Falling for Italy (25 page)

“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 forehead, 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.

“It was for the best,
amore
. You heard what that lunatic said. Not a soul knows we have this amulet. If any other crazy bastard found out somehow, this infernal hunt for it would never stop.”

“Yeah. Do you think—” she began, then took out the amulet from her pocket and studied it carefully, reverentially. The old silver shone, catching sunrays with its ruby center. She stared at it, as though seeing it for the first time, trying to penetrate with her eyes the very soul of that stone. She imagined it in the hands of mysterious people in black clothes, chanting or casting spells in dark rooms or under the moonlight, and shuddered. “Do you think the story Tony told us was true? That the amulet has magic powers?”

He snorted, but without much conviction.

“Right. It’s just an object, Sonia. Metal and stone. Its history could be true and I intend to do some research about that. But the magic powers stuff—that’s just the figment of delusional minds. However, since the world is full of madmen, we have to make sure not a soul knows about it. No more wearing it,” he cautioned her, raising his index finger.

“Maybe this saved our lives.”

“Are you kidding?
You
saved our lives. Did I thank you for that?”

She puffed out an amused breath.

“No need. You’re the one who saved us both by taking that gun. I nearly cried with joy when I felt it under your sweater.”

“I thought you’d never find it,” he confessed, shaking his head. “Thank God I was too furious to put on my jacket.”

They were quiet for a time, listening to the purring engine and watching the demarcation lines they were leaving behind on the highway.

“I was about to say I’m glad it’s over,” she spoke again, absently tucking the pendant back in her jeans pocket. “But there’s one other person who knows we have it. The old antiquarian. We must find him.”

“I know. We’re heading straight to his shop when we reach Firenze,” Giovanni said curtly, his face set in grim lines.

But when they reached Florence, they didn’t find the old man.

They parked the car as close as they could to the place where they’d stumbled across the bizarre antique shop no more than a couple of weeks before, on a cold, dark December evening. Hand in hand, they walked at a quick pace along the narrow street with its tall, crammed buildings and old stone pavement.

It was the second of January and all the shops were closed, the streets empty. People were probably snuggling in their homes, recovering from New Year’s parties and celebrations, so they didn’t expect to see the row of paintings adorning the sidewalk next to the shop, as they had the first time. And of course, the street was deserted. No paintings, no movement.

But what astonished them the most was that, when they reached the place where the shop’s front door had been, they found nothing but a flat brick wall.

They stopped dead, looking up, shading their eyes from the strong sunlight. They couldn’t believe the antique shop was gone. Vanished.

“What the hell…” Giovanni said on a gust of disbelief.

“Are you sure this is the place?” Sonia asked him, as dismayed as he was, glancing around for any sign of a person who could give them indications or explanations.

“Of course I’m sure. It was right here.” He touched the gray brick with his fingers. “This is crazy!” he exclaimed, dragging both hands through his short hair in absolute frustration.

Sonia spotted a woman shaking out a quilt on one of the upper floor balconies, a few windows down from the place they were standing. She hurried to catch her, speaking loudly in her limited Italian.

“
Signora! Mi scusi!
A shop…here?” She pointed out to where Giovanni stood.