Falling for Italy Read online

  “We’re not here to argue with each other, Giovanni,” she reasoned when she saw him open his mouth, no doubt to tell her to stay put. “Let’s go confront the motherfucker.”

  He gave her a long, measured look, then turned to the house. She fell into step with him. Her restlessness grew as they got close to the steel gate, making her heart beat fast. She was agitated and more than a little afraid of whatever was to follow, but she would back up her lover no matter what. If Tony Barella had been their nightmare—as well as Linda and Gerard’s—for the past months, he would pay.

  Nervously fidgeting with the amulet hanging between her breasts, she glanced at Giovanni from the corner of her eye and saw his lips were pressed together, his fists tense at his sides. They faced the gate, looking up at the deadly sharp tips of steel spearing toward the sky. He pressed a button on the panel next to the gate and waited.

  A small side-gate clicked open. Giovanni moved aside, and then pushed it for Sonia to go in.

  A short lane led to the two-story house. Sonia noted it was a modern building, very different from their own house, whose personality reflected its two hundred years of history.

  This building seemed new, polished, painted white with black windowsills, a black door and a dark brown roof. It resembled a chessboard, overly neat, as were the flowerbeds arranged in military fashion on each side of the front door.

  She was about to remark on the obsessive order, when Giovanni’s fist pounded three times against the metal door and he shouted, “Open the door, Barella!”

  Her heart gave a jolt, startled at the sudden and powerful noise. She looked at Giovanni and, maybe for the first time in her life, knew what real fear tasted like. He was transformed, his eyes flashing with anger, hate and a deliberate coldness she had never seen in them.

  She realized in that moment she had no idea what her lover was truly capable of when it came to protecting his family. The realization thrilled and terrified her at the same time. She knew for certain if she’d been Tony Barella at the receiving end of that menacing glare and surge of fury, she would have run for her life.

  No answer came from inside. Giovanni tried the door and, to their amazement, it opened. She followed him into the house, saying a quick prayer. She didn’t actually know to whom or for what she was praying. She just wished for everything to end well—preferably with no bloodshed involved. Though if this confrontation proved her lover’s blood had been spilled through Barella’s orders, she’d definitely opt to apply the rule ‘an eye for an eye’.

  The inside of the house resembled a fresh tomb—still and silent. Everything was black and white, classy but sterile, decorated in the same obsessive fashion as the exterior. Their footsteps sounded loud on the black and white marble tiles.

  “Tony!” Giovanni called out again, stopping to listen. No sound.

  Sonia watched him head to what she supposed was a living room or dining room, then she followed. When he stopped dead in the doorway, she didn’t have time to react quickly enough and her chest collided with his back. She saw the man over Giovanni’s shoulder.

  Tony Barella, dressed in an impeccable dark suit, his white teeth flashing brilliantly, stood in the middle of the room. He was artistically silhouetted against a huge window and he was holding a deadly-looking pistol pointed at Giovanni’s chest.

  “Sonia, run!” Giovanni shouted at her, shielding her body with his.

  But she wasn’t going anywhere, even if Tony hadn’t said loudly, “Stop right there if you don’t want me to blow off his head right now as you watch!”

  She froze, barely breathing, gripping Giovanni’s arm hard. He flinched involuntarily and she realized it was his wounded shoulder she’d clasped.

  Tony saw the movement and laughed, motioning them into the room with the pistol—a definitely deadly Smith & Wesson, fascinating in its lethal beauty.

  “I see your wound hasn’t healed yet,” he remarked when Giovanni advanced slowly into the wide room, followed by Sonia. She wondered vaguely how her knees managed to support her, and how come her heart didn’t simply burst from beating so fast.

  “So it was you who ordered me killed, you motherfucker,” Giovanni said, facing Tony, hatred making his voice vibrate between the white walls. “Sonia, get behind me,” he ordered, but Barella interrupted him, gesturing with the gun.

  “No, I think not. I’m the one who’s giving orders here, Coriola. Miss Galsworthy,” he continued with maddening politeness. “Please stand over there, where I can see you both. I hope you appreciate the courtesy I’m offering you by speaking English. After all, this is all about you.”

