Page 84 of Forging Caine

“Ms. Caine.” Fiori stood next to the bar. “So happy to see you standing again.”

I swallowed hard, an acidic burn creeping up my throat. I pivoted, so I had one arm around Antonio’s waist and he maintained his around my shoulders. We were always stronger together.

Focus.

Baptiste lounged on a couch nearby, popping olives into his mouth, looking like he wanted to be in that room even less than he’d wanted to be at the yacht club. The man I recognized as Bodyguard One—who’d worked with Jason our first time on the yacht and who’d been the one Vincenzo escaped with in January after trying to kill Antonio—stood just outside the track where the sliding walls were open. Another bodyguard with him, two more on the other side of the ship, along with two women in staff uniforms holding water pitchers and a man next to Baptiste, holding a tray for olive pits.

None of them had been at the yacht club. How many staff did Fiori have with him on the boat?

Jason remained by the stairs, chatting quietly with a young man in the staff uniform.

“That’s two times I’ve come aboard your vessel under someone else’s control.” The last time, it was Antonio carrying me since I couldn’t put any weight on my ankle.

“You don’t strike me as a woman who likes that.” Fiori crossed through the room, stepped over the track, to the railing where Bodyguard One and his fellow goon shifted so they flanked him.

“So long as I’m leaving under my own steam, that’s what matters.”

He waved us over to join him at the railing.

Antonio’s arm tightened around my shoulders the closer we got. “The view is spectacular, Pasquale. I’ve not sailed the St. Lawrence at night in many years.”

Moonlight glinted off the water, a million shards flickering as the boat cut through the wide river. We were far enough out I couldn’t see a shoreline or any city lights, other than a haze in the distance that might have been a city.

I was a strong swimmer, but if I wanted to escape, jumping wasn’t an option. How many twists and turns would I need to follow in the maze of hallways to find a rib boat? “How far along are we? Is that Buffalo out there?”

“Cleveland,” called Baptiste from behind us. “We’re sailing slowly.”

Fiori turned, eyes narrowing at his son. “No one asked you.”

“She asked if—” Under his father’s glare, Baptiste raised his hands in apology and returned to his olives. From what little I’d seen of them together, the son seemed to be the opposite of the father. Relaxed and bored with the world, rather than possessing a drive to control it.

“I think I’ve been very reasonable.” Fiori leaned his arms on the railing. “But you bring a recording device to the yacht club, hoping to get… what? What was your goal with that, Ms. Caine?”

Antonio held me even tighter. “Pasquale, we—”

“I was talking to her.”

Shit.

Bodyguard One moved closer, as did the man on our other side. They were too close.

Double shit.

One of the women with the water took a half-step forward, but the moment one of the guards looked at her, she resumed her position.

I stepped in front of Antonio, bringing his arm around my upper chest and pulling the other around my waist. We’d be more difficult to tip over the edge as two people locked against each other, and we’d have more of a chance to make it to shore together than apart. One could float while the other swam, then switch. It would be cold, but it least it was May, not March. But how strong was his bad arm? “They forced me.”

Fiori remained calm, not looking at us. “Did they also force you to meet them at your insurance office?”

Antonio cut in. “Pasquale, if you want my help, you’ll—”

Fiori ignored him, not budging or raising his voice. “You’re wondering whether you can make it to shore if we throw you over, aren’t you?”

It was like he was reading my mind. He knew every step before I’d thought of it.

“From the looks of you, I expect you’re both capable swimmers. I’d say maybe we should do it, then place some bets, but we’re already underway. We’ll be long gone before you either reach the shore, grow too tired and sink, or maybe—if you get really lucky—another boat shows up and rescues you. Although in the dark, those odds go down.”

I needed an excuse. Something to go with the line that they forced me. What did I have? “I covered up a bunch of fraud cases my ex-husband was involved in. They found out and I—”

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