The men stepped closer behind us. Their leader inched his hand toward the concealed gun. Close as we were, I’d have him with a quick pounce. But if I did that, the men behind us would take Gianna before I could stop them. That was an unacceptable outcome.
She slipped her hand out of mine and widened her stance, knees bent with her right leg slightly in front of the left. I recognized the Krav Maga stance. Three on two were better odds then three on one, though I preferred a nice even three on three if it had to come to blows like this.
As if reading my mind, ever faithful Oleg more than evened the odds. His meaty hand appeared behind the leader. Thick fingers grasped the side of the man’s head. It slammed against the corner with a crack. The stricken man fell to the street, eyes rolling back. His coat opened, exposing the stubby sawed-off shotgun underneath.
The men behind us rushed forward. I lashed out with a lighting fast kick to the closest one’s leg but spared Gianna a glance. The strike hit too low to snap his knee. The bottom of my foot slammed into his shin. The leg gave out but he tumbled forward. His hands scrambled for purchase. One latched onto my belt and took me down on top of him.
An elbow to the back of his head dropped him out of the fight. By the time I scrambled off his back to protect Gianna, the other man had latched his arms around her shoulders. No. I wouldn’t lose her so easily. Adrenalin fueled the leap to my feet but she surprised me yet again.
Her head snapped to the side, hands latched over his below her neck. Her shoulders shifted as she bent her attacker with her momentum. She slipped out of his hold. With him bent over, her knee shot up and cracked against his skull. He crumpled to join his friends on the street.
Still in her stance, her eyes found mine. Oleg stepped next to me. He held the shotgun in his gloved hands. Its breach open, the shells tumbled to the street before he snapped it and dropped the pieces.
Gianna’s chest heaved with each excited breath, damn distracting given the dress she was wearing. For a brief moment, I wondered if she’d attack us and try to run. Had Oleg not shown up, she might have rolled the dice with me, but her brows furrowed. She wanted answers more than a chance to escape my presence.
“Why the hell did he call me Miss La Rosa?” she hissed and fell out of her stance, an accusing finger waggling my way. “I can tell you know something. Tell me what the hell’s going on.”
Two men rushed out of the alley behind Oleg. The nearest drew his arm back to sucker punch my body guard. The big man ducked the blow. I turned to help but two more men appeared down the street in the other direction, running our way.
“I’ve got these two,” barked Oleg before he caught the arm of the next puncher and tossed the man into the nearest wall. He pointed to the other two. “Can you take them?”
Gianna and I shared a look. Her narrowed eyes remained suspicious, the angry flush of her cheeks continued but she nodded and dropped back into her Krav Maga stance. I faced our opponents with a fierce smile on my face. We’d take them out together, allies against a shared enemy.
11
Gianna
Adeep breath of salty air gave me focus, helped banish all the questions that had come from our Syracusian excursion so far. Alexei’s refined thug sent a fist flying at blistering speed toward one of the men he faced off against. It connected and sent the man sprawling. His buddy hit true with a punch of his own, but it only knocked the Russian’s chin back.
Alexei bent his knees and fell into a fighting stance I didn’t recognize, his fists raised like a boxer’s. Our two opponents rushed forward. Both had their eyes on me, but with a quick glance, the bigger of the two stepped in front of Alexei. They knew he’d need to go down first if they wanted me at all, to say nothing about Oleg.
Time slowed. My pulse hammered behind my ears. This was the moment I had been waiting for. As much as I wanted to demand Alexei answer all the questions that came with the Mafioso calling me by my mother’s maiden name, when you had a chance to escape, you either took it or regretted your hesitance later.
I danced forward on the balls of my feet. Alexei’s head snapped my way. He took a step to follow, aiming to stay parallel with me. My opponent reached my range first. He held one hand up with an apologetic frown on his thin face but tried to grab my arm with the other.
My shoulder spun back. I latched onto his upper arm and jerked him toward Alexei. My reluctant attacker stumbled into my captor’s side just after he connected with his own opponent, a fist to the jaw. All three tumbled to the ground but I didn’t wait to see what happened next.
I burst down the street, glad I’d packed a pair of sneakers. If I’d been wearing my favorite sandals, I’d have never made the turn down the next alley without falling on my face.
“Head back to the pier, I’ll find her!” Alexei’s voice echoed into the narrow alley I ran down.
His tone held no anger, but a hell of a lot of frustration. A traitorous part of me tried to insert a sense of pity for him in my mind. I’d left him in a mess, sure, but he’d kidnapped me and by the sounds of it, he and Oleg had taken the four men down easily enough.
At the end of the alley, I turned down the street. Narrow as the rest in this ancient part of the city, it wasn’t nearly as deserted as the last. A few people jumped out of my way as I thundered down the cobblestones. Someone swore at me in Italian but I dove into the next alley without response.
A clothesline hung between the buildings in front of me. A floral shawl dangled from it next to some whites. I leaped as I ran past. My fingertips just snagged the edge of the shawl. The whole clothesline sagged as I pulled, but it finally came loose. I wrapped it around my shoulders and kept running down the winding alleyway.
The next street widened enough for cars, at least one way, though only a couple crept down its path toward a larger open area. Tourists from the cruise ship crowded the square up ahead. Perfect. I slowed to a walk, brisk, but not a jog. Running now would only bring more attention to me.
I didn’t stop until I merged into the crowd of tourists. Most spoke English, a few with pronounced New Jersey accents. With the milling cruise passengers around me, I let them sweep me away. We traveled through the open square, a roundabout with a single car circling before it turned off down another narrow street. A few of the tourists stopped to take pictures of the fountain in the center. I had more important things to worry about than sightseeing.
The group continued down a narrower street, too small for cars, but almost every business had an outdoor stall. My deft hands liberated a pair of sunglasses from one table while the salesgirl haggled with a barking middle-aged tourist. He wore a Hawaiian shirt stretched across his gut even louder than his speaking voice.
A silk scarf at another table found its way into my hands. A few steps later, I had it covering my hair, knotted under my chin. Someone as observant as Alexei would probably see through the changes, but as long as I remained part of the tour, it shouldn’t be a problem.
The stalls my tourist entourage passed kept winnowing a few off at a time. A younger couple stopped at a small boutique, the girl dragging her partner inside. An old man perused the postcards of a souvenir stand.
As my shrinking shield continued on, the eyes behind my dark glasses darted everywhere. I kept my head shifting slower. If anyone looked my way, I wanted them to see only a tourist like all the others, not Gianna Marciano or La Rosa. It wasn’t just Alexei I’d fled, but the Sicilians who’d used my mother’s maiden name.
