What was his problem with me?
Even though we were still fighting through the gales, I noticed the way Guido sent Vincenzo a sly look. They were talking about me! Later. I’d revisit that later.
Finally, at the garage that housed all the vehicles, we had one main problem.
It didn’t seem like any of the modes of transportation was going to get us to another part of the island. The wind was too bad. It’d probably knock us off the side of a cliff.
Then, at first, I thought we were experiencing an earthquake as the ground beneath my feet trembled, and it was rising to meet my face. Rocco had thrown his body on top of mine. I had missed the first part of the tremble. An explosion. It had blown by the dock. Pieces of debris rained down from the sky, landing right outside where we had been, and banging against the tile roof. I could see through a small crack in my husband’s arms.
Oh God, they’re bombing us!
Wait.
Was that applause and whistles?
We must have…what…shot at their boat? Made it explode?
“Mac,” Rocco said, groaning. “Mac. I’d sent him ashore earlier. He laced our boat with explosives.”
“Oh,” I breathed out. “So, when their boat approached, someone detonated the explosives and sacrificed our boat to take outtheirs.”
“Corretto,”he said.
After a minute, when only the howling of the wind and thepounding of the rain remained, I barely squeezed out, “I can’t breathe, Rocco.”
He growled as he used his arms to roll over. But he was determined to sit up, and we started trying to help each other. Even when he was down, he still wanted to helpmeup. Somehow, he tangled himself around me, breathing me in.
“I’m sorry, Rocco,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry she sent them after you.”
He just kept kissing me, over and over, almost rocking me. Then he pushed back some, his eyes hard on my chest. I tried to cover the cut, but he refused to let me.
That was when I recognized it.
Why these men had fear in their eyes when they would only glance at my husband.
A beast was making his way to the surface of his green eyes, like a water monster from the deepest and darkest depths of the sea, about to present himself and turn my husband into something I didn’t recognize.
“It’s not that bad,” I rushed out. It really wasn’t. She got me, but I wouldn’t need stitches. It was a surface wound. “Your head, though…”
He didn’t even move out of my touch or flinch when I touched the area where she had hit him. It was swollen, and mostly clotted, but it still ran with blood, flooding his t-shirt.The head is vascular, I kept reminding myself over and over. He’s going to be okay.He was awake—more than awake.
The smell of my blood was in his nose, and he was about to hunt for me.
He used his back to brace himself against the wall—none of his men coming close to offer him help, like they knew better—as his powerful thighs lifted him up. I could tell he was fighting with himself to keep his eyes focused and his body straight. I remembered after Abree had hit me how the dizziness would come in sickening waves.
Abree was still screeching, trying to claw at Vincenzo, stabbing the air.
She could be a fabulous actress, like her sister, but I truly didn’t think she was putting on a show this time. She had snapped. Maybe impersonating a ghost had twisted her mind up. Or maybe it was the loss of her sister, but I didn’t think so. It seemed like the Caffi family was a family who were all separate but tied together by their gifts—their voices. And appearances and accolades came above anything else, even them.
I stood in front of Rocco, teetering a bit from the wind and the last couple of hours. I held his arm, like I just wanted to touch him, and I did, but I wanted him to feel my truth. I knew he could feel it, just like I could feel his. It was the most…unexplainable thing, but it was so real, like the storm raging around us.
“Rocco,” I whispered. “Let her go, my husband.”
His eyes snapped to mine.
I nodded, refusing to take my hand away from him.
He touched the back of my head, then my chest.
