He missed.
Dandolo shouted as if he had been hit. When he realized he hadn’t been, he took a sharp turn and used the ladder to hide behind. They were going in circles around it. The dogs rushed in, started to bark, and the horses were starting to get upset. All but Guerriero, who I could see from my vantage point, and if a horse could smile, he was. He was showing his teeth, but at me. He wanted me to fucking fall. Had a fetish for it like Dandolo seemed to have one for a wild, curly wig.
“Fuck,” I said, holding on like the ladder was a bull and I was a rider in a rodeo.
“Signor Dandolo!” Sistine shouted. “Signor Nino!”
“Sistine,” I said, sharp enough that her eyes turned to meet mine. “Don’t fucking move, do you hear me? Whatever happens between them, happens.”
“But—”
“But fucking nothing,” I said, but I was starting to climb down, fuck the rocking. I could tell my wife was about to interfere so Nino couldn’t kill Dandolo. I would kill one of these motherfuckers if she even got a scratch.
Nino lifted the guitar, and this time, Dandolo wasn’t quick enough. It went over his head with a crash, and then his head came through it. His eyes crossed, and to stop himself from going down, he lurched into the ladder. The fucker tilted from the hit. The next thing I knew, the ground was coming up to meet my face.
I went down at the same time Dandolo did.
He crumpled, and I went down on my back, knocking the fucking wind from my lungs. Sistine fell to the ground next to me, talking to me in rapid Italian, screaming for Dr. Musa.
“Not a good idea,” I croaked out, forcing the air back in. Musa was the source of all this discourse.
“Mariano!” Sistine shook me.
I waved a hand. “All good,” I croaked again. A frog must have been knocked from my lungs, and he had decided to take up residence in my throat.
Sistine set her head against my chest, and I set my arm around her, pulling her in closer.
“Seven days,” she barely got out.
Fuck seven days.
“Now,” I said, rising to my feet as Musa came in, her eyes narrowing on the scene in front of her, her wild hair going insane in the wind. I set my arm around my wife’s neck and directed her to our villa. Grabbing her new things, and as we were, we left.
Chapter 43
Sistine
The island seemed to be shaped like a turtle from an aerial view. The small plane dipped and dived a bit, and for the hundredth time, Mariano checked my seatbelt. I was harnessed in.
We were flying over his parents’ island, but we would not land there. Mariano had told me that an airstrip was not far, and then we would take water accommodation from there. The island also had sea planes, but the family only used them in emergencies.
Merlin, an older man, his hair all silver, piloted us. Mariano had introduced me to him, and he was not only the pilot, but also our boat captain.
“Sea and land!” he had told me with a hardy laugh, as hardy as he was. “Like surf and turf.” He acted like he was going to nudge me, but he did not touch me. He leaned in conspiratorially, putting a hand to the side of his mouth. “Though I prefer being a captain. It’s part of my blood, ye see.” He suddenly developed an Irish accent. “My unc, God bless his soul.” He made the sign of the cross. “Was friends with Brando and Scarlett Fausti. Brando saved my unc’s life when he was inthe Coast Guard. He owned the island before the Fausti family bought it from him. Everyone just called him Captain.”
Merlin was a warm soul with a bright tropical shirt, khaki pants rolled up over his knees to be shorts, and boat shoes. His tropical button up was unbuttoned a few down, showing a wolf amount of silver hair on his chest. If I had to guess, he was around the same age as Mariano’s parents. He wore a small silver cross around his neck. When the wind blew, and in the cabin of his plane, the scent of aftershave ruled.
“Woooo!” I hollered when the plane tipped, and I put my hands up like I was on a roller coaster ride.
Merlin smiled and glanced at Mariano. “You have the kind of lady on your hands who don’t mind the speed. Best take that lady out on daring dates.”
Mariano made a noise in his throat, as if he was agreeing with Merlin, but complaining at the same time. I laughed to myself, gazing out the window. Although I had been all over Italy, my father sending me at times to our other branches, and to New York and Wyoming, I had never seen a private island before.
It glowed with colors that were soothing to the soul. The blues and greens of the endless water. The white sand beach. The emerald of the tropical jungle, and pops of color from fauna that I could not entirely see from this high up in the air. The sky. I sighed.
It felt as though we were flying through spun cotton-candy clouds. I could not wait to feel the silkiness of the air against my skin. Feel the warm sand between my toes. The cool water rushing over my body, so soft that I could melt into it from the heat of the sun. I longed to let go and allow it to swoosh my body around.
“I love it here already,” I breathed out, looking at my husband, smiling.
