by Fiona Grace
Audrey patted her thigh and whispered sharply, “Nick. Don’t run off. Stay close. We’ve already proven this place is not safe for you, not with Mr. Crazy next door, wanting to make you into his next meal.”
Dutifully, he fell in line behind her, staying at her heels as she made her way down the stony path, toward the house.
Moments later, she arrived at the stone archway with the gate to the main courtyard. As she stood there, wondering if she should knock or let herself in, she saw three men, striding through the courtyard. They were wearing dark suits, despite the hot day. They stopped right in front of the fountain she and Rafael had eaten in front of, only yesterday.
She hesitated there, feeling terribly out of place, wondering if she should be there at all. It felt like she was witnessing a business meeting, and she was completely underdressed, not to mention, not there for business.
One of them men turned to say something to another, wagging his finger in a slightly threatening manner. He had longish, dark hair, feathered on the sides, and black sunglasses. When he moved aside, Audrey saw a smaller, bald man, who had a face that looked as if it’d been in one too many boxing matches. The other man was Rafael. He threw up his hands and shrugged. He didn’t look upset, but he did look rather concerned.
She leaned in forward, trying to understand what they were saying, but besides their voices being too quiet, she was pretty sure they were speaking Italian.
Rafael said something about a problemo Italiano. He kept repeating those words, problemo Italiano, over and over again. As he spoke, Audrey stiffened when she heard a car door slam. Rafael said something that she translated to, “Giuseppe is here. Let’s go in.” She was proud to find her translation was correct; they did, indeed, go in, toward the front of the house.
Leaving her wondering what the heck was going on.
She crept forward toward the side of the house, evading a rather prickly line of bushes as she went. The first window she came to was closed, a shade pulled tightly over it. She quickly bypassed it when she saw that another window, at the front of the house, was open, its shutters banging lightly against the side of the house in the breeze.
Audrey nearly tripped over Nick, trying to get over there, to see what was going on. Now, she felt even more ridiculous, creeping in the bushes. But she simply couldn’t fight the curiosity. Stooping under the window, she could hear the voices, closer now. She slowly lifted her head to look inside.
The room was full of white plaster and dark stained wood. The floor was a cold terracotta tile, and the only furniture in the place were uncomfortable looking benches that looked like numerous church pews. In fact, all the décor of the place looked as though it’d been reclaimed from an old Catholic church. There were crosses and statues and religious relics everywhere. The one main window across the way was a stained glass one, which cast multicolored prisms on the walls and floor. Right in front of her was a large, well-stocked bar.
But the room itself was empty.
Still, she heard the voices. She realized they were coming from the front of the house. Audrey. You were invited. So why are you skulking around among their bushes?
Simple. She was frightened. And what if he hadn’t invited her back for dinner? What if he’d heard she was snooping around and had invited her back to kill her?
Come on, Audrey. Don’t be paranoid. If he was going to invite you back here to murder you, he wouldn’t have told Concetta to pass along the message.
Taking a few steps forward, she peeked her head around the corner, just in time to see two sleek black town cars parked in the circular drive out front. Audrey crouched behind a flowering bush and watched as an older gentleman—who could have very well passed for Marlon Brando—approached Rafael and gave him a kiss on each cheek. The rest of the men did the same, then Rafael put an arm around the older man and turned to lead him inside.
As he did, she noticed a bulge in his side, underneath his black blazer. Was that . . . a gun?
Before she could confirm it, his eyes swept right across the space where Audrey was hiding. She quickly threw herself back against the side of the house, heart beating madly. He has the same name as a well-known mafia family. He’s friends with a number of men in suits. They kiss each other on the cheek and whisper solemnly about business that looks very shady, indeed. If that doesn’t tell you these guys are mafia, Audrey . . . what will?
She looked down at Nick. This had trouble written all over it. And she’d almost lost her beloved pet, because of her stupid curiosity. So what if Rafael had asked her to stop by? She’d seen enough. She didn’t want to have dinner with him, or have anything to do with him, whatsoever. She needed to stop this.
