Page 105 of Gin & Trouble

I couldn’t believe my luck. They didn’t have electricity but they had medical equipment? Maybe there was a doctor nearby. “Thank you. Where did you get these?”

The boy stepped forward. Keeping his eyes on his feet, he spoke in formal Italian. “My older brother broke his ankle on the rocks last year.”

“How is the man I was with? Dante? Where is he? I need to see him? Where’s the nearest phone? When will the doctor arrive?”

The boy went wide-eyed and backed away.

“I’m sorry.” I placed the crutches under my arms and hoisted myself up. The effort made me dizzy and nauseous, but I needed to see Dante. “Where is my friend?”

“Husband?” The boy gave me a curious grin, and the old woman narrowed her eyes.

“Yes, husband.” I hated to lie, but I’d spent most of my childhood in Sicily. Even on the main island, people tended to be rather old-fashioned about such things. Especially in the rural areas.

“Come.” He led me to another bedroom. “This is where my parents sleep.”

I hobbled inside and let out something between a sob and a laugh when I saw Dante. While his color had improved overall, the bruises on his beautiful face had darkened and someone had shaved his head nearly to the skin.

Careful not to jostle him, I sat on the edge of the full-sized bed. Several smaller cuts and bruises dotted his chest and arms, but I didn’t have any of the superficial wounds.

He must have shielded me from the debris.

I sandwiched his hand between mine. “Dante? Can you hear me?”

“Your husband woke the first night. Now Mama makes him sleep with her medicine. She says it is what he needs.”

First night?

“How long have we been here?”

“Four days.” He gave me a shy grin. “It is almost Christmas.”

Four days? How is that even possible?

I’d heard of people losing time while injured or drunk, but had a hard time believing we’d been on the island that long. Plus, what did that mean for Dante? He had a head injury. Wasn’t there some rule about not sleeping after a concussion?

“What sort of medicine is she giving him?” I tried to keep my voice even so I didn’t spook him again.

“The lemon water.”

No wonder I’d lost all sense of time. I’d been drinking the magical mystery tea like crazy.

“Has Dante woken at all since the night we arrived?” My mind spun with worst case scenarios. “Has he eaten? Drank anything? How is she getting the tea down his throat? Has he spoken?”

So much for not spooking him. Get a grip, Frankie.

The boy shrank back, but he seemed less freaked out than the first time I’d machine gun fired questions at him.

“He wakes when it is time to drink.” He shrugged. “And he asks many questions.”

“Good. Questions are good.” I relaxed my shoulders, but then it hit me that Dante could have memory issues. I wouldn’t know for sure until I could speak to him. “I’m not leaving him.”

The boy shrugged again and left the room.

The longer I sat, the more the sedative wore off and the more my calf throbbed. I wanted to prop it up, or better yet, stretch out beside Dante and sleep, but I wasn’t sure how my rescuers would feel about me making myself quite that comfy.

I couldn’t believe I’d lost so much time. Time that Sophia and Valentina had to spend in captivity thanks to our psychopath brother. Val’s marriage to Miquel Salvo was to happen after the first of the year. And Sophia? Who would Tommaso force her to marry? Would it matter who he chose? Would she go along with it? Would he really kill her if she refused?

My mind wandered to the explosion. As far as I knew, my brother wanted me alive, but who else would blow up a boat with the two of us onboard? The question I didn’t want to ask, but couldn’t stop myself was, how had Tommaso known I’d be on the yacht to begin with? How had someone planted a freaking bomb when Giancarlo’s men were standing guard?

---