  Sonia’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Speechless, she stared at Tony Barella, wondering if he was mad.

  He motioned them to the far side of the living room, in a darker corner next to a bookshelf, while he was now standing in front of a big square window. The milky light coming from outside lighted half of his handsome face. The other half was in shadow, as was his left arm, with which he held the gun. Nevertheless, they all knew he had it.

  “What are you talking about?” she said on a gasp, shocked by his words, her hand searching Giovanni’s. When she found it, he clasped hers hard, inching close to her.

  “I’ve always thought you’re crazy, Barella,” Giovanni said, “but I never thought you were smart enough to be evil. What business could you have with Sonia?”

  “We’ll get to that. First tell me, how did it feel to be hunted and shot at like a rabbit?”

  “So, it was you. I thought as much. You never did have the balls to do anything like that. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me you had to hire a gun to do your dirty work for you. Like you have to blackmail people to get your way.”

  Sonia squeezed his fingers hard. It was not the time to piss off this man, who was already giving serious signs of mental instability.

  Tony’s face contorted with fury and his finger wavered on the trigger, but he seemed to get a grip on his control. Instead, he smiled.

  “Well, well, aren’t you the clever boy? I see our friend, Mister Marco, has let his conscience get the best of him. I hoped he would.”

  They must have looked surprised, because Tony laughed and continued. “How else would I know you’d be here? My man—Adriano Alba is his name, by the way—is in prison, thanks to you and his own foolish carelessness. He will die there before he opens his mouth. So I didn’t have anyone else to follow you around. But I have Marco’s phones bugged, so I knew the moment he called you. Knowing your temper, my dear brother-in-law, I could count on you making an appearance. And you did.”

  “Why did you do it, you son of a bitch? Why did you sabotage Gerard’s attempts to put his treatments on the market? Just to get back at Linda for dumping your worthless ass? It never occurred to you to think of the children who died because of your egomaniacal vengeance? Or was it because Gerard broke your fucking nose that time when you appeared at Linda’s art exhibit?”

  Tony’s smile vanished, and Sonia noticed he tightened his hold on the pistol. His hand was steady as a rock. Mad he might be, but he didn’t need to be a class A marksman to aim from this distance. He definitely had them trapped, and he knew it.

  “Nobody pisses me off and lives, Coriola. You will soon learn that on your own skin. Sabotaging Linda’s worthless husband and his silly efforts was just for entertainment. Like watching a fly struggle in a spider’s web. It was so rewarding to hear about his valiant struggle with the medical system to patent that lousy treatment of his,” he said in derision, then barked a short laugh. “He’s just an idealistic idiot, and Linda deserves what she got. I did that just because I could, and because it was fun. But you’re wrong. Your sister and the idiot she married aren’t the reason why you will die. This is,” he emphasized the two words and pointed toward Sonia’s chest.

  * * * *

  Reflexively, Giovanni lunged in front of Sonia, shielding her body with his, thinking Tony was about to pull the trigger. But Barella only laughed, ap
pearing to enjoy himself tremendously.

  “Don’t worry, Coriola. I wasn’t about to shoot her. Not yet, anyway. It’s not her I was referring to, but the amulet she’s wearing.”

  Giovanni had his arms back, holding Sonia behind him, glued to his body. Hearing this, both him and Sonia startled.

  “The amulet?”

  Their voices entwined incredulously in that single stunned question. Was this what all was about all along? An old, obscure pendant given to them by an old, obscure antique dealer?

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Giovanni asked, keeping Sonia pressed to his back, though his injured shoulder was aching from the effort.

  He could feel her heart pounding as fast as his, feel her accelerated breathing on the back of his neck while she was holding on tight to his waist.

  “You had no clue about it, right?” Tony asked with a wide grin of satisfaction. “Well, neither had I, until we met that day in Rome. I’m lucky I have exceptional self-control, otherwise I think I would have actually gaped when I saw your girlfriend here wearing Dante’s amulet—which I’ve spent years looking for. Though I must say, I can’t figure out how you two came across it,” he mused, rubbing his chin with his free hand.