She began to bend down to scoop him into her arms when a voice, nearly at the back of her neck, boomed, “ Posso offrirti da bere o qualcosa?”
It might as well have been a voice saying, “Stick ‘em up!” because Audrey’s hands flew up. She looked up to see nothing but the open window, and the very top of Rafael’s head. Seconds later, she heard the sound of ice cubes, clinking into a glass, and some liquid being poured.
Then she translated. Can I get you a drink or anything?
She relaxed. Oh. He’s talking to his guests.
At that moment, though, her throat was so dry, she wished she could have something to drink, too. She closed her eyes, pressing herself as hard as she could against the side of the house to make her body as small as possible. All she needed was for him to lean out the window and see her, crouching among the bushes.
He said something that she quickly translated. Something about agreeing there was a problem, asking what they were going to do about it.
One of the other men spoke. From the low, gravelly tone, Audrey sensed it was the older man. He even sounded like the Godfather. But Audrey couldn’t make it out. Something about it being “unfortunate.”
Then she heard Rafael’s voice, farther away from the window, now. “Andiamo a bere di fuori, nel cortile.” The resulting footsteps and voices, trailing away from her, made her realize that he’d asked them to go outside, to the courtyard.
The sane part of her tugged on her, telling her to run away, as far and as fast as she could. But another part of her, the part that eventually won out, begged to find out what unfortunate thing they were talking about. And what was this Italian Problem?
She crept back toward the gate to the courtyard, stopping at the stone wall and listening. As she did, she heard Rafael say, quite plainly, “No. Non ho voluto io questa guerra.” No. I did not want this . . .
She frowned. Guerra. What was that word? She couldn’t remember ever hearing it before.
One of the other men, the younger man with a squeakier, less self-assured voice, spoke. He said, “Non capisci in che guaio finirei? Potrebbe mettersi molto male per noi.”
Male. Bad. She was pretty sure that he was saying, This could be bad for us.
But what was it? She had to get closer. Looking around. She found a protruding stone in the wall and used it to lift herself up so that she was peering over the wall, behind some tall evergreen bushes. Nick easily scaled the wall and sat next to her. She leaned closer, intent on hearing their next words. The short, unfortunate-faced man growled,“La guerra sta arrivando fin qui.”
There it was again, that word. La Guerra. Whatever it meant, it was coming. Sta arrivando. It is coming.
“Troppo vicino,” the young one said. Too close. “Quell'uomo era solo il primo.” He was the first.
The first what? And what man?
Audrey’s skin prickled. Were they talking about the dead man? The victim?
No, they’re not, Audrey. Don’t get crazy. They’re probably talking about another man.
Then Rafael said, “Si. Lo so.” Yes, I know. “E tutta questa situazione prenderà una brutta piega... in capo a un attimo.”
She squinted. That, she was totally lost with. This situation will get . . . worse?
Frowning, she lifted her backside so she c
ould reach into her back pocket and retrieve her phone from her shorts. As she was pulling it out, someone said the word Guerra again. She navigated to her translating app and started to type it in when Rafael said, “Uccidere Grinnelli è stato stupido.”
She looked up. Uccidere. She knew that word.
It meant “murder.” Killing Grinnelli was stupid.
She stifled a gasp, her blood running cold.
So that meant one thing. Rafael had lied. He knew far more about the death of that victim than he’d told police. There was a familiarity there, as if he’d known the victim. In fact, it sounded very much like he knew exactly who’d killed him, and why.
Eyes widening, Audrey finished typing the word and pressed “return” to get her answer.
As she did, a voice in front of her said, “Dottore Smart?”
She looked up to see Rafael, curiously eyeing her from her perch atop the wall. He tilted his head, confused.
“What are you doing up there?”
