It was after ten by the time they got to Florence, the traffic still fairly heavy and volatile, crowds of people spilling across the streets. They’d been among them the night before, and probably so had Lucas, a realization that left her feeling violated, betrayed.
Lucas parked up in a side street and told them to get out, then opened the trunk. Inside were a large backpack and an overnight bag. He gave the backpack to Chris and reached into the other bag.
‘Take these.’ He handed them a passport each. ‘False passports, for the hotel. Okay, let’s go.’ He picked up the bag, locked the car and led them along the street, clearly sensing they were still in danger.
They’d walked a good twenty paces before Ella thought of looking at the passport in her hand, bearing her picture but with the name ‘Emma Wright.’ Chris showed her his open passport. She couldn’t see the name but it was his picture, too.
It was a relief to get to the hotel and off the crowded streets. This was no longer a friendly place, the people no longer just tourists. The hotel was on the fourth floor of a building near the Duomo, a budget hotel but clean, the rooms en suite. It was a lot better than the one they’d booked for themselves.
Lucas introduced himself as Mr. Wright. He’d booked two rooms but once the manager had left them in the corridor he said, ‘We all stay in the double.’ They didn’t respond, just followed him into the room.
Chris dropped the backpack on the bed and Lucas immediately unfastened it and took out a gun, then something else that he attached to the barrel—a silencer. His movements were spare and methodical, but somehow he looked unpredictable, dangerous.
Ella felt her stomach tighten: maybe Lucas had set a trap and here they were in it. But with the gun assembled he turned to Chris and said, ‘I have to go out. I won’t be long. When I get back, I’ll knock once and say, “It’s Dad here.” Anyone else knocks, don’t answer. Anyone comes in, you shoot them. Safety’s off. Just aim it at the middle of their chest and shoot. If you’re in any doubt, shoot again, keep shooting till they go down, and then shoot them in the head.’
Ella said, ‘You don’t think we’re still in danger?’
He turned to her and smiled, his face coming alive, taking on form, becoming warm, friendly. His eyes were pale blue, startlingly blue, something she hadn’t noticed before. ‘No. It’s just a precaution.’ He turned back to Chris. ‘Okay, you understand what I’m saying? You want to hold the gun to get used to it?’ Chris shook his head, looking lost, like a child. ‘I’ll put it here on the table.’ He walked to the door, but stopped before leaving and said, ‘And remember, no phone calls, no nothing.’
That was it—he was gone, and the two of them were left standing in the confined hush of the room. It was as if, for the first time since it had happened, they suddenly had the space and the quiet to take it all in. Ella wanted to cry now and for Chris to hold her but he still looked lost, distracted.
‘I need a piss,’ he said, as though becoming aware of his own body again. He went into the bathroom and shut the door. Ella sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the gun, sitting there on the night table like it was the most natural thing in the world. She didn’t want to cry now; she just wanted Lucas to come back.
Chris was a long time in the bathroom and when he came out his eyes were red. She’d never seen him cry, had never even seen him upset, and she wanted to hold him and comfort him the way she’d wanted to be comforted a few minutes before. He looked embarrassed, though, and laced with hostility, an anger she couldn’t help but feel was directed at her.
‘Are you okay?’
He didn’t answer, saying instead, ‘How do we know who this guy is? I mean, how do we really know what’s going on here? You never told me your family was this rich.’
‘They’re not.’
He shrugged, as if that proved his point.
‘And yet you’re willing to believe this guy’s being paid by your father to act as a bodyguard, protect you against kidnappers. How do we even know those two guys were kidnappers?’
‘They had guns.’ Though now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember seeing guns.
‘So? Maybe they were the police. That would explain the body armor. Because why would a kidnapper wear body armor? What, he thought you might be packing a gun?’ It troubled her but he had a point. They didn’t know anything about Lucas, if that was his real name, and they had only his word for it that he’d been paid to protect them, to protect her. ‘For all we know, he could be out there calling your dad right now and demanding a ransom. What a classic trick for a kidnapper—you convince your victims they’re in danger and that you’re protecting them.’