The Italian Deception

by Darby Philips

  “Kevin, help me get this out,” he said. The boy didn’t respond. David searched the room. The other students weren’t listening. Then he spied Tiffany. “Help me,” he said.

  She hesitated briefly, then grasped the other end of the canvas and pried it free. Together they unwrapped the cloth and revealed David’s spud gun.

  “We’re only going to have a moment to aim before he realizes what we’re doing,” he said to Tiffany. “I’ll need both hands to fire. You’ll have to steady the barrel and aim it. Can you do it?”

  She looked terrified, but nodded.

  “I’ll follow your lead,” David said, loading the weapon. “As soon as he bursts through the door, aim for the middle of his chest.”

  She nodded again and focused on the door.

  “Everyone move out of the way,” David said. “We need a clear path to the door.”

  The lock securing the door bolt snapped with a metallic ‘cling’ and the giant forced open the door with a loud grunt of effort.

  Time slowed. The hulk appeared even larger than he had in the hall. His body filled the entire doorway as he moved into the room.

  The giant spotted Tiffany and he grinned.

  Fear surged inside David. He used his mind and buried the emotion. He felt Tiffany raise the barrel and pressed the trigger. Time sped back up.

  The projectile sped toward the man like a rocket and hit him just below the sternum. The man’s breath exploded out of his body, and he crumpled to his hands and knees, gasping for air.

  “Run!” David yelled.

  As if his words were an order, the rest of the students screamed and ran through the open door.

  David, knowing the weapon was too heavy to carry and that reloading it would take too long, dropped the potato gun and pushed Tiffany out the door.

  As he reached the door, a powerful forced stopped him. He glanced over his shoulder. The giant was on his knees, swaying back and forth, but had latched onto David’s coat. David desperately tried to pull himself away, but the man held tight.

  Suddenly, David felt someone pull him toward the hall, but he couldn’t escape.

  Tiffany, still pulling, kicked the giant in the face. His coat slipped out of the giant’s grasp and David sprang free. The students stumbled into the hall.

  As they recovered their balance, the giant rose to his feet.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Erin limped down the stairs as fast as she could. Gunshots echoed in the stairwell. She didn’t want to leave Paul, but she had to get to the students. She burst out the door and stumbled into the storm. Her leg burned. She realized the gunshot wound didn’t disable her, but it felt like a stabbing in her thigh each time she moved.

  The door behind her clanged open and the woman ran toward her, firing as she sprinted across the snow.

  Erin fired behind her as she hustled across the quad.

  Her assailant dove into the snow to avoid the pellets.

  The high-pitched whine of a snowmobile engine advanced toward her. Erin thought one of the gunman was using it to get ahead of her. She fired behind her until the weapon clicked empty, then reloaded as she hustled across the quad.

  As she threw open the door to the girls’ dorm, she saw the students rushing toward her, screaming. She cocked the shotgun and aimed above the their heads, ready for anything that might happen. “Up the stairs to my room, quick!” she yelled, gesturing into the stairwell.

  Suddenly, the largest man she’d ever seen charged into the hall. He snarled and aimed his gun at David.

  Erin fired. The shotgun blast hit him in the left shoulder, sending bloody puffs of jacket insulation into the air. His weapon flew across the room. Erin pumped another shell into her shotgun. He dove across the stone floor and took cover behind a Corinthian column.

  The woman rushed into the hall behind her. Both women swiveled their weapons toward each other. Erin was too slow.

  Chapter Seventy

  Shelly angled her stolen snow mobile toward the shotgun blast that echoed from the girls’ dorm. She’d driven toward Hillcrest and found a suspiciously empty police car at the bottom of the mountain. After a quick search, she discovered the dead policeman. Knowing the traitor had Paul in his sights, she’d stolen the snowmobile and heavy winter gear from a rental place and driven cross-country, coming up the mountain.

  Two figures dashed into the south side of the dorm, and Shelly followed, drew her gun, and barreled through the side door.

  She slammed into Portia. The two women tumbled to the floor.

  Shelly recovered and observed everything instantly: Tiffany’s teacher holding a shotgun in the stairwell; Portia recovered and already a few yards ahead, grasping for the gun that had tumbled out of her hand; students crying above her; and Franco crouching behind a pillar. She deduced what had happened.

  “Run,” Shelly yelled, firing at Franco then at Portia, trying to distract them from the teacher.

  Franco charged her, fury on his face. She fired three shots into his chest and Portia darted into the stairwell.

  Shelly swiveled her weapon toward Portia, but Franco still hadn’t fallen to the floor. The bullets had only staggered him backward. Shelly dove to the side, came up in a crouched position, and shot Franco in the chest again. He staggered again, but the blossom of blood she’d expected to soak his shirt never bloomed.

  Damn, bulletproof vest, she thought, and fired at his leg.

  Franco stumbled but managed to grab her gun hand.

  Shelly kicked Franco’s wounded leg to free herself, but Franco held her tight. He violently twisted her arm and her gun few across the room.

  Shelly used martial arts kicks, punches, and leg sweeps against her opponent, but he held her firmly. Finally, she slammed her foot into his injured leg, used her momentum to hop over Franco, and slipped out of his grip.

  Now free, she knew she could use her training to overcome his massive bulk, but that would take time. And the longer the battle took, the more likely it was that Portia would overpower the schoolteacher and harm her daughter. Franco kept himself between her and the stairwell.

