Time would tell.
Part Three
Get Your Paws Dirty
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The moment in the train station felt like the turning point. It should have been a disaster in which I ended up a hostage and ruined everything. But it hadn’t. In fact, I’d left Rome, caught the bus to Naples with ten minutes to spare, and had no issues buying a seat on the next flight to London. In less than twelve hours I was walking through the door of my Chicago safe house. I felt worried as hell about Paolo but grateful to be greeted by clean clothes and a freezer full of Lean Cuisine enchiladas and a pint of “Everything But The…” ice cream.
I immediately booted up my laptop and hoped to God I didn’t receive some horrible flare from Paolo. At this point, no news was good news. But I did need to talk to my father, so I left a message on my mom’s answering service to reach me on a new prepaid cell I’d picked up.
By the time I did all that, it was about 10:00 p.m. Central and about 4:00 a.m. in Rome, so I still had a few hours before I needed to call Horse. As for Paolo, I could only hope he’d show up as promised.
Sitting on the khaki couch, nerves frazzled, I forced myself to close my eyes for a few moments. My head was pounding and my jaw muscles ached from all of the clenching. But when I opened my eyes, it was five in the morning.
Oh crap. I grabbed my phone on the small table beside the couch and checked to see if there were any messages.
Nothing.
And, obviously, Paolo hadn’t shown.
I slipped Horse’s card from my pocket and logged into this weird Internet app thing Paolo had given me to make calls from my laptop. Not untraceable, but the calls were routed through a few servers in several different countries, so it would take a few days—with serious effort—for anyone to find the origination point of the call.
Horse immediately answered the phone, his voice gruff and cold. “Pronto.”
“It’s me.”
There was a long, awkward pause.
“Hello?” I said.
“The ranch is burning.”
What the hell did that mean? “Sorry?” I said.
“Maybe you should try watching the news sometime.”
“Uh…hold on!” I opened up my laptop and logged on to CNN. The first report was about the arrest of the entire Abelli family on charges of terrorism, money laundering, bribery, and intent to commit genocide. They’d been connected to a major terrorist plot to “infect every major city in the Western world.”
Why was this happening now? Paolo had said they were going to wait a while to arrest his family because they’d wanted to catch the buyers first.
“Holy crap, Horse. Where are you?” And where the hell was Paolo?
I thought about asking, but it would seem strange for me to give a crap about “Felix.” Maybe this arrest thing is what’s tying Paolo up.
“I’m in the countryside,” Horse said, “lying low. Apparently, the authorities are looking for me.”
Oh great. This was exactly what I’d been afraid of.
“Dakota?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll take that offer, if it still stands.”
Crap. I didn’t know. I would be aiding a wanted man. How do I get myself into this stuff? I was way over my head and desperately needed to talk to my father. Or Paolo. On the other hand, I’d committed to helping Horse get the heck out of there, and I knew he’d done nothing wrong. I had to make the best decision I could, but above all, I had to do what I felt was right.
“I’ll have a package sent to that hotel I told you about in two days. Once you have it, catch a flight to O’Hare.” I gave him a specific garage section to meet me at along with a phone number for a cell I’d yet to use or turn on. Paolo had told me that airports were great meeting places along with police stations. Lots of cameras and security, so they were generally safer. Airports also made great places to lose people, if you were being followed.
“Thank you, Dakota. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“You already did.” He’d let me walk away from him at that train station in Rome.
“I don’t know about that. This is pretty big. I might have to give you a foot rub.”
I laughed. Even in a crisis Horse was the quintessential flirt, but now wasn’t the time to break it to him that I was in love with his cousin. “Just get here.”
We said our goodbyes, and I began making arrangements for Horse, including sending pictures of him I’d found on the Internet to a lady in Philadelphia who made passports, fake photos, and just about any sort of forged document one could want for a mere fifty grand.
I was grateful that I was in a position to help Horse and that it gave me something to do, but with every passing moment, I felt more terrified than ever. Paolo hadn’t shown up, and there was no news from my parents.
What the hell was going on?
The news channels gave little information and simply replayed the same clips of Giuseppe in handcuffs, being taken from his mansion along with Granny Abelli. Less publicized was the news about twenty-five other family members, two hundred more “friends” of the family, and—totally unrelated—forty-two radicals from Syria with a “base” in the Republic of Moldova being taken into custody by Interpol. For what? The news didn’t specifically say. They’d been planning some sort of widespread “attack.”
Yes, the world had come so close to a major catastrophe and no one really knew.
Yeah, but somebody did know. And that’s when it really hit me. For the first time, I understood—and felt grateful—that there were people out there like Paolo who made it their business “to know.”
Sadly, however, enlightenment only made my relationship angst with Paolo even worse. Now a big part of me wanted him to keep doing what he did; it was important and so much bigger than just me. But then there was the little me, the selfish one who wanted to keep Paolo safe. She didn’t want to lose him. Not ever. And she didn’t want to share him with anyone.
