grasped his hand and assured him that Joli was okay.
They hadn’t even returned to the hotel afterwards. Instead, Rodrigo, who’d been driving the SUV, had dropped the three of them and Owen off at a small landing strip, where they’d boarded a private plane back to Boston. Luca dragged his feet, insisting on remaining in Rome until they found Joli, but Owen had shaken his head, promising that his sister was fine where she was.
Langston had remained with Rodrigo, who would take him to Fiumicino Airport to catch a commercial flight back to Houston. Langston had only been brought in to help defuse the bombs. His part in all of this was clearly finished. He and Oscar had said a quick goodbye before they’d boarded, hugging and promising they’d find time to visit each other again soon, when things weren’t so crazy.
Upon landing in Boston and arriving at headquarters, he, Oscar, and Selene had been ushered into this room and instructed to wait. He didn’t have a clue where Owen had gone.
Luca tried to brush some dirt off his shirt, but all he did was spread the stain around and make it larger. He was on day two—he thought it was day two, though it felt like twenty years—in this outfit, which was wrinkled and, well, he was pretty sure he stunk. He’d gotten sick numerous times from the knockout drugs the mercenaries had used on him. He’d been sitting in his own filth so long, he wasn’t even sure if he smelled. Oscar and Selene had claimed the seats on either side of him, which gave him hope he was wrong. Of course, it also gave him even greater hope that they loved him enough not to care about how badly he needed a shower right now.
Their luggage had been retrieved from the hotel and delivered to the airport, but someone had stowed it beneath in the cargo hold, so they hadn’t had the opportunity to change. Not that any of them had been thinking about that when they’d boarded the plane.
Oscar looked even rougher than Luca felt. Selene had found a washcloth on the plane that brought them back to the U.S. and cleaned up the gummy residue on his face. His beard looked patchy from where the duct tape had pulled out large chunks of his facial hair. Like Luca, his clothing had seen better days, stained and filthy.
Selene, however, took the prize. She looked like a nightclub singer—the kind who got the job because she slept with the mob boss—the morning after a long set. She’d slipped off her white stole and hung it on the back of her chair when they’d entered the room, refusing to give it up upon landing because she needed the extra layer. The Boston air was teeth-chattering frigid, a rude awakening after the mild temperatures in Rome. Her mascara had smudged, leaving her with raccoon eyes, her hair was pressed flat against her head on one side from where she’d fallen asleep on Oscar’s shoulder, and her bright red dress looked completely out of place in this conference room.
The second they’d boarded the private plane and the door was closed behind them, Oscar had reached for both of them, pulling them tightly into his embrace, kissing Selene’s forehead, then Luca’s, over and over, as he swore he was never letting either of them out of his sight again. Owen had excused himself to talk to the pilot, though Luca suspected the man had merely wanted to give the three of them some privacy for a few minutes.
They’d remained there, locked together, kissing, touching, hugging, until Owen returned and said it was time to take their seats for takeoff. Oscar and Selene sat next to each other, while Luca claimed one of the seats facing them. Owen opted for a spot near the back of the plane, a row all to himself, and two seconds after they’d reached their cruising altitude, he’d opened up his laptop and didn’t look up again.
After the initial flurry of relief and kisses, the three of them fell silent. They were headed back to Boston. And from there, Oscar and Selene would return home.
The heaviness of having to part so soon wiped away their relief, their joy at being together again, safe and sound.
A flight attendant had delivered hot tea and offered him and Oscar painkillers. Luca had accepted, suffering a skull-splitting headache, an aftereffect of the drugs, he assumed. He’d closed his eyes to let