Tangled In Strings

Chapter Three

"Pack a bathing suit," Giovanni calls out, his skilled hands working over our lunch. My apartment smells of rosemary, mint leaves, and lamb, which will go over an apricot couscous. Just the ingredients listed out are enough to make my mouth water. As I stride out of my bedroom, having almost forgotten my bikini, I tuck it into the front of the packed suitcase, my eyes wandering to Giovanni, hand-squeezing ripe lemons into a pitcher.

I shouldn't be so awed by his flair for the details. His life is revolved around it.

"Do you need help with anything?"

"I'm nearly done."

Since he won't let me touch the food, which is probably a very good idea, I work on setting the table, attempting to remain calm.

In a few hours, we'll be boarding a plane for Italy. For his shows, Giovanni rents a private plane for privacy. When he told me that was what we'd be flying to Italy to keep our vacation a secret, I had trouble believing it.

I have never done anything like this, which is probably why this is the perfect time. My life is up in flames, and for once, my urge is to bolt away from the problem.

I want to bask in the sunlight with Giovanni. I want the both of us to find our way back to each other, and I think disappearing off the public radar will do just that.

When a knock sounds at my door, we collectively turn to the sound, as we are both completely aware that I am not expecting anyone and even if I were, Rog would have called me to let me know of a visitor.

When I start toward the door, Giovanni holds up a hand, dropping the towel he'd been cleaning his hands with. "I've got it."

I'm still as stone in the middle of my living room when Giovanni opens the door. He stands so tall I can't see who it is, but when the tight shirt of Giovanni's back suddenly ripples, his muscles hardening with tension, I know whoever it is will not be good.

"Martinelli."

There's a long pause before Giovanni finally utters, "Officer."

I only had to hear Dixon say Giovanni's last name to know it was him, but from Giovanni's grumble, I know without seeing him that he's come decked out in attire. When Giovanni shifts, I catch sight of Dixon, who peers around Giovanni into the apartment until his eyes land on my own.

Six months ago, Dixon was a dim shadow of the man I once knew. But now, the frailness is gone. His skin has cleared. The hollowness of his features is full and bright, probably burning off of the ego that has to have him soaring after all the media coverage these past couple of days.

He's wearing his old uniform; his stiff hat is in his hands. His hair is a shiny blonde color, tousled over his forehead.

"Scarlett."

I force my teeth apart. "Did Rog let you up?"

"I informed the guy that I had business here. He isn't allowed to tell me to leave."

"You're fucking crazy if you think you're coming inside this apartment," Giovanni snaps, stepping forward. I nearly sprint around the furniture to stop him from doing something that will end up with him behind steel bars. I place my hands on his back, rubbing reassuringly, remembering the ferociously unstoppable force Giovanni turned into in the presence of the man who's tormented me for years.

"I am an–"

"We know our rights. Unless you've got a warrant, you're not making it through that door."

Dixon's head cocks, his eyes alight with a deep, deep hatred. There's a different shape to his nose, and after only seconds of focusing on it, I realize it's been broken. Giovanni broke it.