Chapter 22 #2
Frederica remained mostly silent, a focused presence, occasionally murmuring updates. "Slowing slightly near Vicenza Ovest exit… maintaining speed… taking the Treviso Sud exit."
"Treviso Sud," Dario muttered. "Not heading into the centro storico. Interesting."
He followed the directions she fed into the car's nav screen, leaving the autostrada and navigating onto smaller provincial roads.
The surroundings became less industrial, more residential, and then gave way to open fields and scattered farmhouses. Dawn had fully broken now, a pale, watery sunlight filtering through the high clouds.
"He's stopped," Frederica said, her voice tightening a fraction. "Rural address. Nice and isolated."
Dario slowed the Audi, turning onto a narrow, tree-lined lane. It was more of a track than a road, flanked by high hedges and crumbling stone walls.
Up ahead, partially obscured by cypress trees, he saw the old blue Ducato van parked haphazardly outside a modest, slightly dilapidated two-story farmhouse. The dot on their screen pulsed directly over it.
"Showtime," Dario murmured, killing the engine and coasting the last hundred meters to park the Audi behind a thick screen of oleander bushes. They were about fifty yards from the farmhouse. "Looks quiet."
"Looks like a trap," Frederica countered, already checking her weapons with swift movements.
She pulled out a compact Sig Sauer, checked the chamber, and tucked it away again.
A slender stiletto blade appeared in her hand, was inspected, then vanished into a boot sheath. "He's making this too easy."
"Or he's just meeting his handler and thinks he's clever not being in the city," Dario said, pulling out his guns and performing the same ritual.
He checked to make sure one gun had tranqs, not bullets, remembering his orders to observe, report, and make minimal contact until they were extracting.
He had a feeling 'minimal contact' was about to get severely tested.
"All right, Spartan. What's the play? You want to sneak in the back while I knock on the front door and ask if Luigi's home?"
Frederica gave him a look that could freeze molten lead. "Spartan? I'll have you know I'm from Rhodes, not the Peloponnese."
"You look and act like a Spartan warrior. Very… Kassandra from Assassin's Creed," Dario replied with a teasing smirk. "So Spartan you are. Unless you prefer Spartana?"
Frederica rolled her eyes. "You need to work on your game when complimenting ladies, megálos arkoúdos."
"Nothing wrong with my game. When I start complimenting you, trust me, you'll know," he replied, widening his grin just because it would irritate her. He didn't know what she had just called him in Greek, but he was sure he wouldn't like it.
"Getting back to the reason we are here.
You see that balcony off the upper floor?
I'll go up there, get eyes inside. You…" she sighed, as if the very idea pained her, "can provide a distraction at the front.
See if you can lure them out or get a look inside without getting shot.
Then we tranquilize and extract for questioning. "
"Distraction? That's my specialty."
"Just don't try running into a firefight naked," she advised.
"Why? Would you be the one distracted then?" Dario asked, the old mercenary swagger momentarily resurfacing.
"It's a cold morning, and I don't need your shriveled pride flapping in the breeze."
Dario snorted. "Just try not to put a bullet into anyone until we know who's paying them."
"I remember," Frederica said flatly. She got out of the car and melted into the shadows of the hedgerow with the silent grace of a hunting cat, heading around the rear of the property.
Dario watched her go, a grudging respect warring with the sudden knowledge she had a great ass. The woman was terrifyingly good at her job, and he had to trust she would do her part.
Dario gave her a minute's head start, then took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and strolled casually up the dirt track toward the farmhouse's front door, whistling a tuneless melody.
He looked exactly like what he was pretending to be: a big, slightly lost, maybe hungover guy who had taken a wrong turn. Perfect distraction material.
He reached the weathered wooden door and knocked three loud raps.
"Pronto! Scusate il disturbo!" he called out, disguising his voice into cheerful confusion. "Mi sono perso! Sto cercando l'agriturismo La Quercia? Qualcuno mi può aiutare?"
Silence from inside. Dario strained his ears. He could hear faint movement, a muffled voice, and then the distinct, ominous sound of a shotgun being racked.
Oh, fantastic. Just what I need.
The door didn't open. A voice, rough and edged with suspicion, came from behind it. "Who is it? What do you want?"
Dario plastered a wide, slightly dopey grin on his face. "Ah! Finally! Sorry, friend, I'm completely lost. I'm renting an Airbnb around here, and I've gotten turned about. My wife is going to kill me if she wakes up, and I still haven't come home."
He heard a low, muttered conversation inside. Two voices, one definitely Luca. Then he heard the sound of the shotgun being set down, followed by the rattle of a chain being unhooked. The door creaked open a few inches, held by a security chain.
