Chapter 12
Allie
Despite Mario’s promise not to talk about me, or around me, the hushed whispers with his guards and Aiaiu were just that.
It’s amazing how much body language plays a part in communication.
The glances, the sudden silences when I entered a room told a story that was plain.
I’d stepped in it. But no one would explain it to me.
“You can’t stand near the window.” Loppa’s hand barred me from peering out the top floor’s suite window.
“Why?”
He glanced toward Don Manca’s room as if searching for guidance from his boss. However, both Aiaiu and Mario were deep in discussion with his father. Something had changed and those three were thick as thieves lately.
“Tell me, Loppa. Did I imagine that knife aimed at me?”
He paled. “We are taking care of that.”
Ah. As in taking care of permanently. Something I really didn’t need to know. I’d not only made a huge error trusting Mario, but also in coming to Italy. These men made my grandfather look like…well, an accountant.
In frustration, I tried calling my sister, again.
She hadn’t answered any of my calls since that odd conversation where she’d hung up on me.
I needed her now. She’d tell me exactly what she thought.
Or worse, take on an obviously established crime organization’s whole family to spring me from this luxury prison.
Of course, the conversation could go in the opposite direction with Ellie telling me to “go for it” and live a little.
But this wasn’t living. It was hiding—which didn’t sit well with Mario.
That was plain.
He was cranky, nervous, irritable, and short. Not with me, but with everyone else, even his grandfather.
From the tight way Loppa tensed his proverbial butthole, I’d guess not many spoke to Don Manca that way.
I dug out my headphones and doubled down on learning Italian from the language app on my phone.
“The villa is safest.” Don Manca issued his opinion like an order.
“It is —” Was that word “isolated?”
“Perhaps the island?” His father suggested.
I scrambled to find the auto translator which could display the speech in text on my screen.
“It is too far to travel.” Mario used the same authoritative tone his grandfather had.
Loppa reached across my line of vision and pulled the phone from my hands. His frown held a hint of amusement, but he shook his head at me anyway.
Busted. “You’d do the same thing,” I told him.
“You’ll learn the language faster by hearing it and understanding it, not translating it.”
My glare was a language of its own. One that made Loppa shift uncomfortably.
“They are making travel plans, we can’t stay in Milan.”
“You’d think a member of government would have better security,” I muttered.
“His team are amateurs.” Loppa’s smug chin shifted higher into the air. “Come, I think you need a break.”
He led me to a space two floors down. Firenze lounged on a long couch while a few of Don Valentini’s guards monitored the security feeds in an adjacent room.
“I thought we were going outside.” It came out as a pout.
“Not an option. You are homesick. Pick a movie.” Loppa handed me the remote for the television and with it, my phone.
I wasn’t homesick, was I? I glanced at my phone to see if Ellie had called.
Damn. He nailed my problem with deadly accuracy. I picked up the remote determined to not blush beet red.
As I scrolled through the thumbnails, a familiar mask stood out. I paused on it. I’d never actually seen the opera or the movie. Perhaps?
“Loppa, do you like opera?”
“Bella signora, opera is in the life blood here.”
Good. I tapped play.
Loppa was the armchair-commentator type movie watcher. Firenze was the silent observer. I was somewhere between and Loppa switched to English for most of his criticism.
“This is not an opera.”
“The music, ugh…repetitive.”
“Their swords are dull.”
But about half-way through both Firenze and Loppa shifted to the edge of their seats.
“That is ridiculous! Use a garrote you idiot.”
Firenze’s softer voice commented, and I couldn’t make out what he said.
“What is wrong with that?”
Loppa pulled the remote from my hand and jogged the scene to the beginning. “Okay. She tells him to keep his hand at the level of his eyes. Good.”
Firenze held up his hand to illustrate.
“But, a noose? Please. You can’t conceal it; you can’t loop it quickly enough. And it is much harder to push a garrote away. One must turn into the pull.”
“Sorry?”
“Let’s demonstrate,” Firenze offered.
He stood, just like the love interest did.
“My hand is here.”
Loppa stood behind him and brought out a very real, very wicked-looking cord.
“Is that real?”
“Eh, anything is a garrote, but wire is best. It hurts more. Perhaps I should change this… Firenze?”
“Don’t bother. This is a child’s technique.”
The sinister way Loppa grinned wasn’t reassuring.
He explained his move. “A professional would see his hand ready and pull their knife. One quick thrust through the ribs here—does the trick easily. But let’s say we are not dealing with professionals.
I come over his head like this.” He had the wire in front of Firenze almost immediately. The edge dug into his raised wrist.
Firenze picked up the commentary. “In the movie, he catches the attempt with his arm. Good, but…” He turned his head to the side and braced his fist against his cheek.
“You brace your head on the attacker’s shoulder so he can’t pull you off balance.
As you do this, pull down on the wire. Turn your body so it is facing your attacker.
See? Your arm is still trapped and using your weight against their arm, but your other arm is free. Strike.”
He swung his free arm and stopped short of Loppa’s nuts.
“Here. Hard. Hit harder than you think you can, as many times as you can. Understand? Five times harder. Strike fast. You cannot hit hard enough.” He swung his arm. Loppa turned to avoid a direct hit.
“This is practice, my friend.”
Firenze grinned. “Loppa turned, but you see, he is now paying attention to where you are striking and it added slack on the cord. You can breathe.” He angled his arm and pulled the garrote taut, then ducked his head through the opening to escape the noose. “You escape.”
