Page 4 of Enduring Caine
The saving grace of his injury was that he was left-handed, so he wasn’t fighting against natural inclinations to do everything with the bandaged arm.
Once he finished, his dark wavy hair was as perfect as always, short on the sides and longer on top, with a hint of intentional messiness. He’d skipped shaving and sported some facial hair part of me wanted to drag my nails across. Paired with a light wool navy suit and white button-front that highlighted his olive skin, he was back into the Italian supermodel look he favored while in his home country.
“How long are you planning to wear the scarves?” he asked as we flowed with the foot traffic through the airport.
I walked to his right side, hand on his back, creating a buffer around his arm. “Until the bruises fade.”
“You know you’re the only one who can see them, sì? To anyone else, it looks like a shadow crossing your neck.”
Every instinct told me to reach for my neck, to rip the scarf off, but between holding onto Antonio and pulling my bag behind me, there was nothing I could do but sigh. It was silly, but whenever someone’s eyes landed anywhere near my neck, all I could think about was Olivia, choking me into unconsciousness. It made me feel…lean on him, like Elliot told you to. “I don’t know. It’s embarrassing.”
“I have a thought.” Antonio inclined his head toward the passport control area. “How about we promise to put all of that out of our minds for the next two weeks? Focus on us—on being together. How does that sound, amore?”
“Like paradise. But first I need to tell you what I found out on the plane.”
“Found out?”
“I had a chat with Elliot while you were asleep. The FBI received intel that your uncle Giovanni is planning something related to you. They don’t know much more than that, other than it sounds like it’ll happen soon.”
He strode with his head high as we approached the customs area, appearing unconcerned, other than a tick in his jaw. He veered into the much longer non-EU line with me instead of using his Italian passport. “I liked my suggestion far better.”
“Me, too, but at least we’ve been warned. You don’t think they’d hurt you, would they?” Was there a chance they’d contact him during our two weeks? As far as he’d told me, the last time he saw his cousin was when I visited in September. What if they approached him again? Would they do it while I was there or avoid me, like they had last time?
Elliot’s words hung in my mind:Be yourself. Maybe he meant curious. Maybe he even meant seize whatever opportunities presented themselves to get more information. Help the FBI. Build that portfolio Elliot and I had discussed a few times—the one that would secure me a contract position with the Bureau, allowing me to work from wherever I wanted.
“If there’s one thing I know about my uncle, it’s that family has always been as important to him as it is to the rest of my family. He’d never hurt me.” We reached the end of the line and stopped. “At least not intentionally.”
Chapter 3
Antonio
“Yousee,bella?”Iraised my chin toward the “Nothing to Declare” exit ahead of us. “In and out in just over an hour. Plenty of time to make our connection.”
Samantha had grown increasingly restless the longer the normally quick line took. Once we’d finished with passport control and were on our way again, she finally stopped fiddling with her necklace and tapping her foot. “Is this the part where you tell me it’s time to relax?”
“I might mention that once or twice this trip.” I leaned over to kiss her temple, a feat made more difficult by the frustrating sling around my arm.
Asking her to join me as my nurse was supposed to be a flirtation, but she continued offering to do things for me. Carry my bags, help me dress, get out my toiletries. The injury was to my bicep, not my head.
But this was how she showed her love—terrible with words but eloquent with actions.
As we neared the door to proceed to the next terminal and our connection to Napoli, so too did a trio of customs agents. Odd. Each of them asked random people for their documents, smiling and nodding, letting them move past.
“Documents?” said one of them to me in Italian. He stood a few inches shorter than me, roughly Samantha’s height and twice her breadth. Pale skin and hair, with a thick beard.
I slung my bag off my left shoulder to the floor and withdrew my Italian passport for him.
He opened it to the photo, held it up to my face, and nodded. “I noticed you were in the non-EU line. Why go through there with an Italian passport?”
“My girlfriend is American.” I gestured to Samantha, who held out her passport, which he ignored. “I wanted to go with her.”
“Did you present this passport when you went through?”
“Sì, as always.”
“Are you a dual citizen?” His face remained impassive.
I couldn’t tell if these were standard questions or not. What Icouldtell was that he was holding us up longer than the other random checks. “I am. Would you like my American passport as well?”