A stranger's face appeared in the gap. "You're on private property. Go away."
Dario didn't hesitate. He slammed his full weight, all 250 pounds of solid muscle, against the door.
The flimsy security chain snapped, and the door flew open, crashing against the interior wall.
The man on the other side stumbled backward onto the tile, reaching instinctively for the pistol tucked into his waistband.
Dario kicked the man's hand as he squeezed the trigger, causing him to shoot himself in the leg. He was still screaming when Dario punched him hard, knocking him out.
Dario pulled out his gun as Luca charged out of the kitchen to see what the noise was about.
"Dario?" he asked, eyes wide, before he was shot in the chest with two tranq darts.
"You better have a good fucking explanation when you wake up," Dario growled. Luca's eyes rolled back, and he was out.
He stepped over the body and swept the small, cluttered living room for anyone else.
"Fred! Status!" he yelled. "Spartana!"
A rapid exchange of shouts, a heavy thud, then the unmistakable sound of a struggle and glass shattering came from upstairs.
"I'm busy!" Frederica's voice called back.
Dario took the stairs two at a time, gun leading.
A door to his left stood open, revealing a bedroom.
To his right, French doors opened onto a balcony, or what was left of it.
The glass was shattered, the frame splintered.
Frederica was locked in a brutal, close-quarters struggle with a man on the small balcony.
The man was big, built like a wrestler, with a shaved head and a thick neck. He had Frederica in a bear hug from behind, pinning her arms, trying to crush the breath out of her or throw her over the low balcony railing.
Frederica had her legs braced, heels digging into the wooden balcony floor, resisting his brute strength. She drove a sharp elbow back into his ribs, eliciting a grunt, but he tightened his grip.
"Little… hellcat…" the man rasped before he shifted his weight, trying to lift her off her feet.
Dario grabbed a heavy, wrought-iron curtain rod that had been partially torn from the wall during the fight.
"Hey, asshole!" Dario bellowed, his voice booming in the confined space. "Catch!"
The thug's head snapped toward the sound. His eyes widened as he saw Dario, instinctively releasing Frederica and throwing up an arm to shield himself.
Dario feinted a throw, then reversed his grip and rammed the blunt end of the rod like a battering ram straight into the man's solar plexus. The air exploded from the man's lungs in a shocked gasp. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, eyes bulging.
Frederica spun and delivered a beautiful kick to the side of his knee. With a sickening crack, the man screamed and collapsed sideways against the already damaged balcony railing. The old, weathered wood groaned, splintered, and gave way entirely under his weight and momentum.
For a horrifying second, he scrabbled wildly, grabbing at empty air. His eyes met Dario's, wide with pure terror, and with a final, despairing cry, he vanished over the edge. A heavy, wet thud echoed in the sudden, ringing silence.
Dario and Frederica stood frozen on the shattered balcony, breathing hard. Below, on the patio stones, the man lay sprawled at an unnatural angle, a dark stain already spreading beneath his shattered skull.
Dario slowly lowered the curtain rod. He looked from the broken railing to the corpse below, then back at Frederica. Her chest was heaving, a thin trickle of blood ran from a split lip, and her eyes burned with a fierce, almost feral light. She met his gaze, unflinching.
Dario gestured down at the messy remains of their intel source with the iron rod still in his hand. A slow, darkly amused grin spread across his face.
"I'm not taking the blame for this," he declared, his voice cutting through the quiet morning air. "That one is totally on you. Luckily, I have a spare downstairs."
"Fuck…you…" she panted. "You get your traitor?"
"Luca is passed out on the floor. Are you going to be okay, or do you need me to carry you?" Dario asked, laughing when Frederica stuck her middle finger up at him.
A minute later, Frederica and Dario stared at the two men on the floor with thoughtful expressions.
"We can put them both in the van, and you can take the Audi on your own if you promise not to scratch it," Dario said.
He expected some witty comeback, but when he turned, Frederica was squatting down next to the Falcone man, a strange expression on her face.
"What's the matter? Is he an old boyfriend of yours?
Here I thought you bit men's heads off after you fucked them, like a praying mantis. "
"Funny, but not as funny as it's going to be to watch Rodrigo kick your big ass," she replied. "This guy is dead. The bullet to the leg hit his femoral artery, and he's bled out. Nice one, dickhead, at least mine was an accident."
Dario hurried over and squatted down beside her to check the man himself. "No, he… He shot himself in the leg! I only knocked him out."
"No pulse," Frederica replied, and started to smirk. "I guess we both fucked this one up."
"Shit," Dario muttered. Their eyes locked over the still-cooling body, and after a brief second, they both burst out laughing.