Page 103 of SINS & Riley
From the airport, we step off the plane into a wall of humid Italian air. Olive oil and espresso ride the breeze, cut with the bite of jet diesel and the faintest trace of the sea.
Beyond the pavement, hills roll out in green and gold, terracotta roofs glowing in the first light of morning.
“What time is it?”
Sabine checks her watch. “Dawn. Perfect timing.”
“I guess it would be perfect timing if I’d actually slept on the plane.”
Her lips twitch. “Welcome to Italy. Espresso solves everything.”
A black car waits at the curb, sleek and gleaming. The driver tips his hat as he swings open the back door.
Then he strides up and clasps my hand in a grip that could crack bone if he used even a fraction of his Marvel-level strength. Thankfully, he doesn’t.
“Welcome to Italy, Miss Zapretnaya. I’m Boris. One of your drivers. And your primary guard.”
The Russian accent isn’t lost on me. Neither is the fact he looks like he eats refrigerators for breakfast.
I flick a glance at Sabine. “My primary guard?”
“You’ll get used to it,” she assures me. “It was of utmost importance to Zver that you were well protected.” She checks her watch. “You have an appointment shortly.”
“An appointment?” My nose wrinkles. “What kind of appointment could I possibly have?”
“You’ll see.”
Her tone is flat, stripped of inflection, and it leaves me volleying between two possibilities: anticipation or dread.
Exhaustion steamrolls both. A yawn sneaks out before I can stop it.
“Please tell me this appointment comes with copious amounts of caffeine.”
“Guaranteed.”
A second van idles nearby. Two men help Elena inside, her frail frame nearly folding beneath their hands. She slept the entire flight, but now she looks even weaker, her steps faltering like her body’s forgetting how to move.
For a split second, something nags at me. When I saw her shuffle to the bathroom earlier, she was limping on her left leg. Now it’s her right.
My chest squeezes for her. I hope to hell she’s going to be okay.
The door slides shut around her, sealing her away from me.
Sabine notices my frown. “She’ll be alright,” she assures me.
And I know that, because of Zver, she has the best chance of it now.
Boris drives us out of the airport and into the countryside. The car glides down narrow roads that seem stolen from a postcard.
The second we leave behind all traces of a city, the air shifts. Rows of cypress trees rise like sentinels, vineyards roll endlessly over the hills, and terracotta farmhouses are peppered with goats and sheep.
It’s the kind of view that I’ve dreamed of all my life. I'm pretty sure Boris is tired of me swooning at every turn.
“So… where are we going?” I finally ask, my forehead pressed against the glass.
“You’ll see,” Boris rumbles, eyes never leaving the road.
I give him a sideways glance. “Do you know, Zver?” I probably shouldn't ask that, but I am super nosy.
