His eyes opened before the sunlight had begun to invade their room. He could hear Chelsea’s soft breath next to him. She lay next to him on her side facing his direction. Fiorenzo looked over and studied her sleeping face a moment. He really was happy here in this little apartment in Las Vegas. It would never be the villas of Sicily that he was so accustomed to growing up, but they never quite felt like home the way this place did. Putting his skills to use, Fiorenzo slid out of the bed and stood silently. First thing he did was slide open the drawer and grab his switchback.

He hadn’t stopped sleeping in the nude, but every since nights ago when his beautiful piccola tortora had snuffed the life from Oreste Merlo’s favorite possession, Fiorenzo had began to change a lot about his routine. His head had been heavy with thoughts of what his next move should be. Many times he would be smoking an All Jacks staring into nothing as he wondered when he would have to go to Sicily. He was no idiot. He knew that Sicily was probably headed for him now.

Fiorenzo looked down at the blade in his hand as he walked over towards the closet. He came back out with underwear on and a pair of Levi’s he never could quite throw out. His stiletto blade was still in hand as he walked down the hallway. He flicked it open and twirled the blade switching from underhand and back as he walked through the apartment. He never turned on the lights; the layout was like a second skin for him at this point.  Fiorenzo had long since gotten rid of all the obstacles that could hinder him in the darkness. It didn’t bother him that his lover was so messy. It was endearing, it just wasn’t an option if he was sleeping there. When he made it to the kitchen he closed his blade and slid it into his back pocket.

The hiss of gas escaping the stove burner filled the room a moment before he struck a match and touched the invisible fuel. Fiorenzo had a pot of coffee already brewing and was about to get to start steaming milk when he heard a loud, avian shriek. It was followed by a resounding thud. It sounded like a knock at the door, but it was obvious that it wasn’t. Fiorenzo’s knife made click as the blade was freed. He was on his way towards the door. The milk on the stove was still fairly cold, but it would be boiling soon without him.

He immediately made his way towards where he heard the sound. He stood there on the other side of the doorway wondering if he was about to be shot at from someone waiting for him. His breath had almost stopped as he sat there in the shadows of the dark apartment. He stared at the door knob-nothing. His ears felt like they were two arms being opened wide as possible to take in anything that might be headed his way. He heard nothing. With the blade underhand and in his right hand, Fioreznzo slowly undid the locks on the door. Thoughts of Chelsea and what they would do to her if she was captured made his eyes turn to steel.

He put his back to the wall next to the door and opened it quickly in the opposite direction. He had expected gunshots to fire through the now open door. Instead he seen an image that brought with it so many emotions it would have been smart for whoever left it to jump on him then. The message was there and the writing plane enough for anyone to read. His own father’s 11 inch blade, the one Fiorenzo should have owned this entire time, was stuck into the breast of a lesser kestrel. The small falcon’s blood ran down their front door from it’s resting place. “Solo dopo aver perso tutto,” was written in large letters above the bird. The blood still dripped wet from whoever wrote the warning..

Fiorenzo wasn’t sure how long he stared at that bird. The knife his father had carried was like a beacon for his eyes. He couldn’t look away. The only difference in the two blades was the handle on his fathers. His father’s handle had Italian gold inlaid through the handle in a swirling design. The gilding was beautiful and Fiorenzo remembered many times as a child holding it within his hands and looking over the details. Air escaped from his lungs and he remembered where he was. He could feel something it was another’s eyes. They didn’t feel invasive though.

His Chelsea was awake. She stared at the door from down the hallway. Fiorenzo felt a growing fear when he realized if anyone was on the other side of this wall they would have an easy shot at her. Fiorenzo’s legs moved swift sliding him down the wall to a kneel. He placed his free hand on the ground and in one motion had turned through the doorway. His hand flicked his blade from underhand to a normal hold. When his legs pushed him back up he was leaping out of the doorway to the right. There was a scream of pain accompanied by a string of Italian curses.

As Chelsea stood there in the entryway a gunshot rang out from the hall.

A loud thump, and then silence. Chelsea opened her eyes as her left arm reached out, finding nothing but emptiness beside her in the bed. Something was off, the air itself pregnant with unpleasantness. Standing quickly, she slipped on her robe and belted it while passing through the bedroom door and into the living room. The smell of scalding milk hit her nose first, and movement to her right drew her eyes to Fiorenzo, where they locked with his. And then he was moving, down the wall into a crouch, and then disappearing through the doorway.

