Falling for Italy Read online

  “Gorgeous!” Linda exclaimed. “I bought more jewelry than I could wear in a year. Gerard is still in shock,” she added chuckling.

  “Is he with you? I need to talk to him,” said Giovanni.

  “I’m here. Merry Christmas everyone,” Gerard’s deep voice came clear and loud. Sonia noticed his French accent was more pronounced than usual, probably due to the return of his birth land.

  “Merry Christmas to you too, brother. Listen, I talked to the director of the Institute for Cancer Research in Rome. He was thrilled to hear my story and wants to see you right after the holidays, as soon as you can come here.”

  After a brief pause, Sonia heard Gerard’s voice again—incredulous, excited and perhaps a bit emotional.

  “Are you serious? That would be… Wow, thanks a lot! I owe you big, G.”

  “You don’t owe me anything, Gerard. I’m just trying to help you do your job, that’s all. How’s the brat treating you?”

  His brother-in-law sighed.

  “Yesterday she left more money at a shopping center than it would take to feed a third-world country. Otherwise, she’s fine. How’s Sonia? Does she like the house?”

  “I love it.” Sonia entered the conversation. “Everything is absolutely lovely here. I’m starting to get the hang of the language too. Giovanni took me to meet your mother a couple of days ago, Linda.”

  She didn’t mention the robbery incident, because that would surely spoil the other couple’s mood.

  “He did?” Linda squealed in delight. “How was it? How is she?”

  “She’s fine, terribly sorry she couldn’t come at your wedding. She and her dream husband seemed to like me.”

  “They loved her,” Giovanni put in. “She and Mom decided we should get married on Valentine’s Day.”

  “Really? God, that is fabulous! But when will we have time to make all the preparations?” asked Linda, the enthusiasm in her voice rising even more.

  “We’ll work it out. Giovanna promised to help us,” Sonia reassured her. “I’m glad you’re okay and having fun.”

  “Yeah, me too,” added Giovanni. “Thanks for the call, sis, brother. Make sure you bring us some souvenirs.”

  “You bet we will. Take care, both of you. And have a magical Christmas!”

  “You too. Ciao, bella!”

  After he put the phone back on the nightstand, Giovanni turned to Sonia.

  “Thanks for not mentioning the robbery incident. That would have surely worried them.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. They’re my family too now, remember?”

  “How could I forget?”

  He pulled her to him, gathering her to his chest and holding on tight. After a few moments, he gave her a quick kiss and asked, “What do you say we go downstairs and decorate the tree, and then have lunch? I’m starving.”

  Her face brightened even more and she smiled up at him, nodding eagerly. She rushed out of bed to put on a pair of old jeans and a soft gray sweater. After digging through the closet, she threw Giovanni a similar pair of faded jeans, then found a black sweater which looked like it had seen far better days. She studied it frowning.

  “How’d this get here? I haven’t seen a single piece of clothing in your wardrobe that’s not new or a designer thing until now.”

  He was just sliding on the jeans, when he lifted his head to glance at the sweater.

  “Oh, that. Linda gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday. What can I say? I’m sentimental enough to have kept it,” he said and grinned, catching the fabric as she threw it at him. “Lucky it was too big then, or else I’d never get into it now.”

  Guccio was not to be budged. Having found the most comfortable spot between the bed covers, he was sunk deep in the mattress, snoring peacefully.

  They let him be and descended the stairs, careful not to disturb the tinsel with which Lucia had decorated the railing.

  The old couple had bought three boxes of tree decorations, which was surely overkill. But as long as it made them happy, Sonia didn’t see the harm.

  They opened the boxes and started playing decorators, working from the bottom of the incredibly tall tree.

  “When I was a kid, Linda and I always wanted to do this, but our father wouldn’t let us,” Giovanni said introspectively, hanging a fat, red glass Santa on a lower branch.

  “Why the hell not?” Sonia asked intrigued, passing him a matching white Santa.

  “He said we didn’t have enough artistic sense to balance the colors and shapes and so on.”

