We were back out onto the open sea in no time. The police officers at the marina barely even looked our way as the seventy foot yacht left the canal. With a tank full of fuel and the moon high overhead, it almost felt too easy of a getaway. But then again, the people who could afford to dock at that private marina were paying far too much money for anyone, especially the local police, to be wasting their time with questions. At least, that's what Artemisia told us.

She also informed us that the slip where we had berthed the sailboat was assigned to Lucia. If they hadn't linked us to her through Georgiy before, they definitely would now.

I just hoped that Lisette wouldn't get roped into any of this.

As I ran my hand over the gray leather wheel, I whispered a silent thank you to her.

Light of the moon reflected off the choppy black waves. There wasn't a soul around for miles as I checked the navigation panels. I rubbed my eyes, trying to squint through the dark. Already, the dusty wind had started to dry them out. That, and maybe exhaustion. I double-checked the bright stars above the horizon. North, north-west. Port of Marsala bound. Just another ten hours or so.

"Are you okay behind the wheel?" Desirae asked. "You haven't slept in days. And after everything tonight—"

"I'm fine. Besides, if anything happens to this yacht, Lisette will kill me."

"I think Lisette killing you is the least of your concerns right now." Desirae placed the champagne bucket down on the table next to the helm while she looked over the saloon area. "I can't believe people live like this. I've never even been on a boat this big."

Artemisia appraised a pair of Lisette's sunglasses she'd found before putting them on. "Mine is bigger."

I side-eyed her. "This is a Monte Carlo 70. Petra is ten feet shorter."

She shrugged. "A casa capi quantu voli 'u patruni."

As Desirae took the champagne out of the bucket, she looked up at me for a translation.

"Something like, a house is as big as the owner wants it to be," I laughed softly. "She's got a proverb for everything."

Artemisia continued to rummage around the cabinets. "Thanks to Nanna."

Desirae smiled, but it didn't hide the worry on her face. "Are you sure we should be bringing our baggage into her home? This isn't like before with you two. You didn't just pull off an elaborate international art heist. Kirby is wanted for murder and will likely have the Bratva after her now if they weren't already. We don't need to endanger your ninety year old grandmother."

"Ninety-three," Artemisia and I said in unison. I waited for the smart reply about how Nanna stood up to Mussolini's army, but Artemisia was quiet. As I glanced over at her, even behind the big sunglasses, I could tell she was worried too.

"Artie, we can hide out somewhere else," I offered. "We can refuel at one of the smaller ports and head towards Sardegna and Corsica, follow Lisette's path back to Marseille."

She seemed to consider it for a second, but shook her head. "No. Spring break is in a few days. We have to get back home before."

I assumed she meant to avoid the increase of police presence at the ports. We had been lucky to slip in and out without customs bothering us so far. But something else was on her mind. Desirae stole a glance my way. She could sense it as well.

"Nanna spat in the face of Admiral Manfredi," Artemisia finally stated, "she has no fear of Russian Bratva."

"Well, I look forward to meeting her," Desirae replied. Ice clinked in the champagne bucket as she tipped it towards me. "What should we do with this?"

Georgiy's severed thumb floated amongst the slurry of melted ice at the bottom.

I sprung up out of the captain's chair and hurried over to her for a better look.

The thumb was wrinkled and shriveled to hell. There was no way it would register a print, at least not in this state. But I had to try. Digging the phone out of the leather harness, I placed it down on the table. Desirae tapped at the black glass, opening up the lock screen.

Carefully, I pinched the thumb between my fingers, letting it drip off in the bucket.

Artemisia's nose scrunched with repulsion as she stood up to take over at the wheel.

"There's an option for a PIN," Desirae stated. "I can get the tech guys at the Agency to open it. We don't have to—"

"And then they'll see all my direct links to Georgiy and the jobs I did for him." I grabbed a towel from behind the bar and started vigorously drying off the thumb. "I might as well just hand myself over with the phone."

Desirae bit her lip, but didn't argue. She slid the phone over towards me. Wrapping the towel around the thumb, I pushed it against the phone sensor.

Nothing.

I pushed harder.

Nothing.

I unwrapped the towel and gripped the thumb in my palm, using my own thumb to push it down, rolling it a little against the screen.

Still nothing.

"Maybe it needs to be warm?" Artemisia suggested.

Desirae rolled her eyes. "Don't encourage her."

"No, she's right." The phone wasn't even sensing it. I needed to warm it up.

As I stretched out the waistband of my leather leggings, Desirae grabbed my arm.

"Kirby, stop. It's not going to work. I should have just left the damn thing behind with his head."

"It might if I bring it up to body temperature."

"So you're just going to plop his dead thumb in your pants? Look at you, you need to sleep, Kirby. We can reassess the phone situation in the morning. After it dries out for a couple hours we can try some methods to lift the print. But you need to rest."

"You need sleep, amuri," Artemisia agreed, glancing over at us. "Go to bed. I will wake you up when I need a break. The sun will rise in just a few hours anyway."

I didn't have the strength to argue with both of them. Reluctantly, I set the thumb down on the counter. Desirae rolled it back up in the towel and took it over to the refrigerator.

"Don't try to gun it, Artie." I stepped up behind her at the helm. "Keep it at ten knots. We need to conserve fuel just in case Marsala doesn't work out."

She waved me off. "We will take our time. It is better to arrive after sunset anyway."

