"There was nowhere left to go." I stop and look up at him. "Where are we going?"
He nods toward a large black SUV a little farther down the road. He leads me to it and opens the back door. It seems my captor is a gentleman.
I slide onto the back seat and Adriano gets into the front beside the brown-haired driver. He's dressed in a white t-shirt and black shorts, more sensible in this weather than the suit Adriano wears.
As the engine starts up, the locks on the door next to me click. This is it, I guess, the point of no return. There's something comforting in that.
"This is my cousin, Gio." Adriano nods toward the driver who's also unmistakably a Volante. "Gio, this is Eliza."
"Good to meet you." The younger man has an American accent. Gabriele did mention that one branch of the family ruled over New York. He must be part of it though that begs the question, what is he doing in Edinburgh?
His warmth surprises me. Doesn't he know I'm the enemy? Perhaps this is some game he and Adriano play to lull their victims into a false sense of security.
"You too," I say, out of politeness.
"Gio lives in Scotland," Adriano explains. "Found himself a nice little Scottish wife and settled down."
"Nice little Scottish wife?" Gio scoffs. "Say that to her face."
"Well, a nice Scottish wildcat," Adriano turns to me. "She's a firecracker, like Gabriele's new bride."
I'm not sure how he expects me to react to that. "Gabriele got married?" I ask. His eyes fix firmly on mine. I swallow hard. "That's wonderful."
"Yes it is. He needs a good woman by his side."
The implication there, of course, is that I'm not a good woman. He's right. I'm not. Though I was only nineteen whenI was involved with Gabriele, and a little naïve, I was mature enough to have made better choices. It's a relief to know, after all that happened to him, that he's found a woman who's worthy of him.
"I'm happy for him."
Adriano studies me for a moment longer, before turning away. I doubt he believed me, but I am genuinely happy for Gabriele. For a mob boss, he was actually a pretty decent man. That's why a part of me is sure if I can explain why I helped the Hungarians that night he'll forgive me.
If I ever get to see him, that is. I have no idea what Adriano plans or where he and his cousin are taking me.
As we drive through the busy streets of Haymarket, Gio blasts his horn at the tram as if he has more right to be on the road than public transit. If I doubted it before I know he's a Volante now.
It doesn't take long for me to figure out we're heading to the airport. I watch as the buildings around us slowly become more industrial. In the front of the car, Gio and Adriano banter back and forth, clearly at ease with each other. I wish I felt a tenth as relaxed as they obviously are.
Adriano grins at something his cousin says and a dimple appears in his cheek. It's irritatingly endearing. I don't want to like anything about this man but I can't help myself. There's something magnetic about him.
When we reach the airport, we don't head for the terminal building. Instead, we drive past several large warehouses. My pulse quickens as we pull up beside a shiny white jet. Adriano hugs his cousin, then comes to open my door. "Take care," Gio says as I get out. It doesn't sound like a threat.
"Doesn't your cousin know who I am?" I ask as Adriano gets a suitcase from the back of the car.
"No. He works mostly outside of the family business these days." Adriano shakes his head. "Though he did marry the sister of a Scottish Mafia boss so I'm not sure how that's working out for him."
"Sounds complicated."
"I'm sure it is." Adriano grabs my wrist. He's rougher than he was before, when he shook my hand but it stirs something inside me all the same."Now, enough chit-chat. Get on the plane."
As Gio drives away, Adriano leads me to the steps. He pushes me ahead of him and I stumble as I make my way onto the plane. It's impressive, an ode to wealth and luxury with its cream leather seats and walnut trim.
"Sit." Adriano shoves me onto a seat near the front of the spacious cabin.
I don't have time to process what he's doing before he slaps a handcuff around my wrist, then anchors the other one around a metal ring conveniently embedded in the arm of the seat. I'm guessing that isn't a standard fixture on luxury aircraft.
Adriano tugs at the cuffs to make sure they're secure.
"Is this necessary?" I ask.
