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“No more working yourself up! Rest, and when you are well, you can go.”

Before I can protest any more, she picks up a glass of water and feeds me a pill. It catches in my throat, but then she tips the water to my lips. The cool liquid washes down the horse pill. In seconds, my lids start to droop.

“I’m Cecilia. Call my name if you need anything.”

A groan falls from my lips. My answer before I’m out again.

Over the next two weeks, I’m confined to Cecilia and Rocco’s cottage. Most of the time I’m stuck in bed, in and out of sleep. Resting and recuperating like Cecilia says I need. My body is grateful. The aches and pains that plagued me lessen by the day until eventually I’m able to sit up, and then stand.

Cecilia was right about my burns. She’s done what she can using home remedies like salves and ointments. The burns slowly heal and fade into scars. Mostly on my side, where apparently fire licked my skin as I flew from the yacht.

Someone tried to kill me. As far as anyone knows, they’ve succeeded.

When I’m well enough to sit up in bed, Cecilia’s grandson Aldo shares his tablet device with me. I don’t log into any of my old accounts. I don’t even attempt to contact any of my men or anyone from my family. Not even Falynn.

First I need to understand what’s happened.

Internet searches turn up a few articles about the yacht explosion. Others about a funeral held for me by my family back home. Browsing through the photographs taken of the service, Falynn is nowhere to be found. Where is she? Did my family abandon her in my death?

Giancarlo and everyone else is there. Somber faces. Black clothes. Tasteful tribute.

And a casket.

If I’m whole and alive in Santa Margherita, then who or what was buried in my place?

So many questions. Too many for me to sort out, but I do my best. I lay awake at night and stare at the ceiling as I try to piece together the puzzle. Countless men want me dead, but who would be so bold to track me on holiday and blow up my boat?

Giancarlo’s first to mind. That somber, tight-jawed face of his at the funeral. He wore shades to cover his eyes and stood front and center, along with Papa and Uncle Claro.

He’d called me the day before the explosion. Was he warning me, or was he issuing a threat?

If it’s retaliation from the Lovato syndicate, then surely our family will hit them back even harder.

A sinking feeling in my gut tells me it hasn’t been handled. My death hasn’t been avenged.

And what of Falynn? I block out any thoughts of how alone and unprotected she may be without me around. Will the family take care of her, ensure she’s looked after for me?

I don’t have confidence that’s the case, and that angers me as much as the attempt on my life.

Giancarlo, brother, what the fuck have you done?

The door creaks open, disrupting my thoughts. Light from the hallway filters into the room. Aldo pokes his head inside and whispers, “Pssst…are you awake, Giovanni?”

I blink in his general direction. “Yes, I am. Why?”

“Grandpapa Rocco would like a word.”

My body protests with more sharp pain ebbing in my sides. I grit my teeth and press on, lifting myself out of bed and padding toward the door. The light in the hall is blindingly bright compared to the dark solitude of my room.

Cecilia and her husband Rocco speak in fast Italian. Cecilia’s brow is furrowed as she shakes her head. Rocco motions with his hands, bringing them together like he’s pleading. When they sense my presence and glance over, they both fall silent.

“Aldo told me you wanted a word?”

Rocco nods and gestures to an empty armchair next to his. “Yes, Giovanni. Please sit,” he says.

I do as requested and gingerly lower myself into the chair. More sharp pains. I hold in any groans.

“What’s this about?”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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