  “What bullshit!” she exclaimed scandalized, shifting her weight on one hip. “Decorating the Christmas tree should be fun for a kid. Something he needs to do with his family. Your dad sounds like he’s a class A asshole.”

  Giovanni shrugged and stepped a bit away from the tree, looking at it from several angles to see where something was missing.

  “Not really. He is just…strange. Never managed to adapt to the real world. He lives in his dream world, in his ivory tower, as he used to say.”

  “Well, I’ll let you decorate the tree every Christmas,” she told him sweetly and hugged him, receiving an indulgent smile. “My parents were great,” she went on, thinking back past the years. “They’d let me do just about anything I wanted. They were puzzled when I started taking shooting lessons, at age fourteen, but they supported me, even though they couldn’t understand. I wonder what they’d think about my becoming a shooting trainer.”

  She felt a sad smile shadowing her face, as she rhetorically asked the question she’d asked herself so many times before.

  Giovanni paused, then turned to her. Taking her shoulders between his hands, he gazed deeply into her eyes.

  “Sonia, you’re the most incredible woman I have ever met. Not only professionally—though you’ve justly earned your renown as the best target shooting trainer in London. I didn’t know your parents, but I have absolutely no doubt they would be proud of the woman you are. I know I am.”

  She looked at him, feeling warmth spread into her body, into her soul. She embraced him tightly, resting her head on his chest, while his arms held her close, strong and reassuring.

  “Thank you for saying that. You’ve no idea how much it means to me. I never thought I’d have a family again,” she went on, her voice husky with emotion, “but you filled the emptiness in my heart so perfectly and completely. I’m so thankful for your love, Giovanni.”

  They stood in silence for a while, in the dim winter light coming from the window, next to their Christmas tree. After a while, she detached herself gently from him and said, “Let’s finish this, okay? I’m hungry.”

  They resumed their amateurish decorating until there was only one decoration left—a gold and silver star that was supposed to go on the tree’s top. Sonia looked up at the nearly ten-foot tall tree, tapping her bottom lip with one finger.

  “I guess we need a chair.”

  “Nope. You put it on, I’ll lift you.”

  She took the star by one corner and turned to Giovanni, but her grasp was precarious on the thin glass. Despite her quick reflexes, it slipped from her fingers and dropped to the floor. Giovanni bent and reached for it too, but gravity was faster.

  She didn’t hear it break though. Nor did she hear any gunfire as the bullet penetrated the large window and slammed into the opposite wall.

  Like in a slow-motion picture, she saw the window glass shatter into dozens of pieces, as Giovanni pushed her down, out of the fire line. She hit the floor hard, but barely managed to catch her breath when he ushered her toward the stairs, out of sight.

  “What the hell was that?” she whispered looking around, trying in vain to assess this unimaginable situation.

  “Quickly, let’s get into the study,” he told her, while they crawled toward and up the stairs, hearts racing and breaths panting, her hand clutched into his.

  She had no idea what had actually happened, couldn’t grasp the notion that someone had just shot at them in their own h
ome.

  When they reached the study, Giovanni pulled her behind the massive desk, then took his cell phone out of his pocket and gave it to her.

  “Call the police,” he said and went onto the other side of the desk, no doubt to retrieve the gun she knew he kept in the second drawer.

  She dialed the emergency number, marveling with detachment at the trembling of her fingers. When someone finally answered, she started speaking in English, then cursed aloud and tried again.

  “Dammi la polizia, per favore!”

  The woman asked for her name and address, and Sonia gave them to her, then she was told to wait. Wait! How could she wait, when someone was hunting them like rabbits? Strangely, she didn’t feel hysterical, just panicked and very pissed off. She could hear Giovanni fumbling with the drawer, searching for his gun, and bit her lip with impatience.

  She waited for the police to pick up the line, but stopped dead when she saw the blood trail leading behind the desk. Dimly, she realized Giovanni had been hit by the bullet.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Giovanni fumbled with the drawer one-handed, trying to stay below the window’s ledge and get his Beretta. He could hear Sonia grabbling in Italian as she gave the police their address. He was proud to hear she even managed to explain the situation in a few basic words. She was learning fast.

