We reached the edge of the city a little while later, and to my surprise, a pair of black Land Rovers awaited us. Not missing a step, Michele opened the rear door to the Rover in front and waited for me to enter. After I had, he slid in to join me. Through tinted glass, I watched as Martin and Tomas got into the SUV behind us.

  A moment later, we set off down the road with the others close behind. I couldn’t stop turning to peer back at them, so much so that it must’ve caught Michele’s attention. I hadn’t been coy about it, either.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “If I ask you something, will you be honest with me?” I met his gaze and held it. While seeming unsure, he nodded. “Who are you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know, it’s just…” I glanced at the tailing SUV again, then to him. “I know I’ve never been in the middle of these kinds of situations, so I don’t know if it’s normal for people who own giant yachts and islands, but is it the norm to have security teams following you around all the time?”

  He put his elbow on the arm rest and leaned into his hand, running his fingers along his bottom lip while he thought of something to say.

  “It’s just, it feels like there’s a huge piece of the puzzle missing.”

  “Do you trust me?” he asked, turning to meet my eye.

  “I’m…sorry?” I’d been unprepared for the question.

  He leaned into me, holding my hand in his. “I will always keep you safe. I want you to know that.”

  The warmth of the statement spread throughout me, but the strangeness of it refused to be ignored. It had somehow taken up until that minute for me to realize something that should’ve been clear from the beginning.

  Michele spoke to me, spoke about us, as though we were already in a relationship, and not just that, he spoke as though we’d been in one for a while.

  I shifted in my seat to better meet his gaze, pulling my hand from his.

  “What is this?” I chose to be blunt.

  “I don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “I don’t understand what’s happening anymore. This whole thing started out as fun, but it’s becoming something else, and you’ve kind of been acting like it was already something else, though I don’t know how that’s possible and I—” I’d spoken so much so quickly that I had to force myself to take a breath or risk hyperventilating. Exhaling slowly, I calmed down enough to finish. “I just don’t understand.”

  Michele leaned back in his seat, letting his head fall against the headrest. Like before, he seemed to dip into his thoughts, a brooding expression marring his features while he chewed on his bottom lip.

  “I never stopped”—he said unsurely. He met my gaze and no doubt saw my confusion deepening—“thinking about you.”

  My brows lifted.

  “For years, I had accepted that I would never see you again, until I walked onto that ship and found you singing.”

  “Really?” I asked with the same level of apprehension.

  He nodded. “Something happened to me that night at Labyrinth. I’ve never experienced it with anyone else, before or since. Have you?”

  I answered honestly. “No.”

  He chewed on his lip again, seeming to struggle with something unsaid until, with a heavy sigh that caused his shoulders to slump, he continued.

  “I have been in love with you for nearly seven years.”

  My stomach sank.

  “And I am not naïve enough to assume you feel the same. I’m only asking for the opportunity to change your mind.”

  A heavy silence filled the vehicle. Love? Did he seriously say love? It was a very small word for a very large thing—and not one I threw around lightly. He didn’t seem the sort, either.

  So was I supposed to accept that he was telling me the truth? To the best of my knowledge, he hadn’t lied to me before that point.

  His declaration had cleared a few things up, though. It explained why he seemed so much further in whatever our relationship was than I was. It explained his sweet and tender actions, his attentiveness and how ready he’d been to spend genuine time with me. To him, it was more than a simple game. It was real, and worse yet, it was becoming very real to me, too. My gaze drifted to the window.

  The scenery had been, without description, beautiful beyond words. It had the feel of the old world, of a time centuries gone, untouched.

  Incredible.

  While I peered out at the water as we wound up the side of the mountain, a black SUV swept into view. It sped aggressively forward, unwilling to remain behind the short caravan we’d created. It seemed the driver had an issue with the speed limit.

  I rolled my eyes, wishing it would hurry up so that I could see the ocean again and distract myself, but it kept pace. I began to glare, and as the rear window rolled down, I thought I might get a chance to see the asshole responsible.

  The gun came from nowhere, emerging from the shadows and gleaming in the sunlight. I barely had a chance to register what I saw before it fired.

  Arms encircled me, curling me into a ball and pushing me down toward the floorboard. Michele lay his body over mine, smothering me as something pelted the side of the car, pinging off the metal and smashing into the glass. A part of me knew what was happening but refused to accept it as the truth.

  Michele barked orders at the driver. The engine accelerated, though I couldn’t tell whether or not we were going faster, only that the gunfire began to recede until the blood rushing through my ears and my heavy breathing were all I could hear.

  I trembled beneath him, shaking uncontrollably while I struggled to come to terms with the fact that someone had shot at us.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Sometime later, our vehicle pulled over and stopped. The SUV lurched forward so hard that I slammed into the back of the driver’s seat.

  Michele rose, lifted me with him and we exited the car. He held me close to his side and argued with someone, who spoke just as angrily. It took him grabbing my face to bring me out of my thoughts.

  His brows were pushed tightly together, fear saturating every feature when he asked, “Are you all right?”

