“I don’t remember you ever putting pleasure before business, Alexei,” he grumbled but gave Gianna a bow-like nod.
A lecherous smile threatened to appear on his lips but then he caught my eye. A dry chuckle sent his shoulders shaking. His head turned back to Gianna. He examined her like he would an Ides of March Denarius coin. Those eyes narrowed at me.
“I can always count on you bringing interesting things into my shop, Alexei,” he continued, pointing one of his boney fingers at Gianna with a more-or-less innocent smile. “It shouldn’t surprise me the first person you came with would more than match the antiquities. Don’t worry, I know better than to ask. So how much more is that funny internet money worth today compared to yesterday?”
“It rose two percent so that’s an extra hundred thousand euros for you,” I replied.
Gianna’s head darted my way the moment she’d done the math. Hadrian, with his attention to detail didn’t miss it, but the smirk left his face almost as soon as it arrived. As he said, he wouldn’t ask but her reaction helped him figure out my game. I’d let her think I’d been acting like a courier for a small sum earlier. Five million euros was well above what she’d considered small.
“I suppose that will work as a penalty for late delivery, but don’t let it happen again.” The old man slipped the book under the counter and his eyes turned to Gianna. “If you are ever in the market for something interesting, you’re welcome anytime. You don’t have to bring your man either. I don’t bite.”
His goggles dropped back into place. He leaned over his work, dismissing me with a wave, not even looking up at the glare I sent him. Gianna shook her head to recover from the unexpected sum we’d tossed around. As I led her out of the tiny cluttered shop, her eyes examined the displays and condition of the place with renewed interest.
“If you’re paying that guy five million euros, you’d think he’d have a nicer shop,” she whispered after we stepped away from the green door with it curling paint. “What are you paying him for?”
“What do you think?” I asked back as we continued down the alley.
Since I couldn’t see through those wavy raven locks and into her head, I used the question to test her again. Her surprises had delighted me so far, but there would be no better feeling than anticipating her next move, to know I’d started sliding the pieces into their proper places. That, and I’d get another look at that cute thinking face of hers.
Sure enough, she scrunched her eyes closed. Her head tilted to the side, sending her hair dancing in the sea breeze. She pursed her lips but then nodded.
“He sold antiques, but with the dust on some of those pieces, how out of the way his shop was, no sign at all? That was more a workshop than a store, and he had ancient pottery in front of him, not antiques,” she reasoned.
“It’d be a hell of an antique for the price I just paid him,” I added, earning a glare from Gianna.
“I was just about to point that out,” she said with heat, “if it was any old antique, or something even older like ancient Roman pottery, you wouldn’t make the transfer in such secrecy. It isn’t illegal to own antiques.”
She fell silent for a moment, but shot me another glare when my mouth opened to respond. I held my tongue as we stepped out of the alley onto a side street. Away from the tourists closer to the pier, only a few locals occupied this street. A couple sat on the stoop of a building, talking quietly, an old hunched man shuffled past us, his cane hand shaking every time he tapped it to the stone.
“Of course, owning or selling stolen antiques and ancient artifacts is illegal,” she continued. Her eyes focused on the old man for a moment before she continued. “And with the paints he had on his workbench, he was either restoring that pottery, or he was recreating it, creating a forgery.”
“What’s more likely?” I asked, risking her withering glare.
It didn’t come. She turned chipmunk for a second and then smiled triumphantly. As captivating as she was, two men turned onto the side street from an alley a hundred feet behind us. They stole some of my attention from that radiant grin.
“I’ve taken one archeology class in my life, it was a gen ed class my freshman year, so I’m not an expert in the subject,” she said, qualifying her next statement.
I wanted to interrupt, point out the Sun Tzu quote she’d used on me earlier. By couching her next statement, she was pretending weakness to hide her strength, but the men behind us started with a quicker pace. They crept closer in on us.
Gianna’s eyes darted back, her head already tilted toward me. They narrowed at the men behind us for a moment but she continued.
“From what I understand, restoring something like that hurts its price, sometimes significantly. Antiques should look antique,” she said, then glanced behind us again. “Unless he is some kind of master, he’s not restoring an artifact worth five million euros. So my guess is that he is a forger and probably a fence for stolen artifacts too.”
Before I could answer, a man stepped out from a small alley in front of us. A loose, light-colored suit with an open collar hung over his large frame. He leaned against the corner of the building in front of the alley. The telltale bulge of a weapon at his side showed, even under such a baggy coat. He held his arm casually behind it but ready to deploy should he need to.
The two men walking behind came within ten yards. Dressed like the gunman in front of us, no weapons made themselves known under their coats. I planned for the welcoming committee. Franco would have known Gianna had been in the country. He would have had his men be on the lookout if she came into his territory.
The gun surprised me. Franco wouldn’t hurt her, or me… assuming his men knew who I was and they should. I’d done business with the man, after all. They’d clearly brought the gun to scare me but I didn’t scare easy. The La Cosa Nostra had enough pressure on them these days, they wouldn’t shoot someone so close to the tourists.
“I hate to interrupt your visit to our beautiful city. Romantic, no?” the man in front of us said in accented English, “but I’m going to have to insist that Miss La Rosa come with me.”
“Miss La Rosa? That was my mother’s name,” Gianna whispered with a hiss before unleashing her cute chipmunk face then shaking it off immediately. Now wasn’t the time to ponder a question, not even one as big as that. She glared at the man leaning against the corner of the building in front of us.
“I’m afraid I’ve grown quite attached to her.” I held up our clasped hands. “I don’t think your boss would be very happy if you interfered with me.”
If the encounter followed my plan, the man would have grown flush with angry eyes, only to shake his head. He and his thugs would walk away. Franco did a lot of business with the Bratva, knew what happened to those who challenged us. That’d leave me to answer Gianna’s many questions, show her what kind of man the Bastard truly was.
No plan survived first contact with the enemy, though. The gun under the man’s coat told me I’d miscalculated Franco’s response, how far he’d go in his vendetta against her father.