The scream was foreign, the Italian cussing was not. Chelsea knew her baritone had struck home with his blade, but before she was allowed time for relief, a gunshot went off. She jerked, not in reaction to the sound, but of the searing pain in her left thigh, and she stumbled, grabbing on to it. A glance down told her that her brain had misfired badly; there was no blood, no hole, nothing.

Her brain kept screaming otherwise. Staggering towards the doorway, she entered the hallway. There was a man in black lying in the hall, barely moving anymore, his hands weakly pawing at the steel still protruding from his throat. Next to him, Fio was trying to get up, and failing. Blood coursed down his left thigh, soaking the calf of his jeans. One hand pressed on the hole there, trying to staunch the blood, but Chelsea could see it running freely through his fingers at an alarming rate. Quickly, she paced past him, raised her right foot, and brought it down on the top of the blade handle, effectively ending the assailant's weak attempts at trying to live. She then reached down and yanked the blade out. The bloody metal slid into the pocket of her robe and she turned, heading back towards her lover, who had managed to get himself halfway up the wall one-handed. Chelsea grabbed that arm and put it over her shoulders, a parody of some asinine three-legged race as she assisted him back inside and onto a kitchen chair.

The body would have to wait for a minute. No one had come into the hall, and she had no idea if police were coming, but Fio would bleed out if she didn't do something fast. Pulling the sash loose from her robe, she wrapped it high on his thigh and yanked it tight, drawing a painful hiss from him in the process.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "It won't stop, Fio. What do I do? That bullet needs to come out. Tell me what to do!" She pleaded, her words coming out in a stream of panic.  

From Fiorenzo’s perspective his leg just felt wet and useless. He couldn’t do anything with it, but it didn’t hurt like he thought it should. That was until Chelsea tightened the sash around it. Suddenly an aching burn set in place. She was apologizing to him. At least the bastard was dead. It made him laugh for a second as he glanced back towards the stove. The burning in his leg was going to have to get worse; he knew what was to come. She was really going to want to apologize soon.

“The cappuccino is ruined.”

His hazel eyes moved from the stove down to the other burning object in the room, his leg. They needed to get this done quickly. Fiorenzo was trying to keep it together, but the pain behind his eyes surely shown through when he looked back at Chelsea. “You didn’t happen to replace that bottle of whiskey, Tortora?” He knew she had. Not just to clean it. They could probably both use a good pull before this. Fiorenzo was trying to keep it together. He had hoped to calm her enough to be able to do what she needed to do. The pain in his leg was nothing compared to the fear of this turning out worse. He had something to stick around for these days.

As she went for the bottle, Fiorenzo grabbed a kitchen towel that was tossed on the table. He ripped it in half and began folding up one half. He needed something to hold back a stream of Italian curses. He took the bottle from her with a forced grin. The same hand holding the bottle pointed towards the stove. “You’ll need to get a blade glowing to seal this up after you dig this fucking thing out of me.” He had already taken the cap off the bottle and was tilting it up for a few warm glugs. His eyes closed for a moment as he let the spirit wash over him. Fiorenzo really wished they had time to at least put some ice on his damn leg.

One more swig and he put the whiskey bottle on the table a quarter emptier. Fiorenzo’s body was weaker by the moment. It felt as though his leg was dipped in cold water, but the bullet still burned like a hot coal. ”You’ll need to get it out quick, mio amore. I don’t think it’s close to an artery, but please don’t go exploring anyways.” Their eyes locked for a moment. It was brief, but it was a nonverbal conversation taking place. He was convincing her she could do this, and she was letting him know she would do her best.

This had to be quick though. There could be someone else on the way. Police surely before long. There were only two other apartments on this floor, the closer being Molly, but surely the downstairs tenants heard something. They didn’t know Molly was already at work. She had convinced the other neighbors from the floor below that everything was fine up here. She did what she could to buy them time.

God, she didn't want to do this. The last thing she ever cared to do was cause this man pain. Time was slipping away from them, though, and her pain would be a hundredfold if she didn't move quickly. Grabbing two paring knives, she set the scalded milk aside and propped one blade up against the open flame. Turning towards Fio with the other, she took a deep breath and paced towards him, wishing she was stoned. At least then, she could maybe compartmentalize what she had to do next.

