Page 91 of My Dark Fairy Tale
“You gave meyou,” he corrected, pulling my face from his shoulder so he could kiss my sunburned nose. “When you have not given yourself to anyone else. Not just in this way but ...” He shrugged eloquently. “I may not deserve the light you bring, but I will enjoy the hell out of it while I can.”
“Well, the pleasure is still mine,” I joked, hoping he didn’t hear the break in my voice.
He hummed a noncommittal reply and held me until the last of the jewel-toned hues faded from the sky and cool blues started to set in.
“We should go,” he said at last, lifting me in his arms with a little groan as his knees cracked. “I have something to show you.”
He touched me constantly as we righted our bathing suits and then matched me stroke for stroke as we swam back to the boat, as if he couldn’t bear to be apart.
Everyone was already ready to go when we climbed aboard, the anchor reeled in and the sails lifted. Raffa let Renzo take the helm so he could sit with me in silence on one of the benches across from Ludo, Carmine, and Martina.
I was surprised when they cut the engine as we stopped near an island close to the coastline, by a small collection of other luxury boats moored off the shore for the night, but I was silent as everyone got up as one and stood on the starboard side. Martina handed out binoculars,and we each lifted them toward a jutting cliffside. There was just enough light left to make out three speedboats as they slinked one by one from somewhere amid the rock.
“What—” I whispered.
“Hush,” Raffa returned.
I watched as the boats spread out in a V-shaped formation, heading toward Livorno on the other side of the strait, and wondered why this was tonight’s entertainment.
Until I heard thewhomp whomp whompof a helicopter.
Seconds later, a spotlight snapped on over the water, highlighting the speedboats for a moment before they splintered from each other, trying to flee.
A muffled Italian voice ordered something I couldn’t make out over the speakers, and then more lights filled the darkening ocean from the bows of four police speedboats coming from Livorno.
“Oh my gosh,” I gasped, pressing my eyes harder to the binoculars as if that would help me make out the details of thehigh-speed police chaseI was watching.
The police split off to follow each of the three boats, and the helicopter followed the one traveling farther out to sea. The six of us watched until the lights were pinpricks on the inky horizon and we could no longer hear the sound of the helicopter.
I turned to Raffa, hardly able to make out his features in the dark.
“What the hell?”
He laughed, a long string of notes from the belly. Someone snapped on an overhead light and another at the bow of the boat and started the engines again, moving us out from the boats moored for the night and back toward Livorno.
Raffa’s face was creased with smug mischief like that of a teenage boy who had pulled off a wonderful prank.
“I thought you would want to see what your help meant to us.” He gestured to the place the boats had disappeared. “The company that screwed us over with dishonesty was smuggling into the port of Livornothrough those shell companies you found. We turned them in to the authorities and ... presto.”
“Oh my gosh,” I laughed as Raffa picked me up and spun me in a tight circle. “That wasinsane. I felt like I was in a spy film. Feel my heart!” I pressed his hand to my chest when he put me down so he could feel it racing. “Wow. How exhilarating.”
Renzo clamped a heavy hand over my shoulder and gave me a little shake. “If you ever need a job,Vera?”
Raffa shot him an unamused look, but I was too busy grinning at Renzo to note it. “Oh for sure, buddy. I mean, I knew you guys had to be more than just stuffy investment bankers. Look at you.”
“I think this calls for prosecco,” Martina announced, ducking into the galley to grab it.
“Servio packed sparkling cider for you,” Raffa told me, pulling me into his front and then kissing my temple.
Ludo reached over and offered me his fist to bump.
And not for the first time in Italy, but for the first time with Raffa’s chosen family, I felt at home.
Chapter Twenty
Guinevere
It was the Feast of San Lorenzo, and all of Florence—all of Italy—was celebrating. Italy had a long history of celebrating its martyrs, and Lorenzo was considered one of the patron saints of Florence. But I still thought the whole thing was a little too on the nose.
