To Find Isabel

Chapter 5

The three of us sat at a small table while the other guards stood still around us.

"Can you stop that?" Victor asks.

"Stop what?" I say, continuing to lick my gelato.

"That," he replies, pointing to me.

"I'm licking the ice cream off of the cone. What's the problem with that?"

"Use a spoon."

"What the hell? It's gelato, not soup."

He gives up and retreats to the view of the water. I reach past his shoulder to grab a napkin. He doesn't even flinch. His hair brushes past my cheek and the smell of his cologne was so strong. I inhale deeply and hold the scent in my nose.

He turns back around as I wipe off the edge of my lip with the napkin. He just watches. He was like a hawk. One wrong move, and he would devour me. Feed my soul to the devil.

I gave him an assertive look. He raised an eyebrow, keeping his lips pursed. He let out a big huff of air and we proceeded to walk along the various ships.

"Why are we here?" I nudge Dante.

"Business dealing."

"You said this was a tour!"

"How else were we supposed to get you out?"

"That's really not fair."

"Nothing is fair in a game against Victor. You might as well enjoy it while you're here," he suggests.

"There is nothing to enjoy."

"There's plenty. Trust me. We're only a few days in dove."

I look back ahead of me. A large boat awaits its passengers. So he was a gangster that made business deals on boats. He was probably violent enough to drown the other person if something doesn't go his way.

We walk out onto the dock and the attachment to lead us onto the boat is being laid out. I slowly follow with Victor ahead of me and Dante behind. The inside looks no different than a modern building. The only difference is that this one floats and the other would sink.

I step in and the boat rocks. I feel a little nauseous, but I don't say anything. Victor mutters something in Italian to the bartender.

It was a club on a boat, rented for probably a maximum of only 15 people. As we settle down, I'm uncomfortably seated between two guards on a far couch as if I'm not supposed to know what goes on.

I don't know much Italian, just the few words I remember my mama saying. She only spoke in Italian when she wanted to yell about my father. It was usually because she didn't want me to know all the vicious language she uses.

I sit there slightly disturbed by the outline of a gun I see peering out of the back of Victor's shirt. This could go downhill any moment. I excuse myself from the guards and step out onto the open part of the boat.

It doesn't seem very long, but the dealing seems to be over. We were probably more than an hour our at sea. All I wanted was to go back home. To London.

Suddenly everything goes black. All I felt was my cheek brush against the rough wooden flooring beneath my feet.

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