He’d made a mistake going for the bride.
Dante picked the man up by the neck as if he was a sack of potatoes and threw him into the open passenger side of the car. He reached for Mira and pulled her behind his back as he faced down the struggling Italian still stuck in the car.
To this day, I don’t know what happened.
If he accidently pressed the gas pedal in his quest to get upright or if the thing was on a timer set to blow at a certain point after the door was open.
If Rocco saw the skirmish and decided to get it over with by pulling the trigger himself.
But one second later there was a mighty rip, like God tearing apart the heavens.
And seconds after that, the car exploded.
Seventeen
Elena
Heat rolled out from the explosion like a mushroom cloud, singing my eyebrows, burning my skin. Smoke followed quickly after that, obscuring the sight of the ruined car, setting everyone in the vicinity to a hacking cough as those uninjured struggled to get to safety. The fire was contained to the vehicle, but the air was waxy with heat.
Frankie and Tore both had their arms around me, shielding me with their bodies in a way that made my heart ache.
“Andiamo,” Tore ordered in a harsh rasp as he sucked in that acrid smoke. “Quickly, now.”
“But––”
“They be fine,” Frankie assured me when I clutched at him, paralyzed with fear. “He pushed her to the ground a second before it blew. He might be hurt, but he’ll survive.”
Still, I scoured the sight for signs of his black hair or her long, singed veil as Frankie tugged me along after him across the piazza and down a side alley.
“Did you know the car would go off?” I demanded as we came to an abrupt stop at a vintage red Vespa.
Tore was nowhere in sight, but I didn’t worry, the Don could take care of himself and he’d been with us, unharmed, after the crash.
“No, the stronzo obviously had it as a contingency plan if he felt Dante, Tore, and I were up to something.” He handed me a little red helmet and straddled the Vespa.
I blinked at him, maybe a little disorientated from the explosion. “You look ridiculous.”
He did.
Frankie wasn’t as tall or wide as Dante, but he was a big guy in a Prada suit on a tiny scouter tourists and university students used to get around the city.
“Dai,” he ordered. “Get on, Elena. We don’t have much time.”
I put on the helmet immediately, taking my place behind Frankie and wrapping my arms around him.
“Try not to enjoy this too much,” he teased.
Only a mafioso would joke after a freaking car bomb went off.
With a beep of his pathetic horn, he took off down the alley, sticking to the narrow streets as he wound way from the cathedral toward the water.
“Aren’t we going to the airport?” I asked, because that was our original plan.
Pull of the fake wedding of a century and get the hell out of Naples. We’d talk about going to Costa Rica where the Camorra funneled most of their ill begotten money. I didn’t speak Spanish and I wasn’t skilled with languages, but I’d learned Dante spoke it, and four others, fluently. It was another new start, this one completely foreign to me, but I didn’t care.
I’d go anywhere with my capo.
“Change of plans,” Frankie shouted over the rush of wind and then said nothing more.
We arrived at the porti di Napoli docks within ten minutes. Two cruise ships nestled in the harbor and countless little boats, luxury speedboats for the tourists and the wealthy, weathered fishing boats for the many Neapolitans who made their money off the sea.
Frankie drove straight onto the concrete docks to the very end of one vacant mooring and turned off the engine.
“What the hell are we doing?” I demanded as I got off and removed my helmet. “We need to call and see if they’re okay.”
“They will be.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” I hissed, stepping forward to give his biceps a shake. “They did this for Dante and me! Don’t you get that? They were never meant to get hurt.”
Frankie gave me a cool look then pulled his phone from his pocket, pressing a button before handing it to me.
I took it eagerly, almost dropping it in my haste.
As it rang, I followed Frankie’s gaze to a small wooden speedboat racing in from the ocean, froth at its bow and a single captain at its helm.
It rang and rang.
My heart moved into my throat.
The boat moved closer.
A man, dark haired and broad shoulder stood at the wheel.
I stopped breathing.
The phone clicked then went dead.
The vessel aimed straight at the mooring, the engine so loud I almost didn’t hear the phone in my limp handing ringing.
I raised it to my ear.
“Hello?”
The man on the boat bent as he brought the vehicle to a sudden, swerving stop at the dock. Only his dark head was visible.
“Lena mia,” my sister said breathlessly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t answer. We just got away.”
“Are you okay?” I demanded.
She laughed.
A high, lilting laugh like drug addicted after a good fix.
Like a villain who had just pulled off the ultimate evil plan.
“Si, sorella mia,” she crowed and I couldn’t help but smile. “Xan says his scalp is itching from the dye, but other than that and a nasty cut on his cheek from some loose schrapnel, we are both fine. Fine and happy because it worked.”
I grinned, holding the phone with both hands, about to answer when the captain of the small boat in front of us straightened and turned to face us.
It wasn’t Dante, as I’d hoped, but Salvatore, his face creased into the widest grin I’d ever seen.
“Come,” he beckoned, tossing a rope to Frankie who caught it and held it taut. “Hurry, Elena.”
“I have to go, Cosi,” I told her even as I moved to the boat and accepted Tore’s help getting in. “Grazie mille. Thank you for taking such a risk for me. It means more than I can say.”
“Then say nothing,” she suggested easily, as if she hadn’t just put her and her husband’s life in danger to help us. “Both you and Dante have spent your life trying to protect Xan and me. It was our turn to return the favor. Buona fortuna and I’ll see you later.”
“Good luck,” I echoed. “Be safe.”
Frankie clapped his hands at me so I tossed him the phone.
“Where are we going?” I demanded of either man, but they ignored me as they maneuvered a saddle bag from the Vespa onto the boat and Tore started to push off the dock.
“Tore,” I called, nearly falling into the water as he gunned the engine forward.
Frankie tossed the rope into the back of the boat and waved jauntily as if we were off for an afternoon delight and not fleeing the scene of a crime.
Tore helped me into my seat and retook his spot at the wheel.
“Tranquilo,” he shouted over the noise of the boat cutting through the blue waves and tossing up foam. “Be patient.”
I made a face, but I didn’t really have a choice in the matter.
The wind whipped over my body and through my hair, as violent as the conclusion of Dante and Mirabella’s fake wedding.