  And what a thing to think about when you were in a life or death situation. The human mind works in such mysterious ways, he mused.

  He’d hoped against hope that Sonia wouldn’t notice the bleeding hole in his sweater, but when he crawled back to her, he saw the blood trail on the wooden floor.

  He hadn’t felt the pain when the bullet had penetrated his left shoulder. Just shock and maybe the pressure of a push. But now his shoulder ached from joint to elbow, growing stiff. He gritted his teeth against the pain and tried to support all of his weight on his right arm.

  Having talked to the police, Sonia put down the phone and rushed to him, still on her knees. Her face was white as a sheet, her eyes huge and shining with tears as she asked, “Where? Where did he hit you? Why the bloody hell didn’t you tell me?”

  As she spoke, she frantically ran her hands over his body, looking for the wound. When she touched his left shoulder, he jerked in reflex. Her intake of breath was audible, but to her credit, she didn’t scream, didn’t faint, didn’t become hysterical, as most women would have when confronted with the bloody mess.

  Instead, she clamped her teeth hard on her lower lip, and then looked at his face.

  “I’m okay, it’s just a scratch,” he told her, gripping her hand and managing to force a smile. “I don’t think there’s any major damage, really.”

  At least, he hoped so. The thought of staying alive had occupied his mind completely and continued to do so. He didn’t flinch when she ripped the sleeve of his sweater up to his shoulder. The fabric was soaked with blood and the wound was the nastiest sight he’d ever seen. If adrenaline hadn’t been pumping through his veins right now, he would have probably been the one to faint. But not Sonia, no. She reacted swiftly, ripping the other sleeve of his sweater, and improvised a makeshift bandage.

  After she’d wiped the bullet hole as best as she could, he saw it was more like a gash just above his left triceps, not very deep but surprisingly wide. It was still leaking blood, but not at an alarming rate. What was alarming was the fact his shoulder was starting to feel cold and numb. Thank God the bullet wasn’t still inside. He’d heard it hit the wall.

  Sonia worked on him, bandaging his arm tightly. He realized she hadn’t uttered a sound all this time. When he looked up at her, she saw tears were streaming down her face silently, as she mercilessly bit her lower lip.

  “Hey, hey! Look at me, baby,” he whispered, cupping her face between his palms. The movement made his shoulder scream with pain, but he hoped it didn’t show. He continued holding her face, looking into her eyes, wiping her tears with his thumbs. Her breath came out in short gusts and he thought she was ready to fall apart. How horrible it all must be for her—having his blood on her hands, seeing his flesh pierced. He doubted he could have handled himself so admirably if the roles were reversed.

  “It’s just a scratch,” he said, speaking in a calm voice, trying to sound reassuring. “You heard the bullet slam into the wall, didn’t you? It only passed by me, that’s all.”

  Then a thought struck him, clear and cold as the daylight streaming through the windows.

  “Whoever has done this saw us fall. He was probably aiming at me, but when I bent to try and catch the star you dropped, he missed.”

  Sonia’s gaze seemed to clear as she watched him, following his logic.

  “When he saw you fall, he—we’re assuming it’s a he—thought he’d hit his target dead-on. He couldn’t know we’re both alive.”

  “Yeah, he probably thinks I’m dead or incapacitated, and that you’re left alone, defenseless,” he mused, feeling cold rage liquefying in his blood. “Sonia,” he began, and then stopped abruptly when she put her fingers over his lips and signaled him to listen.

  The faint sound of the backdoor opening carried through the study door, which they’d left ajar. Then footsteps—so soft they were almost unheard.

  Giovanni was galvanized into motion. He pushed Sonia as silently as he could behind the massive walnut desk, where she would be invisible from the doorway. She was protesting vehemently with shakes of her head and hand gestures, but his eyes must have managed to convey his determination, as he mouthed, “I have the gun. Stay there!”

