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No sooner had Harry settled into a chair than hands were upon him, gentle yet insistent, checking his injuries with a professional eye. The room was alive with the rapid exchange of Italian, the rise and fall of their voices painting a picture of concern and urgency. He wished he could decipher what they were saying. Weigh in.
Yet, as the debate grew heated, Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety. He turned to Gio, wanting answers. "What are they arguing about? Do they think it's too dangerous to keep me here? Are they worried about Thomas coming back?" Harry's voice was heavy with concern, not for himself but for the safety of those who had chosen to help him.
Gio's response came with a wry smile that seemed out of place in the tense atmosphere. "They're not trying to decide whether to kick you out, Harry. They're arguing about whetheryou need to go to the hospital or not. They're worried about you, not the danger you might bring."
Harry's brow furrowed in confusion, his mind still grappling with the notion that these people, many of whom he barely knew, were more concerned for his well-being than the potential risk he posed to them. "But what about Thomas? What if he comes back? He wants me dead.”
Gio's chuckle cut through the tension. “Harry, my friend, the last thing anyone here is worried about is getting rid of you. We're trying to make sure you don't die here in the living room. You're a big man, after all. Carrying you out of here if you're dead would be no small feat," he joked, the levity of his words belying the seriousness of their predicament. “The debate is over whether we get you to the hospital while you can still walk on your own or hope for the best. I suppose we can rent a crane to lift you out if you do die here.” He translated what Harry assumed was the same suggestion into Italian and the room erupted with a chorus of laughter.
After being provided with a hearty meal, Harry found himself seated across from Gio, the weight of recent events pressing down on both men. He’d thought of Gio as a kid, probably no more than twenty, but now he seemed older. More ready for what might come.
"I need to get word to my friends," Harry began, his voice firm. There seemed no reason to be coy. "I know you know who I'm talking about, Gio. There's no point in dancing around it anymore."
Gio nodded, a slight frown creasing his brow. "I've already sent word that you were taken. And now, I'll make sure they know you're back and safe... mostly unharmed," he assured Harry, the hint of a wry smile breaking through his concern.
“Sent word. You communicate with them?” Harry leaned forward, intrigued. "How do you plan to pass that message? Youknow they don't use cell phones or anything wireless at Verde Lago. They're careful about communication."
Gio's expression turned serious, his eyes meeting Harry's. "I'm aware. I have a number I can call in on. It's a direct line, secure and trusted."
Harry's surprise was evident. "How do you have access to something like that?"
Gio sighed, leaning back in his chair. "My grandfather and great uncle were ambassadors of sorts to Verde Lago when it first became a sanctuary. Gloria, the founder, needed allies, information, and supplies. That trust has been passed down through my family. It's a responsibility I don't take lightly."
Harry listened intently. "So, your family has been part of this for generations?"
Gio nodded. "Yes. And until now, there's never been a threat like this. It's unsettling that it's happening on my watch. The job was always quite easy. Helping facilitate transportation at times. Some hard to get supplies. Emergency medical assistance a time or two. No one has ever come poking around. Like I said when you arrived, we don’t get outsiders often. Certainly no one looking for a missing woman."
Harry's mind raced, piecing together the implications of Gio's connection to Verde Lago. "The town... do they know?"
"Some have an idea, yes. They know there's a place nearby, important and secret, run by good people. But not everyone is 'in on it,' so to speak. What you can trust is that they can tell the good from the bad and be loyal. We live a unique existence out here. We rely on each other. That creates an unbreakable bond.”
Gio's admission painted a clearer picture of the delicate balance that had been maintained for so long, now teetering on the edge of chaos. "We need a plan, Gio. We have to be ready for Thomas and whatever he brings with him. If they suspect they’re onto something, they'll scour the area. They know the phone ofthe missing woman pinged in this area. If all this commotion makes them think they’re right about this town, they’ll look harder. Drones, flyovers... they could discover Verde Lago."
"I meant to keep them busy, to make them think this place wasn't worth their trouble. But if they return and start looking for me, someone could get hurt. We need to act first."
Gio seemed to consider Harry's words carefully. "We should call Kenan. Let him know you're alive and work out a strategy together."
Harry hesitated, the prospect of being told to stand down, to hide away, gnawing at him. He wasn’t ready to take orders from anyone. He wanted to handle this on his own. "What if Kenan tells me to back off? To wait? I can't just sit back, Gio."
Gio's response came after a moment of contemplation, his voice steady and sure. "My father and grandfather always did one thing: they trusted the people at Verde Lago. I'm going to do the same. We'll call Kenan. We'll stand together on this.”
Harry could tell by the way Gio set his jaw there would be no debate. There were decades of precedence here. He’d have to respect it.
CHAPTER 17
Rose stood alone on the veranda, her gaze lost in the serene beauty of the garden that sprawled before her. The vibrant colors of the flowers, the gentle rustle of the leaves in the breeze. She’d grieved Harry already. Not fully. That was impossible in the chaos of the time that had elapsed. But she’d come to terms with this death. He was a martyr. The man who’d given his life so the women in that building could escape. She’d gone through every word they’d exchanged. Every horrible moment they’d witnessed. It had been blazed into her mind. As the last time. The last time she’d talk to him. The last time she’d see him. And now, she wasn’t sure. Maybe he was dead again. Would it hurt all over again?
It was here, in the moment of grief, that Mick found her, his approach marked by an uncharacteristic hesitance.
"I'm sorry, Rose," he began, the words barely leaving his lips before she raised her hand, silencing him.
She knew. She didn't need him to articulate the betrayal she felt; Mick had known Harry was alive and had kept it from her. The hurt was palpable, a sharp sting that resonated with every beat of her heart. Yet, as she faced him, the anger that had simmered began to ebb away. Mick had been her steadfastprotector, the one who had fought tooth and nail to bring her to this haven. And deep down, she understood if there was any way, he would be the one to reunite her with Harry. If. If he was alive.
"You did what you had to do. We all have. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
He looked utterly shocked by this. As if he’d prepared for her to throw a fit, to blast him ruthlessly. Something he clearly felt he deserved. She gave him the grace of changing the subject.
Mick, where's Charlize?" she asked, shifting the focus away from her own pain. "Did you... tell me you didn’t screw that up too?”
