Dario’s car rounded the sharp corner, the wide city harbor opened before him. The small vehicle careened dangerously to the edge of the winding road meandering along the coast. Ante grabbed onto the handle above the passenger’s window. “Slow down, man. I would like to arrive at our restaurant preferably in one piece.”
“I want to get there before the streets fill up with traffic.” Dario flipped the blinker on, then canceled it. On the empty roads, no one would care if he turned without signaling. But that would change soon. Pale ripples of light shimmered on the surface of the blue sea, shattering under the hull of a passing ferry that carried people to the city, cutting through the still water and reforming at its bow. The first rays of sun touched the red roofs of the ancient buildings on the peninsula.
Was he truly prepared to lose everything to protect Irena and his daughter? Strange thought, of course, he was. They were his family. Still, if Fred had anything to do with the fire at the Mezzaluna, this could be only the beginning, and his wrath already stung. But The Fates—the spinners of the thread of life and destiny— had determined the course of his future at birth.
Ante stifled yet another yawn. “I’m dying for an espresso.”
His brother’s inability to take the situation
seriously irked Dario. He gunned the engine. “I thought you’d be the one who’d freak out. How can you think of coffee when our restaurant burnt down?”
“Typical of you to assume the worst. The manager didn’t say it burned down. We’ll find out the extent of the damage when we get there.” Ante pointed at the intersection ahead of them with changing traffic light. “It’ll be faster if we cross the footbridge and cut through the Old Town instead of driving around the port.”
“You’re right.” Dario pulled his two-seater into a tight spot between sport utility cars. By the clean tires of the vehicles, he concluded they never drove off road though they had such capabilities. German plates and rental bumper stickers had him raising his eyebrows. In offseason, it was a rare occurrence to come across a foreign car. Irena had made him promise to stay on high alert and not to overlook anything. That was the only way he could convince her to remain in the penthouse and watch Ella and Jasmin. To gain entrance into the building, Fred and his dogs would have to have the code or be buzzed inside. Hopefully, the tenants wouldn’t let them in. If the fire had been set deliberately and on Fred’s order, it would be the snake’s ploy to draw Irena and Ella out in the open and their enemy would expect them at the site of the accident. She must stay out of her husband’s reach.
Last night’s rainstorm had passed, leaving clean air behind. The sun fully rose and burned off the lingering mist over the water. Dario stepped out of his car. The scent of sea brine filled his lungs. No time to revel in the fresh air when his restaurant could be nothing more than a pile of smoldering ashes by now. He broke into a
run. As his lungs squeezed, he fought for every breath and his legs gave up, forcing him to slow down to a brisk walk. The stitch in his right side had him doubling up while gasping for air. There’d be no defending Irena and Ella in such bad condition. Getting his endurance up was his priority and there was no time like now. At the end of the bridge, he tapped Ante’s shoulder and broke into a run again, ignoring the red pedestrian light. Thank God for empty streets. “Come on, man. Let’s go.”
“What? Run again?” Ante’s feet pounded the pavement despite his grumbling.
The ancient cobbles of the Old Town met the cement, and Dario slid on the stones polished by centuries of foot traffic, still wet from the morning mist. He swore, but regained his footing and kicked the pace up a notch.
He turned the corner, entering the narrow street. A few more strides and he’d arrive at the restaurant. The stench of heavy smoke replaced the morning freshness. Coughing forced him to change his run to a jog. Covering his nose and mouth with his thin cotton t-shirt did nothing to ease his breathing. The tension in his shoulders eased at the sight of the flashing lights of the small pumper. At least they were able to get the fire truck into this tight ally. A small throng of onlookers gathered around the vehicle. A few people wore their housecoats over pajamas, most likely residents from the apartments above his restaurant. No sight of Fred or burly men always surrounding him, but they could be looking on from afar. Dario scanned the scene, searching for an ambulance. The lack of one didn’t mean no one got hurt. He approached the man in
firefighter’s suit and red helmet, holding a radio communication piece in front of his mouth, and waited until the man stopped talking and turned to him.
“I’m Dario Vitez, the owner of Mezzaluna.” He turned to Ante who was still catching his breath, judging by his wide eyes, he was more shocked than breathless. “That is my brother, Ante. He’s the manager. Anyone got hurt?”
“No.” The man in brown protective gear gave him the once-over, then nodded. “You’re lucky, your neighbor spotted smoke pouring out the window or the damage would be a heck of a lot worse and there’d be casualties.”
Exhaling, Dario turned in the direction the firefighter pointed. The owner of LaGrotta leaned against the stonewall facade of his restaurant, unlabeled bottle of some kind of hard liquor in his hand.
“Looks like you have more smoke damage than fire, but the fire Marshall will have to investigate of course. You’re not permitted inside until the inspection is done.” He slipped the clipboard under Dario’s nose. “I need you to sign and date this, please fill in the blanks with the contact info.”
The fire captain’s deep tone had Dario turning his attention back to the man in the red helmet. “Yes, I understand.” He took the clipboard in his hand, then glanced at Ante. “You heard that?”
Ante screwed up his face but remained silent. He may not need that coffee he’d been dying for after all, but once he found his tongue there’d be no stopping him.