“Again.”
Firenze went back to his initial position.
Loppa came up behind him. “This will be the professional attack, if they have no knife, or need the kill to be very quiet. I will loop the cord, cross my hands, turn to pull him off his feet.”
Similar to before, Loppa swept his arms over Firenze’s head but he crossed his right hand over his left, making the noose tighter than before. “A professional crosses the wire, see? Then twists, so.”
Firenze turned, slapped Loppa’s leg, then tapped his fists into Loppa’s chest, chin, and ended with a strike to the jaw with his open palm.
“The trick is to always turn to face the attacker as quickly as possible, and keep your feet under you. You cannot lose your balance. If you do, get as close to the attacker as possible for the turn. Let’s show her without the hand up. ”
Loppa moved behind him again, and this time Firenze didn’t have his hand up.
“A moment.” Loppa undid his belt and slipped the garrote into a sleeve. “I’ll hurt him less this way,” he told me.
This time their moves were so fast I could barely see what happened.
Loppa twisted and they scrambled several steps as Firenze turned toward him, keeping one hand on the belt and his feet scrambling with the motion of the pull.
He hit Loppa and they went down to the ground.
A vase on a nearby table became unbalanced and tilted sharply to the edge.
I jumped up and caught it in time to save it.
Loppa and Firenze were on the carpet grinning up at me.
“See?” Loppa said. “Amateurs would use something so obvious.” He pointed at the movie.
“Your turn.” Firenze suggested.
“Oh, no.”
“You need to know this. Like he said, it is a child’s lesson.” Loppa pointed at the spot where Firenze stood before.
“Go easy on me.”
“I will.”
After the third instruction, he quickened the pace, and I misread his attack, fell backward into Loppa, lost my footing, and practically choked myself on the belt he used.
“That’ll leave a bruise,” Firenze commented. “You need to be more careful with your nephew’s bride.”
“Do you think her attackers will be careful?”
Before they could argue more, Mario stepped into the room. “What are you doing?!”
From my vantage point on the carpet, I was able to see both Loppa and Firenze freeze in place. The guilty grimaces on their faces were easy to read.
I brushed my knees off, preparing to stand. “We were watching your movie.”
“My movie?”
The screen was still paused at the point Loppa stopped it. The phantom in the mask frozen in place, a rope in his hands.
Mario shifted his eyes from the screen to me. “You see me as a villain?”
“No.” Unfortunately, I didn’t sound as certain as I felt. Maybe I wasn’t certain at this point. There were similarities. For instance, I wasn’t free to leave. From Firenze to Don Manca, they truly believed it was for my safety, but I wasn’t buying it anymore.
“Cara.”
I lifted my eyebrow. Sure, I knew the word meant heart or beloved or something like that, and I could tell by Mario’s tone he was using it as a term of endearment, but were we there yet?
He held out his hand.
I let him help me up.
No sooner than I was on my feet, he turned my chin from one angle to the other, checking the damage to my neck. The grim frown and the tightness of his jaw were an instant clue to the emotions running through his thoughts.
“Loppa?” Mario spoke his name without shifting his gaze away from me.
“Nephew.”
Mario paused. Loppa practically growled the word.
“I didn’t know he was your uncle.”
“He is Don Manca’s third son. Just a few years older than my mother.”
I stared at his eyes to tell him to calm down and that I was unharmed. Embarrassed, sure. But then again, as Loppa repeatedly stated, I knew less than a child. But if they taught this technique to their children, that meant Mario must have learned in a similar manner. “I’m not hurt.”
His finger traced across my neck. It traveled along the path that had hurt the worst, but the sting was almost gone. His fingertip actually tickled, and I flinched.
“Not hurt?”
“That tickles.”
His frown cleared, and a small smile replaced it. His eyes moved to lock onto mine. And once again he traced along my neck.
I fought the urge to flinch away again. But he hit the softer skin behind my ear and I twisted to avoid further torment.
“Firenze will instruct her until she’s better acclimated to the lifestyle. He is my second cousin, and not so bloodthirsty.”
Silence greeted Mario’s order. He turned to scrutinize Loppa. “Are we clear?”
His uncle remained silent for a short time longer. “I will cover the non-contact safety training. For example, entering and exiting buildings and vehicles.”
Mario nodded. “That will be acceptable.”
He glanced at the screen again. “How is the movie?”
“Not nearly as good as the wedding was,” I said.
Mario grinned. “We have time before we leave. Shall we?” He took my hand and led me to the couch.
Loppa backtracked the movie once more as I caught Mario up on the plot up to that point.
We settled in, holding hands and quiet as Loppa continued his commentary. I forgot about watching the movie, and instead studied the light play across Mario’s face. He was more handsome today than ever. But I could still remember the way the mask obscured his face, and gave him a sinister air.
Yes, he was a villain in some ways. His family definitely had their sketchy qualities.
His father was almost a caricature of polished political power.
His grandfather was an enigma. Kind, with a wicked sense of humor, and just enough shadows in his eyes that you knew he wasn’t as wholesome as he seemed.
Loppa could easily be cast into the role of villain, but I liked him best because he was supremely honest even when he hid things from me.
Firenze was competent.
Mario was all of that rolled into one man. Villain, enigma, polished, competent, and most of all, a gentleman.
Yet lurking underneath there were qualities that made my insides squirm, and my heart race. I could imagine him healthy and unleashed. Then he’d be a force of nature.
But more than all of that, he was my hero…my husband.