Kneeling before him, she used the knife to first cut away the rest of the denim, trying hard to keep from jerking the material and moving his leg around any more than she had to. Then, she grabbed the whisky.

It seemed pointless to keep apologizing, but her eyes on his said it all. Leaning up, she kissed him quickly before he bit down on the torn dishcloth. A shake of her head, and she tipped the bottle upside down, sanitizing the open wound and clearing away some of the blood. Fio didn't vocalize, but a hissing sound escaped him. With the other section of ripped dishcloth wrapped around her hand, she blotted away all the whisky and blood that she could, then pressed down on the edge of the wound itself. 

Damned if she couldn't see the fucking thing in there. A brief glint before blood covered it once more. Never shifting her gaze from where that glint had been, Chelsea straddled herself around his calf, bearing her weight onto his foot to keep him still as she dipped into Fio's thigh with the tip of the blade. He seized up immediately, yelling God knew what into the dishcloth as she slipped the blade just to the side of the bullet and levered under it. More pressure from her opposite hand, and the bullet began a slow slide upwards, finally popping free and bouncing to the floor. Chelsea pressed down fully on the wound once more and looked up at Fio. He was sweating, but he nodded for her to continue. Another cascade of whisky across his thigh, and then she was up, grabbing the glowing blade from the stove. 

Not allowing herself to hesitate, she simply leaned over and rested the blade across the wound. Fio's head snapped back and he screamed; Chelsea could feel his agony as if it were a real, solid thing in the room that was attempting to squeeze all the life out of her. When the smell of burned flesh began to fill the air, she pried the blade gently away and tossed it aside. A trip to the bathroom had her returning with a first aid kit, only to see Fio already untying the makeshift tourniquet and handing it back to her with a weak smile.

"We need to take care of that little problem in the hallway, and you can't do it like that," he teased, nodding towards her robe, which was gaping open. Chelsea tied it shut quickly and left him with the salve and bandages as she headed for the front door.

Outside, an empty hallway. Confused, Chelsea paced the length of it, looking out the windows on each end. Nothing. A glance towards the stairs showed them empty, as well. On her return back towards her apartment door, she heard a thump behind Molly's door. Pushing it open with a fingertip, she peeked inside. 

There stood Molly, also in a robe, hands on hips as she panted. At her feet, the body of the man Chelsea had just finished off. Molly had drug him inside by the ankles. 

Okay.

"Nobody made it up the stairs, I blocked them and told them I'd call the police. This is what you're gonna do. You're gonna take my sidearm from my nightstand drawer, and you're gonna go downstairs and knock on all the other doors, tell everyone that you were cleaning the damn thing and it went off. Don't bother with the Mathews' on this floor, they're in Lake Tahoe. Apologize profusely, act the part of the dumb blonde. As soon as I catch my breath, me and your Fiorenzo over there will figure out what we need to do with this mook," she grumbled, kicking at the body with her slippered toe.

The smell of his own burnt flesh had put a horrid taste in Fiorenzo’s mouth. He snatched back the whiskey again after Chelsea took off for the bandages. He sent the bottom of the bottle towards the ceiling once more to make him think of anything, but the hot coal Chelsea had obviously replaced the bullet with when she straddled his leg. His drink was through and the sash had come free. A wave of pain shot down to accompany the blood surging back into his leg.

Fiorenzo was scared to look at first. He expected the wound to be bleeding again, but Chelsea had scorched shut his wound exceptionally well. It still felt like the knife was sitting there frying against it. He was almost sad to have handed her back the sash. He looked at the salve tin and bandages she had retrieved for him. No time to wait.

It took a moment to get the salve tin open. Fiorenzo’s hands were shaky and clammy. He stopped and closed his eyes for a moment.. He wasn’t going to be able to change the pain right now, and they needed to handle things quickly. He ground his teeth and opened the salve looking down at the singed flesh. The visual cue of the wound brought the pain back with a burning intensity. He was glad Chelsea had been quick about it. Fiorenzo was sure he would never forget looking down at her digging into the meat of his leg. The burn would linger as well; especially with how it felt like the knife was still on his leg causing that cruel hiss.

