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“Fabien—”
“Don’t talk me out of this. There’s plenty of time. Give me thirty seconds to be with you before we get into disguise, it’s the least we can do.”
She opens her mouth as if to protest, then snaps it shut.
“Good girl.” I stroke my hand through her hair. “You did a very good job there. How are you feeling about what happened?”
“I feel like…” When she inhales, her slight body expands against mine. She exhales, and rests against me. “There’s too much for me to process right now. Like I can’t… I can’t move beyond this until I’ve given it some thought. But the most difficult thing right now is that I can’t get in touch with Savannah. Like, logically, I can tell myself that she’s fine and I don’t have to worry, but at the same time, after what happened today, I can’t shut off that part of my brain that’s really worrying.”
“I understand.”
I won’t let her run away from me. I won’t let her go. But I won’t keep her like a bird in a cage. I want her to know she’s safe with me.
I pull out my phone and make a phone call. Louis answers on the first ring.
“Boss? What can I do for you?”
“Thought you were in the hospital?”
“Nah, you know me. Got patched up and I’m home, ready to work. What’s going on?”
I fill him in briefly. “Her sister’s in Boston. Can you call in a favor?”
“Rossis?”
“You know it.”
Romeo Rossi, the most powerful mob boss in the Boston Underworld, owes us a favor. His youngest sister got herself in trouble and was sent to Tuscany a few years ago, and he had no one stationed to guard her. We sent guards to bridge the gap between her arrival and theirs, and just in time to save her from a vicious attack from one of their enemies. He promised he’d do anything for us in return.
“Report back, will you?”
“Of course. On it.”
I hang up the phone. “We’ve got friends in Boston.”
“Okay,” she says, nodding. “Thanks. And they’re going to check in on her?”
“They will and they’ll report right back to me. I can tell you right now that she’s probably fine, Nicolette, but I wouldn’t want to take any chances.”
“Good. Alright then. Thank you.” She glances at the clock on the wall. “And it’s probably time for us to get into disguise. My God, I feel like I need a drink, but I don’t want to lose any of my control.”
I can’t help it. I pull her over to me and kiss her temple. I kiss her cheeks and then brush my lips over hers. “I’ll help you lose control.”
“I know you will,” she says with a sigh. “Why does that both excite and terrify me all at once?”
“Because control is a heavy thing to carry. It can be erotic surrendering to someone, because it makes you vulnerable and pushes the element of trust. But it’s also scary because you have no idea what this actually means, do you? What I’ll do.”
Nodding, she turns to me and frames my face in her hands.
I blink, suddenly strangely emotional at the tender look she gives me.
“What?” I ask on a whisper.
“I want to remember you like this,” she whispers back.
I want to tell her she doesn’t have to commit me to memory. I want to tell her that we can stay together and will, because I won’t let her leave even if she wants to. I want to tell her that if she feels what I do, that we can make this last, that we can make this work, that the two of us were meant to be together.
“I’m getting nervous about the time,” she finally whispers. I glance at the clock. We have fifteen minutes before the security shift.
“Let’s go. Thankfully these disguises are simple enough to do, right?”
“Yes.”
We won’t dress here so we don’t rouse suspicion. Instead, we’ll dress in the car on the way there.
“We’ll exit through the back entrance.” This entrance is the one reserved for V.I.P.s for a price, for people of incredible stature who would be recognized immediately if anyone saw them. We charge a substantial fee for privacy, so no paparazzi ever suspects a Prime Minister or celebrity’s slipping into Corsica’s most popular brothel.
Nicolette nods, and we leave my place hand in hand just as her phone beeps.
“Oh, it’s Savannah,” she says on a sigh. “Thank God.” Pushing a button on her phone, she answers in a rush of words. “Savannah? Is that you?”
She pauses long enough to listen, then slumps against me and sobs. Poor girl was more keyed up than I thought. A pang of guilt stabs me.
I hold her to me. “She’s alright,” she whispers, though her brow is knit with concentration as she listens. “No! Oh my God, no! Are you serious?” Her eyes come to me and she quickly takes her phone from her ear long enough so she can put it on speaker. Her hands shake.
