Page 85 of Storm and Sea

Despite his nerves, Leo was determined to enjoy the Baia Vita festival. This was the celebration of men like him, who made their livelihood on the sea. It celebrated those with salt on their skin and sand in their boots.

Regardless of that damn shark tooth necklace.

Leo dove headfirst into the celebrations, dismissing all worries. Tonight was for fun, and he wouldn’t squander that.

“Mind if I play victor?” Leo asked, watching Nyel and Atreus finish a game of Bocce.

Nyel was good, but more than his accuracy, Leo found himself admiring the set of his shoulders and the way his arm swung from his slight frame. He’d done everything in his power to avoid Nyel, to ignore this irritating attraction. And for the most part, he’d succeeded—keeping his distance, steering clear of those big brown eyes and shy smiles. The never-ending gloom hanging over his head was enough to numb his desires, a constant reminder that he had far bigger problems to face.

But tonight? Tonight was about having fun, so what harm was there in a little self-indulgence? Leo allowed himself to joke and laugh with Nyel, hopefully moving from ‘friend of a friend’ to ‘friend.’ Atreus was on edge; that much was obvious by the way he continuously ground his teeth. He’d known Atreus long enough to read him like a book, and Leo wasn’t going to let one of his sour moods ruin this perfect night.

“Did you get anything else cool?” Leo asked after Nyel was unable to buy the belt he wanted. Leo had the insane urge to purchase one for him. Of course, that was stupid when they were only one bad fishing day away from going hungry. Still, the desire was there.

“Yeah! Check this out.” Nyel said, pulling out a glass sea turtle.

“Cool, let me get a closer look at that,” he said, lifting Nyel’s hand to his eyes. He admired the glasswork on the ornament, and Nyel’s hand was soft in his.

What would he say if he knew the thoughts in my head?

Leo couldn’t get a read on Nyel. But the newcomer showed no interest in the women on the island, so that gave him some hope.

“I just remembered something. You two keep going,” Atreus said suddenly and disappeared.

Leo watched his bunched-up shoulders part the crowd. “What’s his problem?”

“I don’t know,” Nyel said, “Should we go after him?”

Leo shook his head. “Nah. Atreus likes his space. Just leave him to it; he’ll come around.”

When Atreus was in one of his moods, Leo learned a long time ago to let him cool off.

“Hey, wanna go try the darts stand? I bet you’d be good at⁠—”

Leo’s voice caught in his throat as two men in leather coats strode toward him. Emblazoned on their chests was the emblem of a golden lion roaring against a backdrop of vibrant purple and black. Alvise’s men—finally here to collect.

“You know what, I’ll meet you at the darts stand in an hour,” Leo said, trying to put himself between Nyel and the men.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll meet you there,” he said, waving Nyel off, even though his heart pounded against his ribs like an inmate trying to escape its cell.

“Signore Vincenzo wants to speak with you,” one of the men said, his voice monotone.

“Can it wait until after the festival?”

In answer, the man shoved Leo forward, taking up position behind him while the other led the way. They didn’t go to the valley; rather, they ducked into a nearby alleyway. Stacks of old crates, rolls of spare wire, and cracked water buoys piled along the sides. It was dark except for the distant flickering from the festival lanterns, splitting the darkness into thin strips of light.

“I was wondering when you’d come to visit me. The Clown Fish isn’t for free, my pet.” Alvise leaned casually against the brick wall, his appearance exuding the effortless elegance of old money, like aged wine and worn velvet.

So, his father hadn’t dealt with the payments. Of course not. How could Leo even let himself believe his father did anything? He’d signed the contract and left Leo to deal with the mess.

“Leave it to Leo; he’ll figure it out,” his father said over the dinner table when Emelia worried about funds for shoes.

Because Leo always did.

Bile surged up his throat, and he worked to keep his voice even.

“Of course not Signore Vincenzo. I’d hoped you and my father had an arrangement, but I see I was wrong. I’d be happy to discuss one now.” His voice was light. Polite. No hint of the rage inside. Or the fear.