Page 53 of Enduring Caine
“Like it or not, she was born in the middle of it.” Samantha pulled her chin out of my grip and finished removing the bandage. “I don’t like this anymore than you do, but Vin’s already targeted her. That’s why he’s teaching her.”
As if I couldn’t dislike him any more. “Taking advantage—”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“You’ve seen how she looks at him. The girl’s infatuated.”
Samantha placed the bandage on the counter, staring at it for a long moment, then looked up at my reflection. “He’s an undercover agent and he’s using the tools at his disposal to make the world a better place.”
“What would you say if someone did that with your niece?” Little Emma was only three years old, but the argument remained valid.
Her head fell forward and shoulders sagged. She stayed like that for so long, I stepped over to her and placed a hand on her upper back.
“Bella? Is there more going on here that you’ve not yet told me?”
“This is all so much easier in theory. When the world is black and white, good and bad, and there’s no one stuck in the middle.” She turned slowly, leaning against the counter with her ankles crossed. “Ilikeyour uncle. He’s so different from your father—and I adore your father—but he’s got so much of that same passion inside of him. It’s hard not to admire.”
I stretched my bad arm out, flames erupting through the spot where the bullet had ripped through my muscle, and took her hand. The other rose to her cheek. “I understand. This is how I fell in with them.”
She slid a hand around my waist, pulling me closer. “I think I should talk it over with Elliot tomorrow.”
My lips found her cheek, and I whispered through tiny kisses, making their way toward her ear, “You’ll have maybe three minutes with him, unless I can pull off a miracle. Your earlier plan was the wise one. Talk to him once we’ve left.”
She sighed, uncrossing her ankles to allow me to step between her legs. “Alright. I’ll ask Giovanni to take me to the gallery and get the—”
“No.” I pulled back to look her square in the eyes before she could object. “Let me do it. They’re less suspicious of me, so it will be far easier. We can ask to go to the gallery together, if the opportunity comes up. If it doesn’t, I’ll say it’s related to the discussions I’m having with my uncle about his future.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You don’t have to ask, bella. This is what partners do for each other.”
Chapter 23
Samantha
Westrolledalonganarrow sidewalk in Cittavera on Thursday morning. The weather had cleared, but pools of water dotted the street and flooded soil-filled flowerpots. At least a dozen cats watched us from various vantage points. Cristian and Leonardo walked ahead of Antonio and me, granting us a welcome sliver of privacy. Antonio took full advantage, with the arm around my waist regularly dipping lower to sweep over the curve of my ass.
True to Vincenzo’s warning, Leonardo had been pulling a guard duty outside of our rooms in the morning that would have made the Secret Service proud. Good thing I’d snuck into my own room just after midnight, before Johann’s shift ended. There would have been no fooling Leo, and he would have moved me to a different floor to ensure we weren’t breaking the rules.
I was a little worse for wear. The bad dreams had started a few times, but they didn’t follow their entire course—dream-Antonio made it through to live another day. Wearing his pajama shirt helped my sleep our first night here, so last night he’d given me the shirt he’d worn that day, as well.
How long would that work once I got home and the scent of him faded? Waking with a scream or a sob in my sister’s house would scare the kids. On the upside, if I woke at two in the morning, it would be eight in Naples and I’d be able to call Antonio.
“What do you think you’ll try this morning, bella?” Antonio wore khaki pants paired with a black Henley and light gray jacket, along with the sling. The clothes belonged to Cristian, and none of it fit him properly—snug in the shoulders and across his ass, too short at the hem and ankles. Considering how fashionable Antonio normally was, it was no surprise he acted like it was intentional and was as sexy as ever.
Cristian looked over his shoulder at me. “Johann swears by the apple cakes. Did you try those?”
Antonio chuckled. “We only bought three of those Tuesday and he ate two in the car.”
“Cesca ate the other one.” I laughed and Cristian did the same.
I had to stop laughing. Stop letting Cristian’s charm and pleasantries pull down my defensive walls. He was a smuggler. There was no space in my heart, my brain, or my soul to be friends with a man like that. No matter what Antonio said last night and no matter what the relationship between the two of them was, Cristian and his father were exactly the type of men I’d sworn to fight against when I joined the FBI.
But how did I reconcile that with the fact that Cristian was the one Antonio called when things got bad two weeks ago? And for all the information he gave us about Parker Johnson and what he was doing back home in Brenton?
“Maybe a custard cornetto,” I snapped, annoyed at myself for even debating that I might like the man.
Tiny cars crawled along the narrow road, which made a sharp right angle turn just past the stairs down to the square where the bakery was situated. There were more people out than vehicles, many bundled up as though they were in a snowstorm—probably locals. Still, there were others, wearing lighter jackets and speaking English, with American and British accents. Some French. A few in a foreign tongue I was unfamiliar with.