Collin pulled over the Ponte alle Grazie bridge, down another street and into a pricy looking private garage beneath a villa. I know that you have to be a resident in this part of the old city to be able to drive your car here. This is far from my first trip to Florence. I have lost count of how many times I have vacationed here, though it has been over ten years since my last visit.
He parked the Ferrari and made his way towards a door. We were around the corner from Pitti Palace and it was still raining. In fact, that rain had pretty much turned into a raging storm. I got out of the car and lifted my hands around my arms in the cold.
“The house will be warm.” Collin seemed to see that I was both cold and uncomfortable.
My wrists were worn raw, my feet were covered in cuts