A copious amount of the ointment was applied to freshly burned skin. “Vaffanculo!” He grunted out through his clinched teeth. He went about applying the bandages to his wound. The whole time he thought about how when he had seen this before morphine usually came next. Unless his lover was really good at hiding a bad habit, Fiorenzo was not going to be in much luck getting something to numb the pain. Any more alcohol would have been a really bad idea. He had come to the conclusion that he was going to fucking hurt. He thought about how much he would grow to hate this leg. This had just turned into a real issue. It was not the time to be hurt. They needed to act.

That man had to be trusted to have gotten the job done. If anyone else was here they would have already struck by now. So they were safe? How long did they have? Why wasn’t Chelsea at least pulling the body in here by now? He knew that she was more than capable. Fiorenzo used the table more than he had intended and it screeched against the floor. He was on his feet-He was on his foot. The best part was he hadn’t fallen when he put weight on his left leg this time. Fiorenzo turned to head towards the door. His leg was screaming out at the use of the muscles. He hoped it was just the natural swelling hurting and not too much muscle damage.

“Dead Italians never showed up in the hallway before you started sleeping over.” Molly stood there in her robe and shook her head. Her eyes stared at his slapdash bandaged leg. They moved back to Fiorenzo’s face, and he could see the concern on her face despite her frustration. ”Chelsea’s downstairs explaining to the neighbors how she slipped cleaning her gun. The body is in my apartment.” She muttered something inaudible. “We need to get it out of here. Is it going to be safe for you two to stay here?  Your door says otherwise.” Her head nodded back to the door with the bloody lettering.

“I can’t guarantee that. It’s only a matter of when not if the next the next one shows their head.” Fiorenzo’s features went to his blank thousand yard stare. He put more weight on his leg with each hobbled step. He didn’t have time to let this stop him. “We need to get the body to my truck.” Chelsea was in danger. They needed to get somewhere safe, and they also needed to not leave a body behind. If cops weren’t on the way then maybe they had a moment. It all depended on how many Sicilian’s had landed in Vegas. Hopefully that was the last one sent here from the Merlo’s.

Fiorenzo looked down at the bloody runner in the hallway. It was long and wide enough to roll up the assailant. It was going to have to go, too. He turned to look back to Molly and she just sighed. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. You think you can help?” She said looking down at his leg. Fiorenzo didn’t acknowledge it as he bent over across from her and helped grab up the runner. His wished he still had the folded up dish towel to bite. Each movement was still sending sharp signals through the dull mass of pain.

Fiorenzo didn’t much look at the face. He knew he didn’t recognize the man. That was enough for him. There were a lot of skilled hitters for the Merlo’s. Most of them liked to keep to themselves. Fiorenzo wasn’t in the mood to be meeting anymore of them like this.

Suddenly he felt a comforting feeling. It was two green mirrors pointed in his direction. Fiorenzo turned and met her gaze. Chelsea looked a bit distraught. He wondered if it was from death coming for them this morning or her impromptu surgery she had performed earlier. “Did they buy it? What kind of time do you think we have? This guy needs to get to the back of my truck, but there are a lot of potential eyes between here and there.“ Oddly his mind kept going back to an All Jacks. He cursed himself for not getting around completely this morning. They were still in his drawer next to the night stand. 

"Yeah. They bought it. They think I'm an idiot, but they bought it. Molly, you didn't actually call any cops?" Chelsea asked her elderly neighbor, only to receive a 'Jesus, you really ARE stupid' look. "Okay. Okay. It's early still. No one's moving around. Fio, can you move your truck off the street, bring it down the side drive and park it alongside the back yard? No one goes out there except that Henderson woman on the first floor, the one with the dog? Maybe, if we do this fast, we can get the body out without anyone seeing it. That window at the end of the hall, overlooking the back yard? Fio gets the truck back there, we just shove it out? Once all three-" a glance down at the body "four of us are down there, it's just a matter of hauling it into the truck."

Molly was nodding her approval, then silently made her way deeper into the apartment to fetch some duct tape in order to wrap the carpet closed. Chelsea studied Fio a moment, trying to gauge just how much he'd be able to do. He was stubborn, and there was no point in arguing. Passing him on the way to the hall, she ran the back of her hand down his cheek and left the apartment, heading towards the window.

It was wanting to stick; the extreme temperature changes caused wood in the entire house to expand and contract almost constantly. After a minute of wrestling with it, Chelsea got it open far enough to suit their needs, then rushed back to her own apartment. Tossing on a t-shirt and jeans, she gathered up another dishtowel- shit, she needed to buy more dishtowels if they ever got out of this mess- then soaked it with soapy water, and made for the front door. 

