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“Of course I did.” His lips ticked up at one corner. “I won’t ever leave you. Unless you want me to?”
“Want you to? Jesus, I fucking love you.” He kissed him hard again, only easing off when Francis molded himself close. He wanted to do more, ached to unravel him right there, but he needed to make sure they couldn’t be followed, and then they’d be safe.
He forced himself to let go, then eyed the delicious blushing face of the priest who had just rescued him. “As soon as we’re away from the coast, I’m coming back to this.”
“Can I come up there with you, to the cabin, the control room—whatever it’s called?”
“The bridge. And you can, but there’s a dead guy up there.”
Francis nodded. “It’s okay. Well, it’s not okay for him, but I need to be with you.”
On the bridge, Francis found the horizon fascinating while Vitari dragged the body back down to the main deck and dumped it over the side. Returning for a second time, Vitari dismantled the control panel and disconnected the tracker.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Francis asked.
“Fucking about on yachts with Sal. His papa had one, smaller than this but same design. Sal and me stole it for a wild weekend around Sicily. Little Toni threatened to kill me after that, but it was worth it.” Vitari fired up the monstrous engines and pointed the yacht out into the Caribbean Sea.
“Will Serpiente come looking for us?” Francis asked, staring at a whole lot of ocean behind them.
“Cisco? Yeah. Which is why we need to move now.”
The yacht vibrated pleasantly as it raced across the ocean. No bouncing over the waves—this beauty carved right through them. Vitari could get used to this. “We’ve got a few hours before we get anywhere near Cartagena.”
“Is every criminal in South America trying to kill us?” Francis asked. He didn’t seem scared, just… tired.
It was worse than that. Vitari had been tasked with hunting down runners in the past, and he hadn’t stopped until the job was done. The Mafia didn’t give second chances. The South American cartels might give up hunting them eventually, but the Battaglia would never stop. Worrying about it wouldn’t change a fucking thing. “Hey, why don’t you go below and see what treasures you can find? I’ll put her on autopilot and join you in a few minutes.” Vitari watched Francis walk through the bridge deck and disappear down the stairs to the main deck, then swung his gaze back to the horizon, looking for answers.
Because, he had no fucking idea what to do.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Francis
The yacht had three floors—decks, he supposed they were called. The top deck, with its wraparound windows, where the controls were. The main deck, where the luxurious living spaces were, including a bar. And a lower deck, with the bedrooms and bathrooms. The bar was stocked with all kinds of bottles of foreign alcohol he couldn’t hope to pronounce, and the fridge held an array of wine. He stared at the choices, his thoughts slow to catch up since he was still coming down from the adrenaline kick. They’d done it, they’d survived—almost died too, but survived—and he wasn’t thinking about what could have happened, what had nearly happened. No, he couldn’t think about any of that. But he could pick a wine.
Francis grabbed the thick green bottle. Champagne was written in cursive on its neck.
“What do you have?” Vitari asked, joining him at the curved bar.
“I found this.” He showed him the bottle.
Vitari’s eyes lit up. “No shit, that’s a ten-thousand-dollar bottle of champagne. Grab some glasses, let’s celebrate.”
“Ten thousand dollars?” Wine was that expensive? Francis found the glasses as Vitari popped the cork, then brimmed each one.
“To surviving,” Vitari said, that classic glint of mischief in his eyes.
“To surviving.” They chinked glasses, and Francis sipped the wine. Vitari downed his entire glass in a gulp.
Francis blinked. “Did you even taste it?”
“Tastes like victory. Another, Padre.”
Francis poured another. “Is there a law about drinking while being in charge of a yacht this big?”
“International waters, there are no laws out here. There’s nobody here to stop me. Unless you’re going to stop me, Padre?”
His teasing tone fluttered Francis’s racing heart. “I might.”
