“Long story short, I—” Did I dare tell him about Leandro? He’d lose it and probably kill his best friend if I let that slip right away.
“I didn’t know about this entrance, so I swam out.”
“You could have died.” Mario stripped off his suit jacket and wrapped it around me. I protested since I was wet, but it quickly got shot down as he hurried me out of the cave and into the sunlight.
Mario flagged down a party in the distance. Loppa and a couple of Don Manca’s guards joined us as we climbed the hill toward a cluster of cars, a bunch of armed guards, and my sister who stood beside Don Manca.
“You were supposed to stay inside.” Ringo muttered as we neared the cluster of men. Some of them were not Don Manca’s men and I recognized at least one of the guards from that ill-fated dinner party in Milan. Eight of them were on their knees and being watched closely by Don Manca’s men.
“It got complicated. I’ll tell you once we’re far away from this place.” And I’m warm. Although my chattering teeth wanted to claim I’d never be warm again.
A thin, older man with glasses approached Mario. “A moment, please?”
Mario’s frown should have scared him off, but I guess lawyers were immune. “Speak quickly.”
“I wish to contact the authorities about Dianora’s crimes and her father’s shooting. With your permission of course. Don Manca believes it best we work with them to locate her and her cousin.”
Dianora was missing? And her father was dead? What had Mario done?
“And the others?” Mario pointed at the estate.
“I will tell them it was Dianora. A rebellion. Strictly an internal affair I was unfortunate enough to witness. Don Conti is still alive, which adds weight to my words. He wants her found.”
Mario searched the cars to make eye contact with his grandfather. Don Manca dipped his head once to convey his agreement.
“Make certain you remove any mention of my wife or her sister. Understood?”
“I understand completely, Don Valentini.”
He shuffled away, directing the men left behind to help him with the arrangements.
Meanwhile, a procession of cars whisked us away. They wound through the countryside and farther inland to a medium-sized regional airport. We boarded a small plane that flew southward and then away from the coast.
It touched down at the Alghero–Fertilia airport in Sardinia. From there, the procession progressed until we were safely ensconced in Don Manca’s territory.
The warm bath felt good, but the fireplace and a warm Ponce Livornese heated me both inside and out.
Ellie joined me. She had one of the tiny cups of espresso-tinged alcohol in her hands and inhaled the spiced aroma several times between sips.
“Is that your first or…?” I’d had two and was feeling the effects.
“Second. The first one went down too quick. I’m savoring this one.”
I wish I’d done that. A third would knock me right out despite the caffeine, and two didn’t feel like enough. “What a day.”
Ellie made a noise that sounded like agreement, but was closer to a grunt. “I don’t want to think about it.”
I leaned to prop my head on her shoulder. “I know.”
She jostled me a little when she finished her sip. “At least you didn’t faint.”
“I’m sorry you got kidnapped.”
She hummed briefly, considering her words. “I guess I’m sorry you went swimming. It was cold, wasn’t it?”
I gave her question the thought it seemed to deserve. Maybe that was the rum? “Remember the lake we went to in Wisconsin that one summer? How cold it was?”
Ellie shivered. “Spring fed and eighty feet deep. Fuck that.”
