“I’m sorry!” she cried out. “I just – ”
“Nobody’s shot anybody from inside the car, nobody’s shotatthe car from the outside, and nobody’s bled, or died, or anythinginsidethe car. All we’ve done is drive around in it. That’s all.”
“…okay,” she said, and got in.
I didn’t mention that what I’d said was only true because it was anewcar.
It had replaced another one that got all shot up the night Mezzasalma’s men attacked Adriano, Bianca, Massimo, and Lars at the hotel.
I figured there was no need to alarm Emilia…
…and she’d asked specifically aboutthiscar… notallour cars.
What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
The Arno River cuts through Florence from east to west and borders Historic Venice on the south. We had to cross the river to reach the Boboli Gardens. The neighborhood was called theOltrarno –literally, ‘the other side of the Arno.’
The medieval Florentines were very imaginative in naming things.
It took forever to find parking. Unless you own a business like Bianca’s, street parking in Florence is a nightmare. But we finally found a spot a tenth of a mile away and walked to the side gate to enter the gardens.
Unfortunately, there was a line 50 people long snaking down the sidewalk.
Fortunately, Niccolo had warned me there were timed entrances to the gardens. They only let people in every 30 minutes to prevent the place from becoming swamped with tourists. I’d planned ahead and bought some ‘Skip The Line’ tickets on the internet.
Unfortunately, that didn’t mean jack shit.
We bypassed the line and headed towards the tiny window with only one teller that let people through –
But a big, burly guard with a bald head stopped us and said, “Back of the line.”
“I’ve got a Skip The Line ticket,” I said, holding out my phone to show him.
He didn’t even look. “Doesn’t matter. Everybody here has tickets.”
“But it’s a Skip The Line ticket – ”
“Back of the line!” the bald guy snapped.
I paid 50 euros apiece for those Skip The Line tickets, and I was gettingpissed.
“LOOK, MAN – ”
“It’s fine, we’re going, thanks!” Emilia called out as she tugged hardon my arm.
“What’re you – ”
“Comeon,let’sgo,”she whispered.
I let her drag me to the end of the line.
“I paid good money for those tickets – ” I started.
“I get it,” she whispered, “but I was afraid you were going to…”
She trailed off.
“Afraid I was going to what?” I asked.