Fio was already there, yanking his father's blade out of the bird with one hand and catching the falcon in the other as it fell listlessly down the door. In minutes, Chelsea had the still-damp blood cleared away, the only evidence of anything at all being the large gash left in the door due to the knife. 

After wrapping the bird in the soggy towel,  Chelsea left it in the sink. Back at Molly's, the tape job was complete, several rotations around the carpet hopefully capable of keeping it closed, even after a fall. Without a word, Fio nodded, then hobbled away painfully, presumably for the truck.

Surely, he would investigate the lower hallway and back yard first. Once he'd gone, Chelsea and Molly dragged the body out and into the hall, then down it towards the window. Allowing themselves scant seconds to catch their air, they waited until Fio's truck became visible below, then went to work heaving the body up, and out. 

The window was barely big enough for the job, but they managed it through sheer force of will. The body finally gave up its grip on the sash and toppled out, and both women poked their heads out simultaneously, praying the tape held on impact. It did, and then it was their turn to hustle down the stairs, check the hall once more, and exit the back door. Outside, Fio had already begun dragging the corpse to the back of the truck, somehow managing to get it halfway there already without any help. A fresh spot of blood on the second pair of jeans he'd donned that morning had Chelsea grinding her teeth in frustration. Molly and Chelsea hurried over and picked up the slack, and without too much hassle, had the body up and across the tailgate, which Fio slammed shut with a satisfactory clunk.

No time to pat themselves on the back for a job well done. Chelsea brushed a kiss across Molly's cheek and then she was climbing into the passenger seat next to Fio, who'd already started the engine. They looked at each other as he put the truck in reverse.

What do we do with it?

Did Chelsea understand exactly why this had happened? He hadn’t asked her. She still hadn’t brought up that night Fabrizia was torn to pieces. Fiorenzo still wasn’t sure if she even knew she had killed her. His foot pushing into the gas pedal was a reminder of how lucky he was it wasn’t his right leg that was shot. He glanced over at her and laughed. “I’ve never even asked you if you can drive.” He was glad he didn’t have to find out today.

Fiorenzo made for a cigarette. Anything that distracted him from the burning in his leg would be welcome. The black Chevy slowly made its way through Summerlin. The other cars were none-the-wiser to the dead Sicilian rolled up in the bed. Fiorenzo hit a chug hole in the road and winced. The blood spot on his jeans wasn’t growing. It was visible though. It wasn’t long before he pulled up to Jordan Supply Co.

“I would run in and grab the shovels, but… Perhaps you should make the trip this time?” He coughed and smiled at Chelsea. He didn’t know why he was asking. She had already grabbed her things and opened the door. She was smart. She was in this. He couldn’t ask for a better partner to take with him. Where were they going to go from here? The apartment wasn’t an option. He needed to find time though. This leg wasn’t going to heal overnight.

The drive out into the desert was a fairly silent one. Fiorenzo kept stealing glances over at Chelsea. She had moved over to the middle as per usual. The heat from driving through this desert was something you never adjusted to. You had to grow up in a place like this to call it normal. Fiorenzo wondered how long he would make it. He had the determination to power through the pain and weakness he felt; he hoped his body did as well.

The spot seemed by far remote enough. Fiorenzo put the truck into park. “Let’s not be foolish enough to honor him with a very deep grave. No one’s coming out here.” He wasn’t sure he could handle the heat too long right now either. Each push of the shovel was worse than the last. When the job was done Fiorenzo rested up against the truck and retrieved another smoke. Sweat was pouring down off of him. The whiskey earlier wasn’t helping that, and the painkilling effects were long gone.

“Couple things, Bellissima.” He said with a smirk. The way she looked at him made him let out a chuckle. The sun looked wonderful basked over her gorgeous form. She was looking at him with concern. The blood stain on his jeans was getting worse, and even with the sun trying to burn them, Fiorenzo was looking pale. “You can drive? I hope. I can try to make it from here, but I need to rest. I… I don’t want to pass out. We can’t go back there either. We need to think of somewhere safe.” 

Chelsea's father had had her driving the farm truck by the time she was 12. It had been a long time, and she most certainly preferred the Triumph, but she could drive. 

