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"It would be stupid to send you back home without checking. Maybe we'll meet the guy there when he realizes you're still alive."
"Your brother didn't make it sound like the next few hours were going to be friendly."
"If you don't give me a reason to get mad, I’m no danger for you." Dario's statement sounded honest, so I nodded.
I had no reason to lie to him. I would tell him everything I knew, even if I wanted to get out of the whole thing as quickly as possible.
"You could ask me the questions right now," I suggested.
Dario shook his head. "First of all, I want you to calm down and get relaxed. You should feel safe when I question you."
It was probably some kind of psychological trick that he wanted to use. I couldn't blame him, so I said nothing about it. For the moment, I was just glad that he had found a spark of compassion in himself and had saved me, although everything had spoken against it.
Hopefully, he didn't regret it later.
* * *
The Tychewasa vast building with an even bigger parking lot just outside of Naples. Several floors rose into the air. It was not an architectural masterpiece, but you could see the club character of the building. Not least because of the neon sign that told every passing car the name of the establishment.
"May I present: My pride and joy," Dario said, pointing through the windshield at the building.
"Somehow it's quite cliché, too, isn't it? The mafia guy with the club," I replied.
The ride had made me gradually feel calmer.
Dario scrunched his nose. "No one has ever said that before."
"There is always a first time. Besides, I'm right."
"Well, except I'm not justsomemafia guy, I'm the one who's next on the throne if my brother's girlfriend doesn't have kids or he dies."
"Wow, how does it feel to have that on your résumé? What are you writing? Dario de Archard, the mafia prince?"
He turned in my direction, leaning toward me. "Prince is such a nice, positive word," he murmured, sending a pleasant shudder over my body. At the same time, he unbuckled me. "Get out of the car."
With his behavior, he had taken away my repartee, so I did as he instructed.
The chill night air enveloped me. I took a moment to breathe and realize that I was far, far away from the warehouse and the guy who almost cost me my life.
Nothing would happen to me out here. Would it?
My gaze slid to Dario, who was already waiting for me. For some irrational reason, I believed everything he said. None of it seemed exaggerated to me. Either he was good at maintaining an illusion, or he was as crazy as I had thought him since the moment he had stepped in front of me and told me he’d either free me from the bomb or die at my side if something went terribly wrong.
Without another word, he led me inside. As he had mentioned, no one was present. The entire building was dark, and he had to turn on and turn off the lights one by one once we had moved on to the next part of the building. He led me into a room that appeared to be an office and, after he took a seat behind the enormous desk and had me stand in the middle of the room, I was sure that was exactly what it was. His office.
Probably out of habit, he booted up his computer, shifted a few documents back and forth on the desk, pretending at first to have forgotten my presence.
"Maybe the first thing you should do is take care of your nose. Your face is covered in blood," I said after a few seconds, wondering if he was even aware of it. I wondered if he knew how threatening it made him look.
He made a defensive sound. "Maybe the family doctor will show up here soon, too. Emilio has a penchant for inflicting injuries on me."
"Your brother is abusing you?"
Dario made a disapproving noise, rolling his eyes. "He's making his point unmistakably clear."
Before I could ask, he raised his hand. Four dots were visible on it. A scar. "That's where he stabbed me with a fork. Because of a joke I made."
"I guess he didn't think it was funny," I replied, biting my lip as he looked at me with a warning.
