Pleasure’s Fury: Masters’ Admiralty, book 3

by Mari Carr

  “We’re two hours away from the safe house. Can you make it? Do you need to stop?” Antonio asked.

  Leila waited for Karl’s response. If he thought he could manage two more hours in the car, she’d fight through the pain and do the same. But if he needed to stop…

  “Leila,” Karl said. Glancing over, she saw he was waiting for her response. “Do you need to stop, to rest somewhere?”

  She tried to read his face, his expressions, hoping to figure out what he needed. Sadly, her wits weren’t as keen as she was used to. Leila hated feeling this vulnerable, this weak.

  Recognizing that, however, made her answer apparent. They needed to go on. Right now, Antonio would be fighting Six alone if he found them. Given his determination to get them out of the house, she knew he’d risk his life to protect them. Which meant they had to give him every advantage they could.

  Neither she nor Karl could fight back, so they had to make sure they were somewhere safe, somewhere fortified.

  “We need to get to the safe house.”

  Karl gave her one short nod, then said to Antonio, “We can make it.”

  She prayed that was the right answer. Karl’s color was bad. The calories and water Antonio had given him when they first got in the car had seemed to revive him, but now he looked gaunt. There were bright spots of color on his cheeks, and his eyes were glassy. The small puncture on his chest where Six had casually stabbed in the IV was red and angry-looking. Probably infected.

  They fell silent, the darkness around them misleading in its peacefulness. Nothing inside Leila was still or steady or easy. Fear warred with pain, both growing in intensity until she thought she’d scream. She closed her eyes, attempting to draw slow, deep breaths into her lungs. In the past, the concentrated breathing helped center her, calm her. Tonight, she could only manage a few shallow breaths, and each one caused her pain.

  None of them spoke, and she thought perhaps Karl had managed to fall asleep. At least, she prayed he had. She’d seen the abrasions on his body, recognized the skin ripped away after so many days strapped to the chair. Even after a few hours of freedom, he held his head stiffly, unable to turn it without suffering. When he shifted slightly, she saw his eyes were open, focused on the roof of the car.

  So she wasn’t alone in fighting back her pain.

  Finally, Antonio turned onto the via della liberta, the road bridge that connected Venice to the mainland. Moonlight reflected off the water, casting a shadow on the old railway bridge that ran beside the road.

  “We’re almost there.” Antonio’s voice was soft, coaxing. “There will be medical supplies. Beds. Not long now. I’ll take care of you.”

  She appreciated his kindness, his encouragement. It should have been odd coming from someone like Antonio, but the words, and sentiment behind them, were genuine. Antonio Starabba’s reputation was rather legendary, his accomplishments held up as examples they were meant to emulate, to learn from. His actions in the basement testified to the hype. He’d come into that house, knowing it was about to explode, to save them. He hadn’t hesitated to rush into imminent danger.

  Antonio continued to drive, taking them through the city center and then out again. She wasn’t surprised by that. He’d referred to a safe house. There were many secluded places in Venice where it would be easy to hide unless Six managed to get a tracking device on the car. She dismissed that thought.

  They crossed three more bridges, traversing from one island to the next. She suspected in daylight, this would have been a scenic drive. However, the farther they moved away from town, the darker the night became. All she could see with any clarity was the road in front of them, illuminated by the car’s headlights.

  At last, he pulled up to a large iron gate attached to a high stone wall. She couldn’t see within the yard, the darkness too thick. The gate was locked and secured by an electronic keypad. Antonio rolled down the window and plugged in a code. The large gates slowly parted down the center, allowing them to pull in. She turned her head, watching the gate close behind them once they had passed. It was a short drive from the entrance to the yard, to the large villa that appeared out of nowhere in the darkness.

  Karl was still reclined, but she saw him struggle to push himself up when the house came into view.

  “This is a safe house?”

  She understood Karl’s shock.

