost seemed to purr under his hands. He fixed me with a straight stare.
“You will accompany me to the florist. It has been too long since I have given my wife a bouquet.”
I dallied, returning the stare.
Luca must have felt Brando’s impatience. I felt it too.
He had been in the labyrinth keeping his distance, but there, nonetheless. Brando’s presence was subtle, and he didn’t stop me from speaking to his father or reading Ercole, but the flower shop…that was neutral enough, wasn’t it?
Oh God, Brando wouldn’t think so.
I put my head in my hands as the car took off at a speed that almost felt unnatural. Peeking out from the confines of my fingers, I saw men moving out of the way, gesturing to one another as the regal gates opened and set us free of the confines of the estate.
A second or two later, the phone in the pocket of my jacket went off—shrill.
Luca had been expecting this. Brando had put the phone in my pocket.
I flinched as I answered the phone. “Hello?” Even to myself, my voice came out quiet.
“Dimmi.Adesso.”
“We’re going to the flower shop, Brando. Your father wants to buy your mother flowers.”
“Give him the phone,” he said in Italian.
Damn, he was bossy. Sighing, I held the phone out with an exasperated, “Your son.”
Luca took it smoothly, not an ounce of feeling showing on his face. The road held his attention, spread out before him in his own private labyrinth, one where he could go as fast and as far as he wanted.
Luca didn’t greet his son, nor did I hear my husband’s voice on the other end. It seemed like silence stretched from one man to another, a silent war raging, one without words.
What the hell did this even prove?
Under normal circumstances, going to the flower shop with your father-in-law would be harmless enough. In the Faustis’ world, it could mean several things, but more than that, dangers lurked at every corner.
Luca hadn’t brought men with us. It was just the two of us.
A few seconds of tense silence stretched in the car. My fingers picked up on the change in atmosphere and began picking at the fabric of my jacket.
