Enzo’s gut tightened. If it hadn’t been this guy, then there were other players involved, which is what he’d feared. More players meant fewer chances to anticipate what was coming. “Well, your two guys went down an embankment. I have no idea if they lived.”
“Shit.” The man’s jaw clenched. “That wasn’t us. I don’t know who that was.”
“But you know more about it than you’re saying,” Enzo prompted.
The guy opened his mouth and then shut it again. He glanced around and frowned. “Let’s just say there are more …interested parties…than just us out here looking for this thing. That’s why you need to give it to me. Now.”
Enzo ran his eyes over the crowd. He needed to be aware of everything just in case. He glanced at Kathleen. She’d gone pale but was standing her ground. He turned back to the guy as the light reflected off something in his ear. An earpiece. Of course. That confirmed he wasn’t alone, although he’d said “us” earlier, so it didn’t come as a surprise.
Kathleen stepped forward, her tone sharp. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Enzo couldn’t agree more. He swung the backpack off his shoulder and brought it in front of him. He’d argued earlier when she’d wanted to carry it. Thank God he’d won that one.
“And I have your guarantee you’re not going to try to kill us?” he asked, his voice low, hard.
“I told you I didn’t try to kill you the first time. I’m sure as hell not going to do it now. Once I have this, you’re out of this as far as we’re concerned.”
Enzo started to unzip the bag when movement in the corner of his vision made him tense. A cyclist cutting through the square too fast.
Kathleen gasped next to him, and Enzo grabbed her arm, pivoting, putting himself between her and the incoming bike. The rider lunged, fingers brushing the edge of the backpack, pulling it from Enzo’s grasp, but the biker didn’t have a good enough hold on it. The bag went flying through the air and then hit the cobblestones hard.
The man in the hat dove for it, but tourists got in his way. Enzo moved faster. He snatched the pack, grabbed Kathleen’s hand, and ran. They sprinted across the square, into the Galleria, weaving through the throng until they burst out the other side.
“Why didn’t you let him have it?” she panted beside him.
Enzo didn’t slow. His head was on a swivel, scanning for threats.
“You could have just left the backpack. It would have all been over,” she said in an accusing tone.
“I’m not so sure,” he ground out. “There’s more than one player in this game. And until we know who’s pulling the strings, it’s not safe. The guy said once he had the bag that we were out of it as far as he and his people were concerned, but these other players are unknowns. And this is the only bargaining chip. Until we know more, you’re not safe regardless.”
The crowd thinned as they reached the street. That’s when he heard it, the whine of a motor. He turned, and the biker was back. This time on a motorcycle with a friend and a gun.
Enzo shoved Kathleen ahead of him and cut down a narrow alley. “Run!” The shout echoed off the stone walls as they tore through the passageway. A gunshot cracked behind them, the bullet sparking off the wall above Kathleen’s head. She screamed. He yanked her harder, taking the corner at full speed.
A car waited, doors flung open.
Enzo pushed her inside, dove in after her, and slammed the door. The car lurched forward, engine roaring. He barked orders, the words sharp and clipped. The driver answered just as tersely.
The tires screamed as the sedan fishtailed out of the alley, clipping a row of trash bins and sending them spinning across the cobblestones. Enzo braced one arm against the door and the other around Kathleen’s shoulders, forcing her down as another shot cracked through the night. The rear window shattered, glass spraying across the back seat.
“Merda,” Enzo hissed. “They’re still on us.”
The driver, a compact man with sharp reflexes, jerked the wheel hard right, plunging them down a narrow side street that barely fit the car. The headlights flared off ancient stone, the echo of the engine bouncing between walls like thunder.
“Matteo, where’s Danny?” Enzo demanded. His capo was usually behind the wheel.
“He’s in another vehicle waiting for instructions,” was Matteo’s clipped response.
Kathleen clutched the seat belt, trying unsuccessfully to pull it on. It was locked with all the harsh braking and wouldn’t let go. “They’re still there!” she yelped as she finally twisted and got the seatbelt clicked into place
Enzo twisted to look. The motorcycle burst out of the alley behind them; two riders crouched low. The one in the rear raised a gun, muzzle flashing in staccato bursts. Bullets tore through the air, pinging off metal, ricocheting against stone. He was pretty sure one lodged in the rear quarter panel by the sound of the metallic thud.
“Down!” Enzo shouted. He shoved her lower just as the rear window shattered and spewed glass over them. Another round tore through the headrest.
Matteo slammed the gearshift down and gunned the engine. The sedan leapt forward, barely clearing a fruit stand as the vendor dove for safety, shouting curses that disappeared behind them.
The bike gained on them again, weaving with terrifying precision through the twisting streets. Enzo watched through the rearview mirror, calculating angles and timing turns. They couldn’t outrun the bike in the old quarter, too tight, too exposed.