  I had opened my mouth to reply, but words wouldn’t come.

  He began speaking Italian while he searched me for injury, guiding my head from side to side, checking my arms, my front and back. Something about the jostling snapped me out of my comatose state.

  “What was that?” I asked. His attention locked on me. He seemed relieved I’d spoken, and I found his relief infuriating. “What the hell was that?”

  “Nothing,” he said. Michele motioned to someone else and spoke to them. His blatant lie angered me further.

  I shoved at his chest, forcing him back a step. He looked at me in shock.

  “What the fuck was that?” I demanded. “That was not nothing. What the fuck was that!”

  “Calma,” he said. “Calma.”

  He set his hands on my shoulders. I shrugged them away.

  “Don’t tell me to calm down.” Tears welled in my eyes. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “All right,” he said with a resigned nod.

  He took my arm and held it tenderly while he guided me into the villa. I caught a glimpse of the SUV out of the corner of my eye as we passed it. The side of it and the rear had been riddled with bullets. There were holes everywhere and enormous splotches of broken glass. The sheer devastation of it caused my stomach to wrench.

  Inside, Michele set me down on a sofa in some random room. His bodyguards and others surrounded him, most I didn’t know but a couple I recognized as his family. He spoke to them briskly, with stern words that illustrated just how angry he seemed to be.

  Still trembling, I watched the display with mild attachment. I wanted to be more in the moment, but I couldn’t focus on anything beyond the near-death experience.

  The sound of bullets pelting the side of the SUV, of them imbedding themselves in the bulletproof glass, rattled around inside my head.

  Michele returned shortly after, his agitation remaining in spite of his attempt to wipe it from his face. Running his fingers through his hair, he stood before me. I stared up at him, tears running down my cheeks while I shook.

  Shock must have been knocking on the door.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” I said in as strong a voice as I could muster.

  He chewed on his bottom lip. For a moment it seemed as though he would finally answer my question. I was disappointed.

  “Martin will take you back to the hotel. He will wait for you to pack your things then take you to the airport. I will arrange a flight for you to—”

  “Stop talking,” I said, interrupting him sharply. “I’m not flying home. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck is going on!”

  He took in a long, deep breath and let it out slowly before he spoke.

  “I am not a good person,” he said. “I do bad things with worse people. Sometimes, those people like to take matters into their own hands when things do not go their way.”

  I may have been part of the conversation, but it remained just out of reach. Nothing was landing with me. Nothing stuck. I would’ve had better luck trying to catch mist with a butterfly net. But I still spoke as if I had any clue as to what I was saying.

  “You’re a criminal.” My deadpan tone surprised me. “What? Mob? Drugs? Human trafficking?” He didn’t respond, though I supposed I didn’t expect him to. Someone who chose to be so vague wasn’t going to admit to something directly. “Of course you are.”

  How do these kinds of people keep finding me? Why can’t I ever just meet normal people? Everyone is violent or a criminal—or a violent criminal.

  Memories of every relationship I’d ever had flashed through my mind, starting from my own family and winding through multiple boyfriends and partners until the present. It was too much. I couldn’t escape.

  I didn’t know what to think, so I chose not to think about it at all.

  Pushing myself up, I did my best to keep my balance as the blood pooled in my feet, leaving me lightheaded. Shaking the spots from my eyes, I focused on Michele.

  “Have your guy take me back to the hotel,” I said. “But that’s it. I’m not going to fly back home.”

  “Basil.”

  “Take me back.” I refused to give him a chance to try to convince me otherwise. As far as I was concerned, he had no right to tell me where to go, let alone tell me to fly thousands of miles.

  Without waiting for a reply, I walked by him and toward the front door. Michele spoke to someone and soon I was joined by Martin, the bald bodyguard.

  He led me to another vehicle, given the one I’d arrived in looked as though it’d been through a warzone. He opened my door, I got in and shortly after we headed back to the hotel.

  On the way back, I couldn’t help but keep my eyes open. Black Land Rovers were far more common in Europe than the U.S., and now I saw them everywhere. At any given moment, I expected the windows to roll down and another automatic weapon to emerge from within. I expected the SUV I was in to be showered by a thousand bullets. I expected to die before I made it back.

  “I am not a good man.”

  I didn’t know if that was true or not. I didn’t know anything about him, and that realization hit me hard.

  Shock might have set in, though I couldn’t be sure. I should have been more emotional, more freaked out. I just should have been more…but I wasn’t.

  What’s wrong with me?

  That list was long and always growing, so I didn’t dwell.

  Martin pulled into the parking lot and let me out of the back. I began my walk to the hotel, navigating the streets through Venice where nothing larger than a bicycle would fit. He lingered, far too close for my liking.

  His presence remained an overbearing thing looming behind me and walking in time with each step I took. No matter how hard I tried to separate myself from what’d happened, a reminder stuck to my shadow.

  When I reached the courtyard, just beyond which sat my hotel, I spun in place to face him.

  “Go away,” I said.