Maybe you should be happy to have him in your life at all. Where the hell was he? Because nearly three days had passed since I’d left Rome and I was about to lose my goddamned mind.
When my phone rang at ten in the morning, I jumped from the excitement. “Hello?”
“It’s me, Horse. I’ll see you in twelve hours.”
He hung up without a word from me, but I felt relieved. At least he was okay, and frankly, I hoped that Paolo would be grateful I’d managed to save the only member of his family worth saving.
I tried leaving another message for my mom—the fourth one—plus I’d sent out a flare in the St. Paul PennySaver. My head might actually explode if I didn’t hear from someone. Soon. Seriously frigging soon.
Twelve hours later, I stood on the third floor of the east wing of the parking garage at O’Hare. Then an hour passed. And another. I thought that maybe Horse had gotten on a flight with a connection, got delayed, stuck in immigration—I didn’t know. But when it was Paolo’s dark figure I saw standing in the shadows gripping a black duffel bag, I nearly collapsed.
I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck, preparing to smother him in kisses, but he dropped his bag and pushed me back. His upper lip was split and he had two black eyes.
“Holy shit. What happened to you?”
“Nothing,” he said, his voice raspy and barely above a whisper, as if he’d been screaming at a rock concert. “Let’s go.”
I felt horrified seeing him like this. “What the hell happened to you?” I repeated.
“I said nothing.”
Then it dawned on me. What was he doing here? I hadn’t told him about this spot.
“Where’s Horse?”
“He was caught by the local police—identified at the airport.”
Oh no. “So how did you know to meet me here?”
“I spoke to him briefly after he’d been brought in.”
“Shit. We have to make sure they know that he doesn’t have anything to do wit
h that damned terrorist thing.”
Paolo ran his hands through his hair. It looked like he hadn’t bathed, shaved, or slept in days. And he’d had the crap beaten out of him.
“Okay, we’ll worry about that later,” I said sympathetically. “Let’s get you back to my place.”
He nodded, a bit shaky.
I picked up his duffel bag and studied him for a moment. “Paolo, are you going to be all right?” I felt a sickness in my stomach, seeing him like this.
“I had a rough time in Rome. That’s all.”
“You need a doctor.”
“No,” he said. “I just need to rest.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but it didn’t feel like the time to argue.
We got into an elevator and headed back to the terminals, where we caught a taxi right outside. The entire ride back to my downtown apartment, Paolo kept his eyes closed and his head propped against the window.
When we arrived, I helped him upstairs to my place and laid him on the bed. He closed his eyes almost immediately, and I didn’t know what else to do but let the man be. But make no mistake, I was horrified. I’d never seen Paolo like this. The man was everything powerful and confident. This man, though? He looked like he wanted to crawl in a hole and die.
After taking off his shoes, I went to turn off the light.
“Dakota?” he whispered.
“Yes?”
“I need to see your father. It’s…urgent.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
“Why won’t you tell me what happened?” I said.
“Better you don’t know.” He rolled over, turning his back to me. He hadn’t even bothered to remove his suit jacket.
I was terrified for him, but knew that panicking was about as helpful as knitting him a scarf.
“Okay. I’ll do what I can.” I had tried to reach my father, but maybe I’d actually have to get on a plane to St. John. Not that I knew if my parents would still be there.
I’d give it another day and then decide what to do.
Around three in the morning, the sound of intermittent screams woke me from my catnap on the couch. It was Paolo having one of his nightmares, I realized.
“Paolo? Are you awake?” I quietly went into the bedroom.
He didn’t reply, but a few moments later he mumbled in Italian. He sounded like he was begging someone, begging for his life.
I cupped my hands over my mouth, trying not to cry for him. The only explanation was that his father had found out the truth and hurt him. Of course, the Abellis were arrested shortly after I left Italy, so maybe that’s what saved Paolo’s life. The authorities had been able to get to him in time.
I went out to the hallway, flipped on the light, and then cracked open the bedroom door just enough to allow the light to shine on Paolo. As carefully as I could, I lifted the back of his coat, exposing his side and lower back. There were deep black-and-blue bruises all over his lower torso in these strange shapes, almost like he’d been beaten with a—Oh God. A baseball bat.
I couldn’t help it this time. The tears came out. I knew that Paolo wanted to be strong and unbreakable, especially when it came to me. But he was only human. Why didn’t he want to tell me what happened? Did he fear I’d think he was weak?
I sighed deeply and wiped away the tears with the back of my hand. Right now, the most important thing was getting him to a doctor. He probably had broken ribs and God only knew what else.
“Paolo?” I gently moved his shoulder. “Paolo? We need to talk.”
Within the blink of an eye, Paolo had jolted from his sleep, grabbed my hand, and flipped me underneath him. He quickly grabbed my other hand and held them both above my head, using his body to pin me to the bed.
I winced, afraid that he really would pummel me this time. The unchecked torment in his eyes was terrifying. “It’s me, Paolo! It’s me.”