I slid the sunglasses off her face and laid them on the console between the navigation panels.

Her eyes glinted beneath the warm, decorative string lights that hung around the wheelhouse. I hadn't noticed before how much older she looked now. Not wrinkled or anything, but her features were more defined, sharper. I couldn't believe we were back on the sea like this, together again. It had been exactly a year since her "death." Which we still hadn't talked about. There was still so much we needed to say. And I felt like if I blinked, she'd be gone again.

Desirae came up behind us, resting her arm against the back of the captain's chair.

"Go." Artemisia nodded down to the cabin. "Both of you."

"Are you sure?" Desirae asked.

"I will be fine."

I took one last look at her before ducking down the stairs into the cabin area. Desirae lingered above for a moment. Straight ahead was the master, off to the right was a smaller bedroom with bunk beds.

I started forward, then stopped and turned to Desirae as she stepped down from the stairs. "Do you want your own space or—"

"We should stay together, right?"

My eyes shifted over hers. I couldn't tell if she wanted to stay together because she didn't trust me to be alone or if she actually wanted to stay with me. But I nodded my head. "Right."

I went straight to the en suite to wash my hands free of Georgiy's dead thumb germs. Hot water scorched my skin. The soap did little to soothe it. My fingernails dug into my palms, scrubbing every crease and line, every knuckle, every cut and old scar. Beneath my fingernails, flecks of blood still remained from earlier in the night.

I scrubbed even harder.

"Kirby?"

Desirae's voice made me look up. She leaned against the narrow doorway, watching me. I splashed some water on my face then quickly toweled it off.

I slipped past her and went over to the bed. Kneeling down, I pulled the drawer out beneath it and started digging through the pajamas. One of my old sweatshirts and a pair of Calvins were folded up neatly inside. I almost cried with happiness. Beneath them, a couple silk scarves laid at the bottom of the drawer. My eye immediately went to one with a blue majolica print, nearly identical to the one Lucia had.

"Do you think she's still alive?" I asked.

In the bathroom, Desirae was tying up her locs. "After a shot to the stomach like that? Ehh, doubtful. But it could have bounced off her ribs, I suppose." She looked over at me from the mirror. "Or did you mean Lucia?"

I grabbed a deep forest green scarf instead and pushed the drawer shut.

"I think she's a cat like you, Kirby.

"Like me," I repeated. The thought clawed at my gut. I held the scarf up to her, but avoided her eyes. "Do you think I'm a bad person?"

"Do you think you are?"

"Do you think she is?"

Desirae walked over to me and took the scarf. Neatly, she tied and wrapped it up around her locs. "I think you do the things you do to protect the people you love, even if they don't always see it that way in the moment. So no, I don't think you're a bad person. Not like her."

I kicked off Lucia's heels and peeled off the leather leggings, stumbling a little. Desirae steadied me.

"But it's frustrating," she continued. "Because I want to protect you too, but it's like I have to keep protecting you from yourself."

"So it's easier with Artemisia for you."

Her brow cocked, head tipped. "Maybe, but why—"

"You're softer with her."

Desirae sighed.

I tried to lift the blouse up over my head, but my shoulder pinched with a painful spasm. And Desirae caught my grimace. She pulled the top up for me, careful to slide my hair out. Her fingers traced over the leather harness that still strapped my torso, turning me around to unhook the buckles.

Her breaths warmed my back as she worked down my spine. "Artemisia gave up everything she had, went against her family to help me, and ultimately you. So I trust her. I know she's not going to leave and break my heart. But you..."

"But I might." I turned around to face her again. The harness fell to the floor. "I already have."

"I feel like I'm losing you, Kirby. The same way I lost him. He was stubborn and reckless. He got in over his head and wouldn't get help. So it's hard for me to allow myself to get close to you. To be soft with you. Even though I want to. I want nothing more than for all of this to be behind us, to be wrapped up in your arms, and to wake up under a sunrise or sunset in some foreign country on a real vacation. With both of you. But—"

"Okay."

"Okay?"

I slid my fingers underneath her fitted top and lifted it up over her head, much easier than my own. Our bare chests touched as she let out a deep breath. With it, relief washed over us both.

"Let's go to bed," I whispered to her.

Our bodies were still tightly entwined hours later when a male's voice over a loudspeaker began singing out in words I didn't know. For a second, I thought I was still dreaming. As I realized we were no longer moving, my eyes shot open. Desirae and I both sat up together, scrambling to find our clothes while the voice continued to sing.

"That's a call to prayer," Desirae said as she tugged her shirt back over her head. "Is there a mosque near the port of Marsala?"

"I think all churches in Sicily were once mosques that were once churches that were once mosques..." I lifted the cover to the porthole window, but only saw the hull of another boat docked next to us in shadows. "Even the name Marsala means port of Allah, right?"

"Right..."

But as we jogged up the stairs to the wheelhouse, Artemisia was not at the helm.

And we for sure were not in Marsala.

"Kirby, is that a sunrise or a sunset?"

Bright pinks and oranges stretched across the sky, tinting the water of the marina a deep violet. White washed buildings with arched doorways lined the harbor's bricked walkway where a couple red flags hung from the posts. The adhan continued to ring out.

I should have known.

"Well, you got your wish," I mumbled. "But maybe you should have specified which foreign country."

Desirae turned back to me. "She took us to Tunisia."