"I think I can manage it," she said, tossing the shovels into the back of the truck and then helping Fio into the passenger seat. Rounding the front end, she climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. A glance in the rearview mirror, and she already couldn't even tell where the body rested under the shallow sand. She turned to say as much to Fio, but his eyes were closed, his chest moving under his sweat-soaked shirt the only proof he'd not chased the soul they'd just buried into the afterlife. Her eyes moved down to his jeans, where the bloody fabric was trying to dry stiffly to his leg. 

Like checkmarks on a housewife's grocery list, Chelsea calculated all that needed to be done. Home was not an option. They needed to get out of town. They looked like hell, and needed clothing. Fio needed rest. Money, they needed that most of all. It would take care of all the other things.

Stopping in front of her bank, Chelsea did what she could to organize her appearance in the rearview mirror, straightened her clothing out best she could, and stepped inside Summerlin Savings and Loan. She was escorted to her safety deposit box in the back room, and after the attendant had left her in privacy, Chelsea opened box 334 and pulled out an envelope that was nearly too large to fit in the slot.

Inside it, almost $400,000. And Fio had asked her 'why'. She chuckled to herself, leaving the vault with the envelope tucked under her arm. Her wallet had been the only thing she'd grabbed when she'd stepped into the nearest pair of flats earlier on her way out of the apartment; hopefully Fio had thought to do the same. 

When Chelsea got back to the truck, she found him still sleeping. Slipping her hand under his ass, she groped until she found out that he indeed had his wallet with him. He moved then, one eye popping open and shooting her a look that had her grinning as she started the engine again. Her list wasn't even halfway done yet.

The next stop was a small department store. Chelsea rushed in, loading her arms down with two dresses, two suits, and with a salesgirl's help, footwear and all the other garments that she was forgetting. After paying, she declined help to her car and hauled the garment bags and shoe boxes, in a precariously unstable armload, out of the store and flung it all into the back of the truck. Next door to the shop was a small market, and she headed there next, filling a hand cart with protein-heavy snacks, a travel-sized first aid kit, toiletries, and a large bottle of white wine. 

And then she was on the move again, guiding the truck out towards the airport. There was a shitty little courtyard motel not far from it, and she stopped there, paying for a room in cash. They could be there an hour, they could be there a day, but until she found a flight schedule, they would be there. She helped Fio inside, depositing him on a bed before bringing in all her purchases. When he was awake, she'd have to check that wound, but for now, she still had other things to do. 

Picking up the phone's receiver, she dialed the operator and requested the reservations desk at the airport. Once she'd been put through, she asked for all flights for the next day, and wrote them down as the girl on the other end rattled them off. The one that laid over in Los Angeles and then went on to Europe caught her attention; it was exactly what she'd been looking for. She circled that one with her pen several times, thanked the girl, and hung up. One more phone call to Molly, letting her know that everything had gone alright and what the general plan was, and she was finished.

The radio in the room actually worked, and Chelsea turned it on, idly listening to the music as she showered, not really expecting to hear any news about the murder they'd just committed but listening for it all the same. When she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel that was better suited as a washcloth, Fio was awake.

"You've been busy," he smirked at her.

"I have! I think I know what we need to do," she said, making her way towards him and unfastening his jeans. "Not that," she laughed, batting his hands away as she slid them down his legs, kneeling down to inspect the ruined bandage. It was already peeling up on the edges and nearly fell off on its own as she pulled it away from his skin. Reaching for the small first aid kit, she went to work cleaning the wound once more and dressing it again as she spoke. Fio made breathy little noises here and there, but nothing like before. That was good, right? The wound didn't look good, not at all, but it didn't look like it was heading for infection, at least not yet.

"Do you keep your passport in your wallet? I hope so. There's the outgoing flights tomorrow, on that notepad there," she said, nodding towards the side table. "The circled one, going to LA? It goes to Florence after that," she said, and their eyes locked. Yes, she'd put two and two together. Yes, she knew what had to be done. Yes, she was going with him. Be smart, Fio, her eyes said. Don't argue with me on this.

"I cleared out everything I had in savings. We have more than enough cash, and the bare necessities until we get there. Not what I had in mind when I daydreamed about a romantic getaway with you, Fio, but it is what it is. I say we stay here tonight, order a pizza or something, get some sleep, and then tomorrow, you take me home to Italy."