  Sensor lights had flickered on at their approach, revealing a beautiful, large three-story brick villa. The third floor had oversized windows, covered with green shutters that bespoke of the age of the house, and Leila could just make out the front of a rooftop terrace. It had the feeling of a Romanesque church. The villa was surrounded by gardens, the house and grounds both well tended.

  “It belongs to my family. It has a state-of-the-art security system. Motion-activated light sensors and alarms. There is an armory in the wine cellar. The stone wall we drove past surrounds the entire property, right up to the shoreline.”

  “What’s to stop someone approaching from the water?” she asked, her security officer training kicking in as she searched for weaknesses they might have to defend if Six came back for them.

  She should have known better than to question Antonio when it came to security.

  “Heat sensors and infrared cameras.”

  “Your family put heat sensors and infrared cameras on their house?” Karl asked.

  “When I was young, we came here on holiday. My sister and I. Our mothers. Now it is used as a safe house for Rome, more than for holidays.”

  Karl frowned. “What did you say your last name was?”

  “Starabba,” Antonio answered.

  “Oh, well, that explains it,” Karl said.

  “Explains what?” Leila asked.

  “My father is the admiral of Rome.” Antonio pulled the car up to the front door.

  “You’re the son of an admiral?” Leila wasn’t as up on the gossip or history of the Masters’ Admiralty because she wasn’t a legacy. “I knew you, I mean I’d heard of you, because you’re a security officer. A good one. I didn’t know your father was the Admiral. I thought you were just a security officer.”

  Antonio turned off the car. “Don’t move.”

  Karl forced a smile. It looked like a skull’s grin. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

  While Leila had done quite a bit of shifting during their time on the road, constantly seeking a more comfortable, less painful position, it occurred to her that Karl had barely moved.

  Leila remained in the Alfa Romeo, foolishly pretending she was protecting Karl, who was truly defenseless, while Antonio did a quick perimeter check. When he returned, he opened the passenger door. He’d given her the blanket and Karl a spare T-shirt he had stashed in the boot when they’d first escaped. Other than that, both of them were pretty much naked.

  That state hadn’t really been an issue when they’d run from the house, or even during the journey to Venice, simply because they’d been cast in darkness. The lights illuminating the house revealed too much. Especially when Antonio reached down and gingerly helped—more like lifted—Karl from the car.

  Karl groaned several times and from her spot in the back of the car, she could see two large black sores on his buttocks and upper thighs, the result of being strapped to the chair for so many days. He wobbled on unsteady legs, and she recalled the zip ties Antonio had cut away from his ankles.

  Karl was leaning heavily on Antonio, and it was clear he couldn’t walk on his own. Antonio glanced around the grounds and bent down, looking back at her. She knew the job, understood his concerns.

  “I can walk,” she said, slowly sliding toward the car door. Mercifully, Antonio didn’t drive the sports car version of an Alfa Romeo. Given the stash of equipment she’d spotted briefly when he’d gone rifling for a blanket to cover her, he’d found the four-door Giulia more suitable to his work needs. She opened the back door and took as deep a breath as she could manage.

  Her legs felt l
ike jelly. Wrapping the blanket around her towel-style, tucking it in and holding it up under her left arm, she used her right arm to try to lever herself up and out. The effort hurt too much for her to even attempt to school her features or hold back the pained cry that escaped.

  Antonio reached out for her, while still supporting Karl. She swallowed her pride and stepped into his strong grip, the position reminiscent of the one he’d engaged to drag both of them from the basement.

  Each step was an experiment in torture, and while Leila knew Antonio had to be anxious to have them both inside the house, he was extremely patient, taking great care not to rush them or push them beyond their limits.

  The short trip from the car to the front door couldn’t have been more than four meters. It took them ten minutes to get there.

  There was another keypad on the door and, once again, Antonio pressed in the code. Once inside, he turned on the lights, leaned Karl against the wall on one side of the door and her against the other, then he flipped the dead bolt and engaged the alarm.

