Too soon, Loppa and I returned to the scene of our ruined breakfast and the dotted blood splotches that proved one of my men paid a price to protect me.
That wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
The urge to kill Ringo was strong. “You bastard.”
“That’s the way my father made me,” he joked. I’d heard it often.
“You brought this to my door.”
“I did no such thing,” Ringo fired back. Then he pointed at the slope we’d just returned from. “And that? What did you find up there?”
“A body,” Loppa growled
Ringo grinned. “That’s two, Mario… Damn it, think!”
“About what? You stabbed me.”
“It was habit! How many times have we sparred like that? How many times do I have to tell you to trap the arm before it comes across the body? You’re still making that mistake. You’re just lucky I wasn’t really trying to kill you.”
Allie rushed out. I grabbed her and pulled her under the overhang. Even though we’d swept the hillside, that didn’t mean it was safe.
“Are you okay? Really okay?” She was careful not to touch my wounded side, but searched my eyes for the truth.
“I’m fine.”
Ringo kept ranting. “And this bullshit with you sitting in the open. Fucking paint a goddamn sign on your back or something!”
Ellie followed her sister onto the terrace.
No fewer than three people shouted, including Ringo. “Get inside.”
“No. I thought?—”
It was clear she was confused. Worse? Emotionally attached to Ringo. That bastard likely seduced my wife’s sister. I rounded on him. “You’ve delivered the girl. Leave.”
“No can do. I control your marker and figured out a way to clear you.”
“What?” Allie stepped in front of me, as if to protect me. I gathered her under an arm to tug her into my shadow.
“Show him, Ellie,” Ringo prompted.
“I don’t fucking have to show him anything. And you… y-you shot someone.”
Like it mattered to Ringo. He’d lord that kill over my head for a year or more if we survived the day.
“The papers, Ellie. You know, about that douchebag Pornstach.”
“You told him the nickname?” Allie asked her sister.
“It slipped out, I couldn’t help it.” Ellie shrugged and dug into her tote bag. She handed a stack of papers to Allie. “Here.”
“This is your itinerary for Rome.” Allie barely glanced at the pages and set them on the side table next to her. I picked them up and scanned them because the timetable summary on top caught my eye.
“Shit.” Ellie dug in the tote again. “Sorry, this stack.”
I reached across my wife to intercept the handoff. I tucked the travel information under the new pile.
There were multiple photos of Adelmo Conti’s murder scene. The car he’d been driving had been t-boned in an intersection. It would have been ruled an accident except for the bullet holes in his chest and between his eyes. Messy. How anyone thought I did this was beyond me.
