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“WHAT THE FUCK, DUDE?!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
“We were tracking you through Find My iPhone,” he shouted over the wind. “If we could do it, they were probably doing it.”
“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!”
“A guy named Giotto betrayed your grandmother. There might be other moles.”
Shit – Giotto had been with us since I came to live with Nona…
Although that didn’t excuse throwing my phone overboard.
“You could’ve just turned it OFF!” I shouted.
“Better to be safe than sorry.”
“You IDIOT – they know we’re going back to my grandmother’s! They don’t even need to track us!”
Massimo got a look on his face like Oh shit, you’re right.
Of course, he didn’t say the ‘you’re right’ part out loud.
Prick.
“We can’t go back, then,” he shouted.
“What the fuck do you mean we can’t go back?!” I yelled. “All you wanted to do before was take me back – now you’re like, ‘Psyyyyych’?!”
“That was before I knew there was another team of mercenaries.”
I was still furious about my phone, but I had a more pressing concern. We were approaching the point where I’d either have to turn left to go to Nona’s –
Or take a completely different route and go someplace else.
“If we’re not going home, then where are we going, genius?” I shouted.
“Can you take us somewhere on the mainland? Someplace not heavily populated?”
Venice lay to the west, on our left. The island of Murano was in the distance ahead of us, and the island of Le Vignole was to the northeast.
Between the latter two were a series of smaller islands – and plenty of channels that led to the huge stretch of water between Venice and the mainland.
“Yeah, I can do that. What about the guys behind us?”
He looked. “It doesn’t seem like they’re following us. There’s probably more of them lying in wait near your grandmother’s palazzo.”
“Fuck ‘em, then,” I shouted as I steered the boat north – away from Venice.
13
Massimo
I had driven boats all my life – although sporadically. It was the result of lots of vacations on the shores of the Mediterranean, usually at the homes of Cosa Nostra allies – all of whose mansions came equipped with yachts and motorboats. And then there were the adrenaline-fueled years of my late teens and early 20s when my brothers and I would rent speedboats at party destinations like Ibiza and Mykonos.
Despite all that experience, Lucia was better than me. ‘Sneaking out’ had let her practice constantly, and she appeared to be just as much a risk-taker as me or any of my brothers. Plus she knew the geography of Venice – and all its surrounding islands – a thousand times better than I did.
She’d retrieved a pair of high-dollar sunglasses from her purse and now looked like she was out for a fun day trip.
“Okay, where specifically do you want to go?” she asked. “A town, the airport – what?”
