“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.
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.