For a moment, she thought of scurrying down, but as she moved to do so, she lost her grip on her phone and it tumbled down by her feet, into the bushes surrounding the courtyard. As she reached down to grab ahold of it, it bounced from her fingertips and disappeared into the bushes . . . and she followed, slipping into the prickly bushes, practically head-first.
One of the last things she saw before she fell was the translation of the word Guerra, on her display.
It meant “war.” And she had a feeling she’d invited it to her doorstep.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next thing Audrey knew, there were footsteps sweeping across the stone courtyard. Audrey looked up to see Nick sitting what looked like miles above her, staring down from the top of the stone wall. He had his head tilted, like, Humans. What good are they?
She tried to move, but the thorns of the bush had trapped her. She reached around for something to pull onto for leverage, but she was frozen in this spot, her legs slightly more elevated than her top half, in a thorny bed of brambles. Nothing hurt too bad, though. Except maybe her ego. Her cheeks were burning; she already knew she was going to regret this, big-time.
That is, if she survived.
Seconds later, a quartet of male faces appeared above her, Rafael among them. He reached for her, helping her to standing, and said, “Dio, what were you doing?”
Too humiliated to speak, she reached down and wiped a leaf from her shirt. They were all looking at her. She averted their eyes, wondering if she was in for it. Had it started with Pietro Grinnelli, the same way? He’d just innocently stumbled in on their dastardly plans?
But Rafael smiled warmly at her, in a way that instantly relaxed her. He said, “When I invite people over, I usually expect them to knock on the front door. Or at the very least, come through the gate.”
He pointed at it. She tried to smile, but her teeth were chattering. “I’m sorry. I tried to. But the gate was—um, stuck. So I thought I’d just—” She pointed to the wall with a shrug, as if it was a totally reasonable alternative, and not completely ridiculous.
The young guy, raising a skeptical eyebrow, went to the gate and tried the latch. Of course, it opened easily. He murmured something in Italian under his breath that Audrey wasn’t sure she wanted to understand.
“Oh. That’s crazy! It totally didn’t work for me!” she said with an innocent shrug. “I’ve never been that good with things like that.”
Then they all looked at her accusingly, except Rafael, who was still smiling in amusement. He put a hand on her shoulder, but she instantly stiffened. Is he usually this nice right before he pumps his victims full of lead?
“Relax,” he said to her amicably, then looked at the other suits. “Doctor Smart, here, is the town veterinarian. She lives in the center of Mussomeli. American. She and I became acquainted yesterday, right, cara?”
Audrey nodded.
“Well, are you alright? Nothing broken, I hope?”
She nodded, wiping stray strands of brown hair from her face.
“You certainly known how to make an entrance.” He eyed the steep wall. “So you were really just trying to get in?”
“Yes. I know it was silly.” She tittered. “I did call to you, but I guess you didn’t hear? And I heard voices, so . . .”
He reached into the bush and pulled out her phone. He stared at the display for a moment before handing it over to her. Of course, the display had her translation of Guerra, right there, in black and white. If he had noticed it, he didn’t let on. She wiped off the display and pocketed it. “So, um, yeah. I’m here because you invited me. My assistant said something about . . .”
Rafael snapped his fingers. “She said I invited you?”
Audrey nodded. “Yes, she—"
“I’m sorry. I did not.”
Now, she felt even more foolish. “You didn’t call the clinic?”
He shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. That’s all right. Thank you for coming, Dottore.” He motioned her forward. “But please don’t think you need to leave right away. Let’s stop standing in the bushes. Why don’t you come over and have a drink with us?”
“Well—”
Before she could say any more words of objection, he’d ushered her toward the fountain. Marta was there, now, doling out more drinks and appetizers for the guests. Audrey felt a little better, upon seeing the woman. They wouldn’t kill me in front of her, would they?
She hoped not.
“So someone pretending to be me asked you to come out here?” He asked, stroking his chin. “Curious, eh?”