  He shook his head. “I have orders to walk you to the hotel.”

  “I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

  “They may still be somewhere.”

  “So? They want him, not me.”

  Martin didn’t reply. He stared at me in a way that made my skin crawl.

  “Right?”

  He breathed deep and tensed his jaw as though contemplating telling me something that he might not have been allowed to tell me.

  “There have been threats.”

  I furrowed my brow. “The hell does that mean?”

  “I am to follow you to the hotel. You will pack. I will take you to the airport.”

  “No, you fucking won’t. I’m not going anywhere. Leave me alone.”

  Martin hardened his stance. He towered over me by nearly a foot and was easily a hundred pounds heavier. I doubted I could outrun him, because he knew exactly where I was going and I knew I couldn’t fight him, but I wasn’t without options.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a random policeman making his rounds, giving gentle nods and smiles to those he passed. Given the sheer amount of tourists who meandered around the hotels and the number of landmarks within a stone’s throw, it made sense that police were a bit more common. My plan formed quickly.

  “Get back in your car and drive off, or I swear to God, I will scream and tell them that you’re trying to kidnap me.”

  He flinched. Martin’s gaze drifted toward the man in uniform. He was twenty or so yards away, close enough that he could reach us if he had to. Martin stared down at me, the color in his eyes darkening substantially.

  “I’ll do it,” I told him. “I’ll fucking do it if you don’t leave now. And something tells me you probably have a weapon on you somewhere. Are there carry laws in Italy?”

  “Mr. Sacchi won’t like—”

  “I don’t give a shit.” I spat the words, fueled by an anger and fear that hadn’t left me. “Get your ass back in that fucking car or I yell rape.”

  Martin weighed his options but seemed smarter than he looked. After a short internal battle, he turned. I hadn’t moved, hadn’t dared walk a step toward the hotel until I’d seen him vanish into an alley we’d used minutes prior.

  Once alone, my gaze danced again. The fear trickled in and whether it’d been smart or not, I rushed toward my hotel and didn’t stop my brisk pace until I’d locked my room door behind me.

  * * * *

  The tears arrived full-force sometime later. I was in the shower and broke down crying. How cliché.

  I couldn’t recall how long it took for me to get control of myself, but it’d been long enough for four phone calls and numerous texts. I didn’t want to speak to Michele. I didn’t want to speak to anyone. Something told me that if I tried, I would break down again.

  Nothing so horrible had ever happened to me before. The most frightening experience I could remember had gone down when I’d been seven. Come to think of it, there had been heavy weaponry involved in that, as well. The only difference being those guns were held by men in uniforms, and they weren’t after us. I’d been on the periphery of that raid.

  Alone in my room, I couldn’t help but be grateful that Kennia wasn’t there. I knew that if she asked me what was wrong, I’d tell her, and she would go after Michele. She would be furious, and while I loved her for the sisterly protection that she showed me daily, I wouldn’t be able to handle the added stress.

  Lying down, I stared at the textured ceiling and thought about what had happened. Whether he wanted to admit it outright or not, Michele was a gangster.

  In movies and TV, even in books, it was considered a romantic notion. Typical ‘bad boys’ were things many women fantasized about, and I was no different, but I’d been given a glimpse into the reality of that world. Hell, I’d been given a glimpse early on in life, but the drive-by had been a new angle.

  Tears trickled down the sides of my face while I continued to stare blankly. I would speak to Michele again, I knew I would because answers were needed, but I couldn’t do it now.

  My phone rang. A wave of cold swept over me. Without bothering to see who it was, I silenced the call.

  There’d been signs. Christ, there had been so many fucking signs and I’d even spent the time to list them in my head, but I hadn’t followed through with a single one. That level of willful ignorance was unacceptable.

  And why? Why did I ignore the red flags? Because he was handsome, kind, sincere, treated me with respect and flattered me.

  He treated me better than any man ever had, and for it, I’d turned a blind eye to the possible reality until that reality had tried to kill me.

  This isn’t my life. I’m going to close my eyes and wake up from this fever dream.

  The tears returned, and I cried harder than before.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Around four o’clock that afternoon, a couple of hours after I’d gotten back to the hotel, I called Kennia. It may have been selfish, but I couldn’t be alone anymore, and regardless of how short the conversation had been, she knew something was wrong.

  There was a knock on the door, prompting me to leap off the bed and cross the room within seconds. I tugged it open, revealing a surprised Kennia, her fist still raised.

  “Hiya,” she said.

  I didn’t reply, throwing my arms around her neck and squeezing her tight.

  “Oof,” Kennia huffed. “Righ’, then.”

  She shuffled us into the room and closed my door behind her. Wrapping her arms around me, she held me just as securely.

  After a deep breath, Kennia asked, “How’re you doin’, Bay?”

  My eyes burned with tears. I clung to her harder, burying my face in the crook of her neck. I didn’t want to speak, not entirely certain I could manage without sobbing like a fool, so I chose to say nothing at all.

  “Okay,” she said in a soft voice. “Okay.”

  * * * *