Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(55)
“You tracked the phone?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. Hinting to Giada about what was really going on had paid off.
“We did.” She points toward the cars where Vincenzo is engaged in a discussion with two more carabinieri.
The moment Petrov’s feet touch the tarmac, he begins struggling, fighting against the handcuffs and the officer holding him. He’s all fury, and it’s directed straight at me. “You turned me in!” he screams. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.” He continues screaming at me in his native language, and I’m grateful I don’t know what he’s actually saying.
Several other men rush to help subdue Petrov, and one elbows him hard in the face, effectively cutting off his rant.
“Don’t worry. They will take care of him. You are safe now.” Giada places a comforting hand on my arm, and watching the men drag Petrov away, I believe her. For the first time since we left France a month ago, I actually start to feel like I could really be safe now.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It takes two men to shove Petrov into the back of one of the cars. The fact that he’s handcuffed doesn’t stop him from jerking his body and kicking out at the officers trying to subdue him. Spittle flies from his mouth as he screams obscenities in both English and his native language. Finally, once they’ve thrown him onto the back seat and are about to shut the door, Petrov falls deathly still. “You will all pay. I will see—” The officer closest to him slams the car door on his words, but his threat still lingers in the air. The pilot is placed in with Petrov, and though he looks terrified to be riding with the man who’s so clearly gone off the deep end, he doesn’t fight the authorities on it.
The officers congregate between the two cars, apparently discussing their game plan. Eventually, the group breaks up; two officers climb into the car holding Petrov and two more head back up into the jet, probably for more evidence. Two remain behind as the carabinieri taking Petrov and the pilot drive off the way they came.
When the car is mostly out of sight, the younger of the two men who stayed behind to interview us approaches my mother and Uncle Samuel with a pen and notepad at the ready. The other carabiniere goes to one of the two remaining cars, opens the passenger door, and pulls out a phone, presumably to report in and maybe call for more backup. When he’s finished, he heads my way.
“Dimmi quello che sai.” Tell me what you know, the carabiniere says to me. I guess it’s my turn to give a statement. I recap everything for him, in the little Italian that I remember, starting with how my father collected evidence against Petrov years ago and ending with the moment they pulled up to the scene all sirens and brute force. But I leave out the part about my criminal escapades, preferring not to let on about the family business of thieving.
I also leave out the part about hiding some of the evidence back at Paolo’s villa. Logically, I know I should hand it over to them, that every shred of evidence against Petrov will help their case and help keep him locked up, unable to harm anyone else. But some deeper, shadowy part of me can’t let them go. I want to pore over every page, peruse every entry. I guess that part of me is viewing the remaining journals as my only real connection to my late father. And so I keep my mouth shut about them.
And Giada doesn’t correct me, either. She eyes me suspiciously for a few moments as I talk to the officer, but eventually, her expression softens. When the officer finishes with me and moves over for her statement, she corroborates everything I said, and I breathe a soft sigh of relief. It takes much less time for her to give her statement than it did for me to give mine. Probably because her part of the story is just a tiny blip on the timeline of everything that’s happened.
When the officer moves on to Will, Giada comes to my side and loops her arm through mine at the elbow. The wind is starting to pick up, heralding the impending storm, and her body heat provides a welcome shield against the chill drafts. “We have a secret together now.” She winks conspiratorially.
“Yes, a big one. Thank you for not mentioning the logs I left behind. I guess I’ll need to come back to your place and get them, now that it’s safe.”
Giada gives my arm a friendly squeeze, then heads off to join Vincenzo.
I shuffle my foot back and forth across the pavement for a moment, debating what I should do now. Should I go talk to my mom and Uncle Samuel? Should I go stand with Will as a silent show of support? After all, he did almost take a bullet for me. And probably would have, if Uncle Samuel hadn’t taken it first.
But I’m not ready to face my uncle. My emotions, the feelings of betrayal, are still too raw, and I’m not ready to deal with them. I cross my arms over my chest and rub the bare skin there to ward off the cold as best I can as I sidle up closer to Will.
As soon as the officer finishes interviewing him and heads back to the car, Will takes his place in front of me. I don’t know what to say. Maybe he doesn’t, either, because he doesn’t speak. He just looks me over as if trying to assure himself that I’m okay. Lightning flashes overhead, illuminating the runway for the briefest of moments before leaving us in relative darkness again.
Will finally opens his mouth to speak, but thunder drowns out whatever he’s about to say. He shrugs, and I return the gesture. It’s a silent acceptance of everything that’s passed between us, an acknowledgment of the secrets we’ve both kept. Where do we go from here?