“Y-yes,” she stammered, feeling even more foolish. Did she think she was lying? That she’d come here, just to spy on him? If so, she was done for. She could feel it. Her whole body was trembling. “Honest.”
“Oh, my dear. You’ve had a day. Please. Sit. Catch your breath.” He sat her in a chair and said, “Allow me to introduce my family.”
“Oh, you are all family? Now I really should go.” She tittered. “I didn’t mean to disturb you if you were having a family reunion--”
“Nonsense. You are welcome here.”
She looked around. Judging from the expressions on their faces, he was the only one who seemed to think so.
“This, here, is Giuseppe, my uncle.” He threw an arm around the Godfather lookalike. “He’s as near and dear to me as my father, God rest his soul.” He looked up at the sky, and they all did the same, crossing themselves and kissing their fingers.
She waved just the tips of her fingers at Giuseppe, who bowed very politely. “Incantato di incontrarti.”
Rafael leaned in a bit toward her. “Forgive him. He says he’s enchanted. He does not speak any English.”
Was he really Rafael’s uncle? Audrey couldn’t tell. They didn’t really look anything alike. “Oh. Nice to meet you.”
Rafael motioned to the two other men, the young, baby-face one and the older, bruised-faced man. “And those two ruffians are my . . . cousins. Franco and Rocco. They have just come in for the day, to visit me.”
Audrey tried to smile as nonchalantly as possible, but when the older one—who she thought was Franco-- lifted a hand to wave, he bared what looked like the very end of shoulder holster, under his jacket.
Audrey didn’t have much family, so she couldn’t be sure, but since when during a family visit was it necessary for anyone to pack heat?
Her blood ran cold at the thought. “Uh . . . nice to meet you.”
Frowning at her, they muttered half-hearted Ciaos, but Audrey couldn’t shake the feeling that they wanted her gone. By whatever means necessary.
And if they were mafia, then she really couldn’t put it past them to pull out their guns and shoot her dead, right there, with no pretense. Just like what had happened to Pietro.
She started to shiver at the thought and went to cross her arms in front of herself to keep from shaking visibly.
“Ah. You’re scratched,” Rafael said suddenly, grabbing her hand. She looked down and
realized she had a small trickle of blood on the underside of her arm.
“Oh, it’s no—”
“Marta!” he called, straightening. “La cassetta di pronto soccorso, portamela!”
A moment later, Marta scurried out with a small first aid kit. Rafael opened it and pulled out some antiseptic, then gently cleaned the cut with a cotton ball. Well, maybe this is a good sign? He wouldn’t patch me up if he was just going to kill me, right?
Still, it felt odd, sitting there, as all the men stood around her in a semicircle, watching Rafael inspect the cut like a surgeon about to make the first cut.
“This really isn’t that bad, just a—"
“Shh,” he said as he stooped over her, fussing over her wound, acting as her nursemaid. With the blood cleared, it was barely a scratch. Hardly worth the attention he was giving it. She felt a little like a pampered princess as he inspected the wound more closely. He blew gently on her skin to dry the antiseptic, making her skin alight with goosebumps, then rummaged in the bag for a bandage. Carefully, he unwrapped the bandage and applied it, then patted her knee in a loving way. She blushed under his attention.
Meanwhile, the other men watched, their movements clipped and a bit annoyed. The tension was off the charts, as if the whole place was a powder keg, ready to blow at any second. She knew it was because she was there, and because they wanted to get back to whatever they’d been discussing before.
Also, because they didn’t trust her.
And one of them had killed Pietro. After what she’d heard, she was sure of that.
Which meant they probably wouldn’t bat an eyelash at killing her, too.
But right now, Rafael was tending to her, with just as much tender loving care as she used with her own patients.
When he finished, she gently pulled her arm away from his grasp, feeling awkward, but not wanting to upset him. “Thank you. Much better. But I’m sorry. I’d better be going. It’s busy at the clinic. I am sorry to have bothered you.”
She jumped up, as if propelled by a cannon.