Page 95 of Till Death Do Us Part

“Mi dispiace,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss on my shoulder. “Lo renderò migliore.”

A tightness formed in my chest and throat at his words.I’m sorry. I’ll make this better.He carefully took the dress from me while I put on the warm clothes. Sweater and sweatpants that was his. It was all oversized, but at least I had my tennis shoes, even if they were stained. I did my business. He did his.

As he washed his hands, I noticed bloodstains on the waistband of his jeans.

“You’re bleeding.” I rushed to him and lifted his black shirt, which was crusty with dried blood. He had a clotted wound on his left shoulder. It was shaped like a gulley, the skin completely torn off.

“A bullet grazed me.” He shrugged.

“Any closer to your neck…” I couldn’t even finish because that was exactly what he would have been,finished, if the bullet would have hit the vital pulse in his neck.

He grinned at me through the mirror, like I was cute. “Almost doesn’t count when it’s me, Dino.”

I shook my head. “It counts to me.”

“Bene,” he said, turning to face me. “That’s the only time they count. When I’m collecting wounds and scars meant for you.”

All the blood felt like it drained from my face and all energy from my body. He caught me before my legs gave out.

“When was the last time you had something to eat?”

I couldn’t remember. The entire day before Crawford, except for the time with my sisters in the church room, seemed like a blur.

I shrugged. “Not sure.”

“You’ll eat.” His tone was final.

Celso and Fredo met us in the station after they finished filling the cars. Between the four of us, our bags were loaded when we left with food, drinks, and first-aid items.

Felice made a deal with me when I kept arguing about cleaning his wound. I ate, and then I could clean it.

Some Italian gas stations had better food than some restaurants back home. I’d gotten a caprese sandwich, and Felice had gotten one packed with meat. We ate pistachio donuts after and drank coffee. Then he pulled to the side of the road and let me clean his graze. He still made a fuss about it at first, but I thought it was for show. He seemed to like my hands on him and the attention.

Somewhere along the way, I crashed again. When I woke up, we were an hour out from Taormina, Felice said. We stopped at anotherbenzinaio.

Felice stood outside of the bathroom this time, and when I came out, he was on the phone. He was talking to someone in Sicilian. He hung up before we got in the car again.

“Have you ever been here, Roma?”

“No,” I said, trying to see the town from the car window. It was too dark. Only specks of light gave the area some definition. “I’ve been to Sicily, to Palermo, to visit Mamma’s family, but not to Taormina. But I know things about it. It’s on the coast, right?” After he nodded, I went on.

“Mount Etna is somewhere over that way.” I pointed in one direction. “The Ionian Sea is probably over that way.” I pointed in another. “D.H. Lawrence and Truman Capote were inspired by it. It has Medieval streets and a Greek theater, which is second century, I believe. There’s also a castle around here. Elsa’s interested in its archeological bones. There’s a Neolithic necropolis. A Stone Age cemetery on the premises. She told me about it once. But we’re about an hour away from Taormina?”

He nodded. “Did you Google that too?”

Okay, so he was right about thenumber onething. I had Googled it.

“Google might know everything, but I read about Taormina in a travel book once. Lo and I talked about visiting the beaches one summer. Elsa filled me in on the castle. Is Taormina where your family is from?”

“Some. I have family all over Italy.”

We slowed when we came to acastellonestled in the hills. It was lit from the ground up. Crawling vines spread up the apricot-colored exterior, tall palm trees swayed in the sea breeze, and lush Mediterranean foliage lined the walk to the opening. It didn’t seem to have doors, but a path leading deeper into thecastello.

I was willing to bet a citrus orchard surrounded us. I could smell it in the air. Thiscastellowas a fortified farm.

Elsa was in my ear. I could almost hear her excitement over this place. This was the one she’d gone on about when Lo and I were considering a visit to Taormina.

A man and a woman met us and brought us to a different side of the property, Celso and Fredo trailing behind us. Grand windows overlooked the courtyard, climbing hydrangeas clinging underneath. The furniture was all antique, the walls exposed stone, the floors terracotta, and the bathroom all tile.

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