10

Solana

I woke up the next morning, still feeling worse than a train wreck. The headache had reduced, but my arms still ached. A loud knock on the door drew my attention away from the duffel bag I was stuffing.

I tucked a loose strand covering my left eye behind my ear, fully expecting it to be Abel. “Who is it?”

“It's me, ma'am.” The accent was thick. Italian, and unfamiliar.

“Come in.”

He pushed the door open and stepped in, his tall frame intimidating. “The car is out front and ready.” I recognized him as the man who'd stood at the door after accompanying us here yesterday. He was also close to Abel — and was constantly by his side. Perhaps he worked as a bodyguard for him.

He moved toward the two suitcases close to the dresser and hoisted them up, looking me over with that steely, haunting gaze of his. “Would that be all?”

“Yes,” I replied. I could carry the duffel and my make-up bag. Abel had told me to pack just one suitcase because we weren't planning of staying in Calabria for