Page 93 of Chasing Caine
As the server left, I stared off into the distance, to the lights of the city, to the vague outline of Vesuvio. It had been two weeks since our argument at the studio in Brenton. I thought I’d lost her for good.
She was such a blessing.
Her chair drew back sooner than expected and I looked up, but it was not her.
A man with broad shoulders in a black suit, which strained at his biceps. He had short, dark hair and a serious expression, reminding me of Cristian’s thugs or Pasquale’s bodyguards. As he sat, he said simply, “Dr. Antonio Ferraro?”
I cocked an eyebrow in response.
“I’m here with a message.”
My jaw clenched. These were words I’d not heard in some time.
“I understand you were at Riccardo Emanuele’s gallery a couple of days ago.” He spoke in English, with a slight accent I couldn’t place.
And there was no need for me to respond. This was not a question.
“I represent certain interests who would appreciate if you did not return there. And who would further appreciate if you did not contact Umberto Longhi or Eva Zabelle again.”
“Umberto and Eva who?” I knew who he meant, and my attempt to sound as though we hadn’t visited the studio specifically to see her was nothing more than petulant. Men like this rarely delivered messages they were unsure of. I’d known too many of them during my days in Roma with Cristian.
He smiled, a tight-lipped, near-polite movement which didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want your pretty American girlfriend hurt.”
Bile rose in my throat, and my stomach twisted in knots. I leaned forward, my words coming out as a growl. “You touch one hair on her head and I will—”
He slid the chair back before I could finish, undisturbed by the fury about to be released. If I hit him, the threat would become real. He would not be alone and I wouldn’t be able to protect her.
Smoothing his jacket, surveying the view, he said “No, you won’t.” He left.
My mind raced, every breath burning. I ripped the phone out of my pocket and dialed Cristian. Before he could greet me, the words poured out. “I need to talk to you. Now.”
“What—”
“Someone threatened to hurt Samantha.”
“Slow down, cugino. Who’s Samantha?”
“My girlfriend!” I launched from my chair and stepped to the railing, trying to calm the stutter in my breath. “I swear, if your people are behind this—”
“They’re not,” he snapped. “And you know I can’t talk over—”
“Cazzo! You told me to call if anything suspicious happened and now it has. Send me a phone!” I jabbed the End button, wanting nothing more than to throw the phone at the wall. Threatening me like that. Threatening her!
I texted Cristian the hotel information, ensuring he would contact me in the morning.
A gentle hand ran up my back to my shoulder. “Buonasera, bello.”
The sound of Samantha’s voice simultaneously sent excited shivers and fits of rage through me.Deep breath, Antonio. Smile.I turned slowly, words lodging in my throat. How had she grown more beautiful since she left the table?
She gestured to the phone still in my hand. “Don’t tell me someone else has your attention?”
“Of course not.” I slipped it into my pocket and pulled her against me at the railing, the lights above the statue casting a soft glow across her face. “Nothing can compete with you.”
Behind her, the server arrived, his tray filled with desserts.
“I ordered one of everything, except the lemon and gelato.”
She didn’t turn around to follow my gaze, just stared deep into my eyes. “Thank you.”