An Italian on the run from the Mafia. A reporter seeking the truth. Will they reveal their feelings before danger strikes?
*****
Reclusive writer Luca Ross...
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I knew I was rambling, recounting what the chief told me about Gianni as Luca pulled me into the den and flipped on a light.
"Why is it so dark in here? Why are the curtains drawn?"
He looked at me, incredulous.
"Oh. Right. You don't want anyone to be able to see in. Duh."
Luca's shoulders tensed toward his ears. His hand squeezed my arm tight.
"Luca, you're hurting me. Please stop squeezing like that."
"Amore mio, I'm sorry. I'm worried."
Luca moved me to the leather sofa and he sat, pulling me onto his lap and hugging me tight. He was breathing fast, and I could feel his quick heartbeat. I felt self-conscious because I was sweaty and stinky, but he didn't seem to mind as he buried his nose in the hollow of my neck.
"Sky, this is not good. At all. We might have to leave Palmira."
I wriggled to look at him. "Hold on. What? We?"
Luca's voice was firm. "Yeah. I need to think about this. It might be safer if we leave. Maybe my uncle can help put us up somewhere. But yeah. We."
Was he crazy? What was he talking about? If I left Palmira, I wouldn't have a job. If I didn't have a job, I wouldn't be a journalist. If I wasn't a journalist, I'd be giving up on my dreams.
"Luca, I can't just leave Palmira. I've got a job, remember? Can't we just call your uncle?"
"Skylar, our lives are in danger. Your life is in danger because of me. My uncle's life is in danger. If Gianni was here, he was looking for me. If he was parked by your office, he must know who you are." His voice was cold and harsh, and I felt a familiar sense of panic, almost as if James had suddenly appeared in the room to berate me.
"How do you know that? What if it's just a coincidence? What if he really was here with his girlfriend? And anyway, who killed him and why? And could there be more, um...hitmen?" I felt odd just saying the word, like I was an extra in some bad TV crime show. What was this, CSI: Palmira?
"That's the big question." Luca sighed.
"I seriously doubt anyone knows we've been spending time together. And would they want to kill an American journalist?" I reminded myself that Luca wasn't trying to sound like a jerk, that he was legitimately scared for us both. His parents had been killed in retribution, right? But—
"I wouldn't put it past them just to torture me. The other alternative is I leave Palmira. Alone."
"Huh? But I don't want you to leave. We're...I..." my voice trailed off. I had almost just told him I loved him.
Great timing.
Luca didn't seem to notice. "Would you rather go somewhere with me and have me alive, or be here with you and die?"
