Page 94 of Gilded Saint

“Shouldn’t we say goodbye?”

“Already did.”

I follow him through a quiet house. I’m sure Lina’s still sleeping, but I keep an eye out for Nick.

Leo’s Range Rover is outside on the gravel, and he throws the bag into the back seat.

“Is everything all right?”

He doesn’t look at me. No, he’s scanning the horizon. His demeanor is the same as when we fled the garage after the incident with Leandro.

There’s a thin red line across his throat. “What happened?”

He side-eyes me as he lightly touches the injury. “Ran into a branch running this morning.”

“Did you put something on it?”

“It’s fine.” His focus returns to the road.

The stilted silence in the car has me scrolling songs on Spotify, searching for something to lighten the mood. The dense cloud cover and increasingly heavy traffic only exacerbate the negative vibes reverberating off Leo.

I select a channel that touts itself as The Beatles channel. It’s not all Beatles’ music, but it’s selected by fans of the band.

“Can you listen on headphones? I need quiet.”

I don’t possess headphones, but I don’t wish to argue, so I press the screen and silence returns. He side-eyes me and huffs.

There are so many things he could be angry about. A news alert came across yesterday about a Titan ship being detained, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s related to the shipping manifests I saw in his pictures file. I didn’t ask Nick about the ship, as years in my father’s home taught me that women don’t inquire about business matters. Plus, Leo said Lina isn’t aware of what they do, and I shouldn’t say anything to her, and she was almost always around.

Leo could also simply be angry about me getting stoned with Lina. But then again, last night he hadn’t seemed mad. Still, of the options on the table, that’s the easiest to tackle.

“Are you mad about yesterday?” His gaze remains fixed on the road ahead. “Leo? Seriously?”

“What?” He blinks and rubs a hand over his eyes.

“Do you want me to drive?”

“No.”

He’s not this worked up over pot. My father, who has a zero-tolerance rule on drugs, would have gone ballistic. But Leo’s not conservative like my father. He’s progressive and open. Or at least, that’s what I thought. This silent, brooding shit—something is bothering him, and he won’t open up. The pot is the only reason I can think he’d be angry at me. And that doesn’t make sense. Which means it’s more, and he’s treating me like my father would treat my mother.

He reaches for my hand, and with his touch, my incensed thoughts fizzle. We drive like that for the next hour and a half, silent, fingers linked. Occasionally, he lifts our linked hands and presses his lips to my knuckles or to the back of my hand.

I’ve no idea why he’s out of sorts, but the more I give it consideration, we left without him saying goodbye to Nick, at least that I saw. Perhaps they argued. If it weren’t for the middle divider between us, I would slide next to him. Something is wrong, and I want to make it better for him, but I don’t know how. I do the only things I know to do. I remain silent, don’t turn on the music, and hold his hand.

When we return to the garage, Leo parks and tells me to stay. He exits the car, and prickles climb my spine as he rounds the vehicle, searching for god knows what. More people coming for us? Is this not over? Is that what’s the matter? Did he get word Massimo is coming after us?

Leo opens the door and holds it for me.

“Everything okay?” That phrase must be the one I say to him more than any other.

“All good. Let’s go.”

My gaze tracks to the spot where John’s car had been and then the spot where Leandro and his two employees died.

“Come on,” Leo says, his tone softer now.

“Are they coming for us?”

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