  Leila’s gaze took in the expansive foyer, noting the elegance. She didn’t know as much as she’d have liked about territories beyond her own, but she’d heard that Rome was a dynasty—one family holding positions of power for several centuries. The daughter of the admiral was even referred to as the principessa.

  This villa was a testament to the power and immense wealth of a legacy family. This was what centuries of being in the Masters’ Admiralty looked like.

  “Understated and cozy, in the best Italian tradition.” Karl’s line, delivered in a deadpan tone, amused her.

  She started to laugh, then winced.

  “The master bedroom is on this floor. There are two more bedrooms on the second floor and three on the third floor.”

  Leila pointed to the staircase. “Is that the only way up?”

  He nodded.

  She’d used every ounce of strength she had left walking from the car to the house.

  “I can’t make it up those,” Karl admitted. “I’m sorry.”

  Leila wouldn’t have even suggested he take any room other than the master suite. Which meant Antonio would have to carry her up, then divide his time going up and down the stairs as he attempted to care for both of them.

  “I think we should all stay down here. It’s safer if we remain together.”

  Antonio rubbed his neck and, for the first time, she realized that while he wasn’t in physical pain, he was suffering from some pretty serious exhaustion. She wondered when the last time was that he’d gotten any sleep.

  There were so many questions she wanted to ask—how had he found them? Why had he come alone?—but they would have to wait.

  “It’s a trinity-sized bed.” That was all Antonio said.

  She nodded. She’d figured as much, and it was clear he wanted her to know she and Karl would be sharing it. “It’s okay.” She looked at the stairs and imagined lying up there alone while Antonio cared for Karl down here. The Leila she used to be wouldn’t have thought twice about staying on her own. Tonight, it felt almost as untenable as the possibility of climbing the stairs.

  “I think we should stay together,” she repeated.

  Please don’t leave me alone.

  Antonio looked from her to Karl and back again.

  She gave him a weak smile. “Take him first.”

  Karl didn’t resist when Antonio helped him limp across the foyer and down the hallway, out of view.

  Leila considered following, but her body wouldn’t move. So she remained there, slumped against the wall, using what strength she did have to hold herself upright, rather than slide down the wall to sit on the floor.

  Antonio was only gone a few minutes.

  “Your turn.”

  She reached out, intending to lean against him the same way Karl had. Antonio efficiently dodged her hand, reaching down to lift her into his arms.

  Leila instinctively clung to his shoulders. “I can walk.” It was a weak protest at best.

  “No. You can’t.”

  He carried her into the master bedroom, walking around the bed. Karl lay on his stomach on the left side of the mattress. The T-shirt had been removed, a sheet placed over him, covering him from the waist down.

  Antonio tugged down the covers and placed her on the opposite side. She whimpered softly at the sharp pain in her ribs as he released her.

  “Mi dispiace,” he whispered.

  “Don’t be sorry.” She didn’t speak Italian, but she understood. “You saved my life.”

  “Our lives,” Karl added, his hoarse voice betraying the pain he felt every time he spoke.

  The sound prompted Antonio to action. He disappeared for a few minutes and when he returned, he carried a tray with two glasses, a bowl, a washcloth, and a pitcher of water. Setting it on a table at the foot of the bed, he poured a glass of water, then walked to Karl. Lifting his head carefully, he held the glass to Karl’s lips, helping him take a few sips.

  Antonio pulled the glass away before Karl was ready to relinquish it.

  “More,” Karl croaked.

  “Too much at once will make you sick.”

  Antonio placed Karl’s glass on the nightstand, then poured some for her, issuing the same patient assistance.

  She took several big gulps before pushing the glass away. “I’m okay.”

  Antonio walked back to the tray, dipping the washcloth into the bowl. She spotted the steam rising from it when he wrung it out. He came to her first, gently using the soft cloth to wash her face. When he pulled it away, she saw smears of red on the pristine white cotton. She didn’t need a mirror to know she was sporting more than her fair share of cuts and bruises.

