Page 38 of Deal with the Devil
“That’s good to hear,” I say. “Your sister was very welcoming.”
“It runs in the family. It made me think… I would like to show my own appreciation. You and your sister were some of my favorite guests I have given tours to. Would you like to join me for dinner?”
“I’m very busy?—”
“I’m sure you can spare an hour or two for some good Sicilian food. I will take you to one of the best places in Palermo. Fero will come to pick you up.”
“Actually, I already have plans with the host where I’m staying.”
“I’m sure Irene will understand.”
“Francesca,” I say slowly, “I never told you where I was staying. So how would you know the host’s name was Irene?”
“Oh… well… err… I…”
I hang up on her, looking around frantically for any watchful eyes. The facility of RossoVerde looms in the background as impenetrable as ever, surrounded by thick green brush, though as far as I can tell, no one else is around.
One thing is obvious.
Francesca, her sister Natalia, Irene the hostess at the boutique hotel, and probably everyone else I’ve come into contact with, haven’t been as helpful as they’ve wanted to appear. They’ve been keeping tabs on me, which means there’s probably someone even more important—and powerful and dangerous—than they are, doing the same.
I rush from the RossoVerde headquarters, hailing a cab at the next street.
“Comiso Aeroporto, per favore,” I say in a novice attempt at Italian.
The cab driver thankfully understands anyway and makes my request a reality. I sit back against the cushions and steadymy breathing, reminding myself I have everything I need in my purse—wallet, phone, passport, and all other necessities.
I’ll have to leave behind my belongings in the carry-on suitcase, but it’s too risky to go back to the hotel and grab them.
There’s no telling who might be waiting for me.
I have to get out of Sicily now.
The first flight available is the flight I want to be on.
Twenty minutes later, the taxi brakes outside the airport in the departures lane. I fumble with the Euros in my purse and end up paying the driver extra. It doesn’t even matter since I’m in such a rush to make it inside.
At the ticket counter, I purchase a flight from Sicily to London. The clerk behind the desk hands me back my passport along with my boarding pass and thanks me for choosing their airline. It feels like she’s handling me a lifeline as I take both and then head over toward the security checkpoint.
The security agent waves me through the metal detector. I pass through, following after the long line of other travelers. I’ve barely made it to the other side when a second agent approaches me from my left.
“Mi scusi, signorina,” he says politely. “Please step aside. We need to speak with you.”
I glance over my shoulder, uncertain who he’s talking to. “I’m sorry… what?”
“We need to speak with you,” he repeats. “Please, come.”
Other travelers openly stare as I’m guided from the metal detectors off to the sidelines of the security checkpoint.
“I need to grab my purse?—”
“We will grab your things for you.”
“I don’t like that. I don’t want to be separated from my things?—”
“We need you to step into this room for a moment.”
I pause midstep, then rear back. “I’m not going inside any room until you tell me what’s going on.”
