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Matteo’s gaze lifts from my mouth to my eyes, his fingers tapping a rhythm on the wooden armrest. “Before we get to that, tell us everything. No detail is too small.”
* * *
I takea long pull of my iced tea to soothe my dry throat. It feels like I’ve been talking for ages. I glossed over the whole soup incident. That’s how I refer to the time both of them had their hands on my thighs underneath the table inside my head at least.
My chest feels heavy after reliving everything. It feels surreal that just a few hours ago, I was laughing with Leo. We were teasing each other about the guests at the white party.
And here I am now, on a private plane belonging to I have no idea who, and flying two thousand miles away in the middle of the night.
The silence is thick, weighted by uncertainties and possibilities. But my fingers twitch to do something, to make a plan. The thick hands of father time tick by, unwilling to bend or pause, no matter how much I desperately wish them to. It stretches, and as it lengthens, my anxiety heightens. When I can’t take it any longer, I decide to break it.
“Okay, so what now?” I look at the three of them in the eye, holding their gaze for just a second before I move on. “Aries said we had twenty-four hours, and by my very loose estimation, we have fourteen left.”
Matteo flashes his brother a loaded look, one I'm not able to decipher. “My brother was being dramatic. Twenty-four hours isn't an exact number.”
Aries scoffs. “If you think the Vulture won't bring him directly to Revelry without any stops, you're just as delusional as our dear old dad. Twenty-four hours is a guess, but an educated one. Seventy-two hours, max. He’d be an idiot to wait any longer.”
Terror twists in my gut, squeezing my lungs and making it hard to breathe. The Vulture? What does someone have to do to get that kind of nickname?
“Chill out, Rafe. You’re freaking her out,” Dante snaps.
Aries rolls his eyes. “She can handle more than you give her credit for, and I’m only telling her what we already know. There might be a time where her ignorance will be her downfall.”
Dante’s jaw flexes as he glares at Aries. There’s so much to unpack here, and it’d be easy to switch focus onto their dynamic rather than push this. But we have time to dive deep into the inner workings of their relationship. Leo isn’t as lucky.
“Okay, so tell me what I need to know so when we get there, we can go get him. We land in what? Two hours?”
Dante looks at his phone. “Two hours and twenty minutes.”
“Okay, so we have two hours for you all to tell me everything I need to know.” I stare at each of them, allowing them time to read determination in my eyes. I’m mentally preparing rebuttals and counter-arguments they’ll lob at me.
To my surprise, no one voices their opinion. I’m sure it’ll come at some point, but at least they’re listening. I’ll take that as a win.
“Okay, let’s assume they took their own private plane, they can't be that far ahead of us. Can they?”
“Theoretically, no, but there are a lot of variables here, and going into Santorini territory blind is akin to suicide.”
I look at Dante. “Santorini. Is that the Vulture?”
He nods. “His ruthlessness is legendary, but he’s stepped back in recent years. His sons mostly run the Carnival now.”
My brows dip, and Dante reads my confusion before I even voice it. “Carnival is an event Santorini hosts every month. It’s a free-for-all with little rules, a place Santorini created for his guys to let off steam. He started it years ago, when some of his guys took out a bunch of tourists.”
“Doesn’t he have the police in his pocket?” I bite the inside of my lip, my cheeks heating when no one answers me right away. “What?” I look at Matteo and then Aries, finding matching smirks.
“Did you watch the rest of the Sopranos while we were gone?” Matteo’s lips quirk up in the corners.
My cheeks heat for an entirely different reason as memories of what I was doing while Matteo and Dante were gone flash before my eyes. All of them include Leo in a partial state of undress. “Not exactly.”
My gaze strays to Aries, recalling our conversation before we left for the white party. As if he’s remembering the same thing, his gaze smolders as he holds my stare. I’m the first one to break it, pulling my hair to one side and letting the cool air waft over my overheated skin.
Dante clears his throat. “I’m sure Santorini has many officials on his payroll, but a string of missing or dead tourists is bad for business, especially one that runs on tourism.”
“So he started Carnival,” I muse.
“Aye, he did. And we’re going to crash it tomorrow night.”
