Page 107 of Gin & Trouble

He shrugged. “We use mules.”

Dante, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.

“When will the doctor come?”

“Tomorrow or the next day,” Casio said. “He will not come on Christmas.”

Tino asked his son a question, and I understood one word loud and clear. “Mafiosi.”

I motioned between myself and Dante. “No. But our family is.”

Casio gave me a yeah-right look and relayed the message.

Tino made the sign of the cross and ushered his family out of the room.

Great. Hopefully, it’ll take the Carabinieri as long to reach us as it’s taking the doctor.

I gave up on worrying what they thought and stretched out beside Dante. Though I’d skipped the herbal tea, my thoughts grew fuzzy. Unsure of the day of the week, I wondered if Marco or Giancarlo were looking for us. Surely, the yacht had GPS or something like a black box.

Do they think we’re dead?

I couldn’t help but worry about Dante’s father. He was gravely ill. Would the news he’d lost another son cause his illness to worsen?

At some point, I must have gone back to sleep because I woke to Maria pulling the bandage from my leg. Curious, I rose to my elbows to see the cut. The memory of the gaping wound made my stomach roil, but it looked nothing like I remembered. Maria’s stitches held the six-inch gash closed. Pink skin bubbled between the sutures, but it didn’t appear infected. In fact, the throbbing had stopped.

She patted my arm and left the room.

I curled closer to Dante to ward off the chill in the air. “I really wish you’d wake up.”

He reached for me.

I grabbed his hand and squeezed hard enough to hurt. “Can you hear me?”

Dante opened his eyes and cracked a slight smile. “Hey.”

“Shh, easy. Don’t talk yet.” I sat up and eased my feet to the floor. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are we?” He glanced around the spartan room.

I made it to the door and poked my head into the hall. “Maria, he’s awake.”

A few minutes later, she hustled into the room with a cup of the lemony water. “He should drink.”

As much as I wanted to protest that her concoction would knock him out again, I bit my tongue. He needed fluids and sleep far more than I needed company and reassurance.

I helped lift Dante’s head while she tilted the cup to his lips. We managed to spill most of it down his chest, but he swallowed enough of the liquid to moisten his throat.

“What happened?” He pushed the cup away and laid back.

“The boat exploded. A fisherman saved us.” Elated that he had finally woken and seemed to be okay, I hated to get into the gory details so soon.

“How long?”

“The son says four days, but I honestly don’t know. I’ve been out of it, too.”

Dante glanced at me. “Were you injured?”

“Dehydrated and a cut on my leg, nothing major. How do you feel?”

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