Page 3 of Dark Breaker

I take a seat on the curb not far from the entrance, in full view of everyone, and keep watch of my Vespa in the lot.

I don’t see the dude, so I rest an elbow on my knee and plant my chin in my palm. Growing bored, I check my phone. I text the friend I was just visiting outside Palermo, but she doesn’t answer. I browse Snapchat.

I glance at my Vespa. Still no sign of Fabio. I turn my gaze from the parking lot to the grocery store behind me. I can see through the windows, which allows me to people-watch those standing near the tills inside.

I spot Fabio D’Alimonte. He’s at one of the tills, paying for his items. He looks out of place wearing that tuxedo, considering that everyone in line behind him is dressed far more casually.

Guess he goes grocery shopping in his lambo after all.

I quickly get up, shaking my head at my stupidity. Of course he wasn’t stalking me. I don’t know what I was thinking. Just because he parked next to my Vespa doesn’t mean he even recognized the scooter—Sicily, and all of Italy for that matter, is a country of scooters. That could have been the only available stall.

Yes, I’ve been harassed too many times in the past by ex boyfriends, so I’ve been conditioned to assume everyone is a stalker. Probably not the best state of mind to be in. Maybe I should seek therapy.

I hurry to my vehicle, intending to leave ASAP. I shove my grocery bag into the storage compartment and grab my keys as I get ready to hop onto the bike.

I pause, noticing something odd out of the corner of my eyes. I look at the white Lamborghini in the stall next to my Vespa. A long scratch mark has been keyed across the door. It seems fresh, because I can see chips of white paint still balled up along the edges of the scratch.

I’m not all that surprised. Guess he’s pissed off someone else with that attitude of his. Maybe stole the parking space from another driver. Or who knows, it could even be a random keying: that’s one of the problems when you drive around a super expensive car like that. You draw attention, and not all of it the good kind—this is why you shouldn’t generally bring your lambo to a grocery store. You want it somewhere out in the open, somewhere you can watch it, not crammed into a stall next to other vehicles. But I guess Fabio hasn’t figured that out, yet. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.

“Hey!” I hear someone shout from behind me.

I turn around to find Fabio running toward me. He grabs his hat to keep it from flying off.

I give him a questioning look.

“You keyed my car!” he exclaims.

I’m suddenly acutely aware of the Vespa key I’m still holding in my hands. I quickly step back. “No. I didn’t.”

“Yes you did, I just saw you!” he grabs me by the shoulders.

I’m starting to wonder if he keyed the car himself just so he’d have an excuse to grab me.

“No!” I stomp an iron-heel down hard onto the toe of his dress shoe and he flinches in pain, letting me go.

I hop onto my bike but he grabs my shoulder in a vise-like grip.

“You’re not going anywhere until you pay for that!” he hisses. “One way or another.”

“Let go of me!” I grab for my purse, intending to fetch my Mace.

But he catches hold of my wrist. “I don’t think so. Now about my car…”

A Maserati squeals into the lot and pulls up behind us. The door opens and my brother Luciano steps out—an intimidating mass of muscle and rage. He looks like he came straight out of the weight room, judging from his tank top and the veins standing out across his bulging shoulders.

“Get your hands off my sister,” Luciano growls.

Fabio lets go of me and turns to face my brother. “Who the fuck are you?” He tilts his head. “I recognize you. A Moretti, aren’t you? Good, you can pay for this.”

“Pay for what?” Luciano asks.

“Your sister keyed my car.” Fabio beckons toward his damaged door.

“Wasn’t me!” I tell Luciano. “It was like that when I came out here!”

“Itwasyou,” Fabio insists. “I saw you! Caught you with the key in your fingers! You’re just pissed because you thought you could outrun me after the gas station.”

“Hardly,” I tell him. “Though it was pretty funny when that cop pulled you over a few seconds later.”