  Giovanni was trying to assimilate this avalanche of gibberish, as he studied the other man’s face. Was he really dangerously insane, or just a cold, calculated egomaniac? Hard to determine at this point. Just keep him talking, he thought as he planned his next move.

  “We found it in a jewelry shop,” he lied, keeping his voice steady. “But what would you want with this amulet? It’s just a piece of jewelry. Why do you want it so bad you’re willing to kill for it?”

  Tony snorted, lowering the barrel of the gun just a bare inch.

  “Just a piece of jewelry,” he mocked. “I can see you know nothing about its history, or its powers. But then, it only works for powerful people, not for ignorant profanes like you. You see, the amulet is magic,” he hissed, dividing a look between Sonia and Giovanni.

  For a brief second, his eyes flashed strangely, alive with such an evil gleam it made Giovanni’s blood freeze. There was madness here, in this semi-dark room. A madman drunk on power was the most dangerous thing he could imagine at the moment. He had to get Sonia out of there, even at the price of his own life. If she didn’t react soon, he’d have to lunge at Tony. Calculating the distance between them, he blinked, trying to refocus on keeping the man talking.

  From behind him, Sonia’s voice came, loud and unexpectedly calm, just as he felt her hand fumbling slowly at the small of his back. She’d finally felt the gun!

  “What are you saying, Mister Barella?” she asked. “What powers do you think… Does the amulet have?”

  Tony’s gaze moved toward Sonia’s face, a morbid interest sparkling in his eyes. If he wasn’t afraid he’d distract her attention from dislodging the gun from his waistband without Tony noticing, Giovanni would have tightened his grip on her. The uneasy once-over Barella was giving her made him want to kill the man with his bare hands. He tried to mask Sonia as best as he could with his body and wide shoulders. Tony spoke again.

  “You can drop the mister, cara Sonia. After all, we’re quite intimately acquainted right now. As I recall, Adriano sent me some interesting pictures of you. I admire a beautiful woman with a spicy character and a lovely toned body,” he said in that reptilian tone, laughing when he noticed Giovanni’s lips tightening. “Ah, well, we can get to that later,” he went on, the gun in his hand dropping another inch, as he adopted a conversational posture.

  “I guess you deserve to know the story of the amulet—all things considered. You see, there are less than a handful of people in the world who know about its existence, you and me included. I can’t imagine what it was doing in a jewelry shop. This amulet belonged to the great Dante Alighieri. I have extensive references and documentation about it, but I’ve never actually seen it until we met in Rome. It is said that Dante was a member of a secret craft, where magic in its purest form was practiced from the oldest times. Only high initiates were revealed the secrets of the trade. This amulet—whose origins have been traced as far back as the year 400—has been passed to those who were most worthy of perpetuating the magic knowledge inside the craft. When it came to Dante, around 1290, there were turbulent and uncertain times in Florence. The poet was an important political personality, among his other interests. But that had brought him many enemies. The craft was divided and ultimately decimated, its members killed or thrown in jail. Dante had no one to whom he could pass the amulet, so he kept it, even after he was exiled in 1301.”

  Giovanni was listening to Barella while he talked. Judging by the accuracy and precision with which he described the facts, the man seemed perfectly sane. If someone was listening at that moment, they would have never believed Tony was holding his captive audience at gunpoint, with every intention of killing them over an inanimate object he thought had magic powers.

  Fatigue and standing so tense for so long made him feel weak and lightheaded, but he pushed his body to its limits, knowing his life and Sonia’s depended on him. He felt her slide the pistol free from his waistband, her left hand checking it to make sure it was ready to fire. He took a deep breath and continued listening to Tony, who was gesticulating with the hand holding the gun as he told them the story of the amulet.

  “Dante was buried with the amulet, but somehow it surfaced again. Since then, it belonged to kings, emperors, witches and whoever else the amulet chose to possess and be possessed by.”

  “How did you learn all this?” Sonia asked, sounding truly fascinated with Tony’s story. “And who else knows about it, besides us?”