“Don’t ever!” he yelled with that strained, raspy voice. “Don’t ever sneak up on me like that. Do. You. Understand?”
“Yes.” I bobbed my head frantically. “Y-Yes. I understand.”
“What are you doing here?”
“You were having another nightmare; I came to check on you.”
“What did I say?” he asked.
“Nothing. I mean—I couldn’t understand. Paolo, what did they do to you? I saw the bruises on your ribs.”
“Mind your own fucking business.”
I blinked. There was something brutal in his eyes. It was goddamned crazy. And then…he kissed me.
It was unlike any kiss Paolo had ever given me. Rougher. Harder. More dominating. He didn’t even seem to care about his split lip.
He began to undo the button on my pants, and while a part of me wanted him and wanted to do what I could to soothe his torment, he was injured.
“Paolo?” I said while he tugged down my jeans. “Are you sure? I mean—”
“Open your legs.”
The absence of affection in his words struck me as odd, but then again, so did this entire messed-up situation.
He hastily stripped away his coat and shirt, throwing them to the floor, and then unbuttoned his pants and freed himself.
He pushed his body between my legs and began kissing me again, heatedly, bitterly. I felt like whatever had been done to him, he was trying to take it out on me or forget or…I didn’t really know.
Paolo briskly massaged my breast with one hand and began grinding against me.
This didn’t feel like any of the other times I’d been intimate with Paolo. What was going on with him?
Paolo continued kissing me with too much pressure, and I finally had to say something. “You’re hurting my mouth.”
He stopped kissing me altogether, and that’s when I realized Paolo was…well, he wasn’t hard. He realized it, too.
Paolo pulled away and stormed from the room. A moment later, I heard the shower running and released the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
I ran my hands over my face. “Holy shit.” Things were always so intense with Paolo. Always. His protectiveness. His loyalty to his job. His love for me. His fearlessness. But this…I didn’t know what to do with this or how to fix him.
I lay there, my mind spinning and searching for answers I didn’t have. He had them. And until he told me what had been done to him, I couldn’t help. Not really.
I sighed, wondering what to do next. I’d hit a wall, and it chafed me hard. I wanted to handle everything on my own, but I couldn’t.
I pulled myself together, checked my laptop for flights, and entered the bathroom, where Paolo stood motionless underneath the showerhead, steam pouring from the top of the glass stall.
“We leave for St. John in a few hours—that’s the last place I saw my parents,” I said. “There’s a 10:00 a.m. flight.”
He didn’t even turn his head in my direction. “Okay,” he replied with a sad, defeated ripple in his deep voice.
I shut the door and let her rip, crying my heart out and sinking to the floor with my back against the door. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…
All I wanted was to be happy. And with the guy I loved.
Didn’t we deserve that?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
As soon as the sun came up, I checked on Paolo. His face looked pale and sweaty, and I was beginning to wonder if he’d been poisoned or something. I needed to get him to a hospital. But if he didn’t want to go, I might have to wait until he was too sick to move or protest, which might be too late.
God, help me, I thought.
“Paolo?” I was careful not to get too close this time.
He rustled underneath the blanket but didn’t speak.
“Paolo!”
His eyes flipped open. “Is it time to go?” he mumbled with that rough, barely audible voice.
“You’re too sick to travel. Let me take you to the emergency room.”
“Fuck off, Dakota. I’m fine.” He slowly started sliding his feet to the floor.
“Is that really what you want? You want me to fuck off?”
He didn’t respond.
I took a breath and shoved my hands into my jeans pockets. It was the only thing I could do to prevent myself from shaking him. “I know that whatever was done to you was bad. I know that they hurt you in ways that I could never imagine, but you need to let me help you—”
“If you fucking want to help me, find your fucking father.” The look in his eyes was animalistic.
“I’ve been leaving urgent messages for three days, telling them I’m here, but my parents aren’t responding. I don’t know where they are.”
“You said St. John.”
“Yeah, but they could be gone from there by now. And you’re in no condition to travel.”
He looked away. “You’re lying to me. I know you are.”
“How can you say that?”
“The only thing that kept me alive, Dakota, was you. The thought of coming home to you. Of marrying you.”
Was that what this was all about? “You need to talk to my dad to tell him we’re getting married?”
“Why else?”
It just didn’t seem important right now.
“What?” He scowled. “I’m not good enough for you now that I’m broken?”
“No. It’s not that—”
“You love me or you don’t. Decide, Dakota.”
Of course I loved him. I’d give my life for him. “I love you. Which is why you’re going to get your ass in a taxi and—”
“Good. Then we’ll leave for St. John. Now get the fuck out and let me get dressed.”
I closed the door behind me, feeling sick to my stomach. Something was seriously wrong with Paolo, as if he were a completely different…
Oh fuck. I held my hand over my mouth. No, it can’t be. It can’t. My mind did a sick little dance, but it was the only explanation that made sense: Felix. Paolo had said it was nearly impossible to tell them apart physically, and with the black eyes and cut lip…