  The footsteps had paused now. The shooter must have found the living room empty and was probably wondering what to do.

  Follow the blood trail, you son of a bitch! Giovanni put a finger to his lips and motioned Sonia to stay still, spearing her with his eyes. She looked worriedly at him, but stayed still, though he knew how much that must have cost her.

  He crept along the wall behind the study door and opened it wider, making sure the blood trail on the floor was visible from the hall. Then he waited behind the door, gun at the ready. The Beretta was always loaded and ready to fire, if the need should arrive. He breathed slowly, listening to the footsteps.

  They came slowly, hesitantly—or maybe just cautiously—up the stairs, into the hallway. When they reached the study door, they stopped, and so did Giovanni’s breath. He prayed the man would enter and advance enough into the room so he would have sufficient space to maneuver. He prayed his shoulder and arm would cooperate, though the pain was killing him and the feeling of numbness was now dropping down his forearm.

  It was a big chance to take, but they had no choice. Until the police arrived, they were on their own. He had Sonia to protect.

  The footsteps moved into the room. Giovanni had only a fraction of a second to act, and he did so. He caught only a glimpse of a man dressed in black and holding what he thought was a rifle. The gun was lethal from afar, but in that split second its awkward size and length worked against its owner. He’d probably seen Giovanni move from behind the door with his peripheral vision and tried to turn around to aim the rifle at him, but it was too late.

  Giovanni had his left forearm—now singing with pain—wrapped around the man’s throat in an iron grip from behind, the Beretta glued hard to his right temple.

  “You have one second to drop that gun or I fire, and believe me, I pray you don’t drop it, bastardo,” he growled in Italian, his voice gruff with barely suppressed fury.

  The man weighed his options for just a moment, and then lowered his right arm slowly, letting the rifle fall to the floor.

  Giovanni allowed himself a second to take a relieved breath, then said aloud, “Sonia! Get that gun.”

  Sonia emerged from behind the desk, still pale as a specter, and picked up the gun.

  “It’s loaded,” she told him after she checked the rifle’s chamber. Then she aimed it at the shooter, her eyes gleaming with so much hatred Giovanni was taken aback.

  “There’s noth
ing I would enjoy more than to kill you right now, for spilling my man’s blood. You have no idea how slowly and painfully I can make it,” she said in English, in a low voice, hissing the words between her teeth. She looked so ferocious Giovanni thought he would have been intimidated himself to have that cold, deadly glare aimed at him.

  He didn’t know if the man had understood her words, but he could smell his fear and felt his sweat dampening the forearm that kept him captive. Giovanni’s own sweat mixed with the blood that had started trickling down his side and underarm. He had to act now, while adrenaline kept him standing.

  He could hear Guccio whining, scratching at the bedroom door and vaguely remembered they’d left him there earlier. The dog was distressed and couldn’t get out, but now that was the last thing on Giovanni’s mind.

  He turned the shooter to face him and slammed him hard against the wall, pinning him there with one forearm on his throat.

  “Who sent you?” he asked in Italian, taking his first good look at the man who had tried to kill them. He could only describe him as non-describable. Average height, average build, average looks. His head was shaven, his eyes and eyebrows were a light brown. The only striking thing about him was the blank, impassive stare in his eyes. He looked straight ahead, not giving any indication he had even heard Giovanni’s question.

  The sound of police sirens came from afar. Giovanni looked at Sonia, who was still aiming the rifle at the shooter, her menacing gaze never wavering.

  “I say we shoot him,” she told Giovanni, and he couldn’t decide if she was serious or just trying to intimidate the man. “No one could question it was self-defense. If I shoot him in the gut, he could live for hours. Enough time to think about what he did before dying.”

  “Tell me who sent you or I swear I let her shoot you,” he shouted into the man’s face. He didn’t even blink, but his jaw tensed.

  The sirens grew louder, came closer, then stopped. Giovanni stared hard into the hollow-looking eyes, willing the answer from the man’s tight lips, but he made no sound.