  Tony smiled—a cold-blooded grin that left Giovanni expecting to see the wicked glint of fangs and smell sulfur.

  “The current, soon-to-be-ex leader of the Mascherati. Massimo Mascherati is a decrepit old man who has no power and no balls left. Of course, he has no idea who has the amulet. Not a soul knows, except myself.”

  “Mascherati? The Masked Ones?”

  Giovanni was stunned. He’d heard rumors about a powerful, worldwide secret society wearing that particular name, but he’d always figured it was just a fabrication, like so many others. It was supposed to be even more influential than The Illuminati.

  “Ah, I see you’ve heard about us.”

  “Us? You’re a member of the Mascherati?”

  Tony’s grin widened even more, his eyes brilliant in the diming light.

  “Not only a member, but the future leader, amico. That’s why I need the amulet. With it I can do anything. Dante’s amulet holds centuries of magic and knowledge, grants unlimited power to the one who has it—if that person is a worthy one. That’s the reason the amulet had no effect on you two. You’re too insignificant,” he said in mocking arrogance. “Now, if you’d be so kind and give it to me, darling Sonia.” He gestured with his free hand, his smile and eyes turning cold. “I’ve been waiting a long time to touch it.”

  Giovanni knew Tony was finished talking and could imagine what was to follow. He’d have to kill them, to keep the secret his twisted mind had conjured. This was the time to act. He would give his life without a qualm to save Sonia’s.

  At that moment, the ring of a phone broke the silence, startling all of them. It was Tony’s phone. His attention was distracted just for a fraction of a second, and Giovanni reacted. He quickly brushed his hand over the small of his back to make sure Sonia had his pistol, then braced himself to lunge at Tony.

  Before he could spring, Sonia pressed down hard on his left shoulder, pushing him down and sideways to the floor. She dropped down herself, as she aimed and fired—all in the same fluid motion.

  Giovanni’s head hit the leg of a nearby table and for a heart-stopping moment he thought he was about to lose consciousness, because he heard not one, but three gunshots at the same time. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision, in time to see Tony falling, a bright red bullet hole blossoming on his for
ehead, right between his stunned eyes. In a dark corner of his mind, pride swelled up for his woman and her perfect aim. Then he realized Barella had time to squeeze two shots in Sonia’s direction.

  * * * *

  Three days later they drove back to Florence, on the first sunny day of a new year. It was true their first New Year’s Eve spent together hadn’t been at all what they’d planned for, but in the end the air was beginning to clear, Sonia thought, watching the ice drip from eaves and rooftops, as they exited the city of Rome.

  After being extensively questioned by Commissioner Alberto and his police team, they were cleared of all suspicion. It was obviously a case of self-defense and only by a miracle—the ballistic team had declared—none of Tony’s shots had touched Sonia.

  It was also useful that Tony had revealed to them the identity of his hired assassin. Once he’d found out his boss had betrayed him, Adriano Alba started talking, grilled by Chief Romano, who’d called Giovanni to inform him Alba had a lot to say about Tony Barella, as well as his illegal operations with wines, drugs and guns.

  They’d stayed with Giovanna and Fabrizzio, who were kind and caring, keeping the press at bay and fussing over them like hens. Everyone had been supportive and understanding, but Sonia was glad they were finally returning home. She supposed she should feel as though they were picking up the pieces of their life and try to rebuild it. That she should feel remorse for killing a man. But she had no such feelings. No guilt, because Tony Barella had nearly caused her lover’s death and ruined too many lives to count, by his actions to impede Gerard from patenting and applying his treatment against cancer.

  And no more fear, because no one else knew about the amulet over which they were close to being killed for. Tony had said so.

  “I’m glad you thought of not telling the police about the amulet,” she told Giovanni, turning her head to look at him. He’d insisted on driving and she noticed he looked well rested in the sunlight. “I really couldn’t think straight right then,” she continued, recalling the cold numbness that had taken over after she’d mortally shot Barella. She’d crawled to Giovanni and grabbed on tight, both curled on the floor next to the dead man’s body, trying to hang on to sanity after having seen their own deaths in the glint of the pistol he’d pointed at them.