  Antonio rinsed the cloth and returned. He touched the blanket she still had wrapped tightly around her torso, then paused, awaiting permission.

  She lifted her arms, allowing him to pull the blanket away. There was no room for modesty between them here. They were in danger, which thrust Antonio into the role of physician as well as protector. He gave her a sponge bath, washing her as gently as a mother with her newborn baby.

  Leila felt her lashes grow wet, and she blinked rapidly, trying to hide the tears.

  She didn’t cry. It revealed weakness.

  “Am I hurting you?” Antonio asked.

  He’d noticed her tears.

  She shook her head, fought harder to swallow down the unwanted emotion.

  “Sei al sicuro. Sono qui.”

  Words of comfort. When he’d held her in the basement and told her his name, she recalled her initial reaction, her feeling of complete safety. The fear had returned since, but now, as he gently washed her wounds, she felt it again.

  She was safe because he was here.

  With that knowledge, the tears evaporated.

  Antonio spent the next hour or so tending to their wounds. She suspected that, like her, he had been trained in triage, treating injuries in the short-term to allow escape. He cleaned Karl, then placed antiseptic pads over the pressure sores on his buttocks, thighs, and arms. He found a packet of antibiotics and gave them each one. The next pill he gave them was something for pain.

  “You should both be in a hospital,” Antonio muttered.

  Several times, he’d consulted his phone. When she asked him what he was doing, he admitted he was trying to make sure he was treating them correctly.

  He gave Karl more water, making sure he sipped slowly. Finally, they were clean, medicated, and their wounds field-dressed.

  Antonio stood back, hands stuffed in his pockets, as if he were hiding the fists he was making. He looked at them with concern. “There’s a private hospital in Venice. We’re going there tomorrow.”

  “What about the security minister? He said—” she started, but Antonio cut her off.

  “Karl needs IV antibiotics. And to have dead tissue removed. You may have internal injuries. Members of Rome run the hospital. I will make sure you’re placed in the same room.”

 
Leila didn’t argue. Mainly because she knew he was right. Her injuries would heal, given time, but she feared Karl’s were more serious, possibly life-threatening.

  “Okay. You’re right. If we have the proper care, I can heal. I can help you fight Six.”

  “Ciril. His name is Ciril.”

  She wasn’t sure why it helped, but somehow knowing his name made her feel more in control. It reminded her of what Karl had said. Naming, knowing the enemy, gave her power.

  Whatever Antonio had given them was muting the pain that had been her constant companion. The absence of pain was a relief so sweet that she finally fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. The last thing she saw was Antonio—a looming figure, like a guardian angel.

  When she opened her eyes again, bright sunlight washed the room in vivid yellow. Next to her, Karl slept, his breathing shallow but steady. Turning her head, she spotted Antonio sitting in a chair, a Glock sitting on the small table next to him.

  It was instantly apparent he hadn’t slept at all.

  She slowly, carefully, shifted to the middle of the bed, lifting the sheet covering her. “Come here.”

  He started to shake his head, but she wasn’t negotiating on this.

  “Come here,” she repeated.

  Antonio stood slowly. At the side of the bed, he toed off his shoes, then lay down next to her, careful not to shake the bed or jar her.

  “Go to sleep,” she urged him. “I’ll take the next watch.”

  He raised one brow. “I’m just going to rest. Not sleep.”

  “You need to sleep. I’m awake now, and I’m not stupid. If I hear anything, I’ll wake you up.”

  “If Karl wakes up, or if you need anything, wake me.”

  “I will. Close your eyes.”

  Exhaustion won, and Antonio was asleep within seconds.

  When Antonio woke up, she’d ask for a safe line and call home. She knew their families had been informed they were safe, but she still wanted to talk to her father. To hear his voice. Karl would want to talk to his brothers.

  It would be better to wait until they had recovered enough so their families wouldn’t hear in their voices that they’d been tortured.