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“Not sure I have much appetite.” She gives a small shake of her head. “This is such a shock.”
“I believe you, tesoro.” I’ve called her ‘treasure’, which is the Italian equivalent of ‘darling’. And she is a treasure. Far too precious to put at risk. “You are safe with me. And we can go to the Cipriani another time.”
I help her into the boat. She sits next to me on the seat at the stern, and I put my arm around her. I’d do anything to protect her. The motherfucker who accosted her will get what’s coming to him.
We reach Palazzo Lorrer within minutes. I thank Giorgio and we both wish him goodnight.
Sefi offers to cook us a meal when we arrive at the apartment. “I might not have much appetite, but you’ve got to eat.” I follow her to the kitchen. She opens the fridge and extracts a carton of eggs. “I’ll make you an omelet,” she offers, and I gladly accept.
“You’ve gathered I’m not much of a cook,” I chuckle.
“Well, I did notice Alessio takes the lead in that department…”
“I can throw together a salad, though.” I extract some tomatoes and a lettuce. “Would you like some wine?”
“That would be nice.”
I uncork a bottle of Valpolicella and pour us both a glass.
She makes the omelets while I toss the salad.
We go through to the living area and sit at the table.
“I need to know what’s going on.” She meets my eye.
And I tell her. Tell her about Framassi. Tell her about Alessio’s work.
“Oh, my God. I had no clue.” She puts down her fork and hugs herself. “That’s why the bastard threatened me. He thinks I’ll identify him to Alessio…”
I’m more of the opinion he’d like to use her to get to him on Framassi’s behalf, but I keep my opinion to myself. Sefi is scared enough already... she’s barely touched her food.
I finish eating and then clear our plates. We go to the kitchen together and I load the dishwasher.
Her gaze meets mine. “I’m not going to sleep with you, Marco.” Her cheeks turn pink. “You and Alessio love each other. I don’t wanna come between you.”
A wave of relief washes through me at her words. Alessio and I come as a pair. Our relationships with women in the past have always failed when the girl has set her heart on either me or him. We’d never betray each other by going solo. Sefi seems to have gotten this instinctively. I open my arms and draw her in for a hug. “You are so fucking perfect, tesoro.” I kiss her on the forehead. “Let’s go back to the living room and finish that bottle of wine...”Chapter TwentySefiI decide not to go to Murano. Last night, Marco said it would be too dangerous. I’m still feeling a little shaky, so I call Melody after breakfast and explain that Marco has taken the day off and wants to show me the Accademia Gallery and the Doge’s Palace.
“You’ve got it bad for him, haven’t you?” she snorts out a laugh.
I’m relieved she doesn’t make a big issue of my change of plans. “Have a great day,” I say, and she wishes the same back to me.
The Accademia is close by, only about a minute’s walk from Palazzo Lorrer. “I’ve given Giorgio the day off too,” Marco says, taking my hand as we stroll across the Campo della Carità. “There are some family issues he needs to deal with.”
“Cool. I love your speedboat, but I also love walking around Venice, crossing the canals via the small bridges.”
Except when I’m being followed and accosted by a Mafia associate. I twirl a lock of my hair. What started as a game with my filthy Italians has turned deadly serious. I should run for my life. Leave Venice and go home to the States…
My thoughts lie unspoken in the air between us. I try not to dwell on them. Try to focus on the man next to me instead.
His hand is like a bear’s paw, making my hand feel small and protected. He makes me feel protected. I’m safe with him walking beside me, I know I am, and I start to relax.
We purchase our entrance tickets in the marble hall of the Accademia. The museum houses pre-nineteenth century Italian art. Art I have studied. Seeing the paintings in their actual state gives me such a buzz I almost forget about what happened yesterday evening.
Almost, but not quite…
Marco takes me to have lunch at a trattoria he knows. One that is frequented by locals not tourists. We tuck into a delicious plate of lasagna. “Glad you’ve gotten your appetite back, tesoro,” he says.
“Yeah. Me too.”
I’m surprised that I have. Maybe I’m made of sterner stuff than I thought? Fuck it, I’m here in my dream city. I’m not gonna let a goddamn mobster spoil the experience.