  She faked lunging right but dashed left. She was past him when he grabbed her hair and snatched her backward and slammed her into the floor.

  Dazed, Shelly tried to defend herself, but Franco grasped her neck and pulled her up and slammed her against the wall. She swung at his face and hands but he stretched his long arms to keep out of her reach.

  He smiled wickedly. “I saw a girl who looked like you downstairs. Your daughter?”

  A hollow feeling sank into Shelly’s stomach.

  Franco’s grin widened as he understood he’d guessed correctly. He glanced upstairs. “Before I kill you, I want you to know that I’m going to take her back to Italy with me. I’ll spend years training her to be my pet until she’ll do anything I tell her. Then, I’ll put her in my show for everyone to see.”

  Shelly slammed her fists onto Franco’s arm again and again, but he only smiled more broadly.

  “At the end of it, she won’t even remember you. And when I tire of her, I’ll force her on the street so everyone can have her.” Franco squeezed her throat.

  Seventy-One

  Erin ran up the stairs as fast as her injured leg allowed. As she opened the second-floor door, she heard footsteps below her. Glancing down, she saw the woman trying to kill her race into the stairwell. Erin dashed into the hallway. David and Tiffany stood at the door to her room, and Erin motioned for them to get inside.

  They disappeared and Erin hid to the side of the hallway entrance. She heard footsteps stop in the stairwell then retreat. Fearing it was a trap, she didn’t move.

  Erin waited, and waited, and waited. Keeping her eye on the door, she backed down the hall until she was outside her room. “You all okay?” she asked.

  “I think so,” David replied.

  “Good. Stay quiet. And lock the door.”

  “Okay,” he replied and the lock snapped into place with a click
.

  Behind her, at the other end of the hall, the door opened. She spun and saw the woman sprinting toward her in a zig zag pattern. Erin aimed and fired.

  She jerked but appeared unharmed. She’d already covered one-third of the hall.

  Erin reloaded and fired again.

  The killer staggered, small droplets of blood forming on her left side, but kept her momentum, raised her own gun, and fired.

  A bullet whizzed past Erin’s head. She dodged right, pumped the gun, and fired again.

  Portia let out a cry of pain and stumbled as blood erupted in small sprays from her leg, but she didn’t slow. She was only ten yards away.

  Erin fired a third time but the empty chamber only emitted a weak clack. Frantically, she thrust her hand into her coat pocket and grabbed a handful of shells while staring at Portia aiming her weapon.

  Portia’s gun clicked empty.

  Erin loaded a shell into the chamber and pumped the action. She aimed then fired.

  Nothing happened. The shotgun had jammed. Erin moved protectively in front of the door, shielding the kids. Before she could raise her weapon as a club, Portia tackled her. They burst into the room. Students shrieked in terror.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Giovanni fired at Paul from above. The snow swallowed his image as he fell.

  He landed hard, but the snow broke his fall. He staggered up and ran toward the lights of the girls’ dorm. Freezing wind and snow whipped against his skin. The gunshots stopped, which meant Giovanni was racing after him.

  He charged into the northern entrance and saw Franco choking Shelly. Her face had a ghostly blue tint. She sluggishly struggled against him.

  Dropping his backpack on the ground, he grabbed the soda can flails and rushed toward Franco. The giant spun, dropped Shelly, and charged.

  They fought, Franco using his massive reach and strength, Paul using his flails and every martial arts trick he’d ever learned to keep Franco’s powerful limbs from connecting. But neither of them could gain an advantage.

  “Shelly,” he said.

  She coughed, heaved a deep lungful of air, and croaked out, “Portia…Chasing teacher up…stairs.” Every moment he spent fighting Franco gave Portia or the other Grimaldis time to harm the children.

  Franco’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at the floor far behind him.

  Paul followed his gaze to two handguns on the floor about eight yards away. In the split second he was distracted, Franco’s massive fist slammed into his scarred shoulder. Lightning strikes of pain arced through him and he crumpled to the ground.

  Franco loomed over him and raised his fist for a killing blow.

  A shot rang out. Franco’s shoulder erupted in a fountain of blood and he stumbled backward.

  “I need you alive, but I’ll settle for you dead,” Shelly said, moving next to Paul.

  Franco glowered at them.

  “The shoulder?” Shelly asked.

  Paul nodded. “I’ll be all right in a second.”

  She handed him the other pistol. “I need to get upstairs…”

  “I know,” he said, taking the second pistol from her. “Check the second floor. I’ll guard him.”

  She nodded and darted into the stairwell.

  His left arm hung limp at his side, but his body was starting to recover.

  Suddenly, the side door opened. Giovanni entered the hallway with his gun aimed at his chest. They were only five yards apart. Giovanni would kill him before he could aim his gun.

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Erin and Portia burst through the door and landed on the floor of the room. Students screamed. Erin’s vision swam and she felt lightheaded.

  As she struggled, Portia grabbed Tiffany, wrapped an arm around her neck, and pressed the other hand against Tiffany’s head, pushing in the opposite direction of her arm.

  “Drop the shotgun and kick it to me or I’ll snap her neck,” she said.

  The students pushed against the wall.

  Erin didn’t know what to do. She thought back to what Paul had said, GOAD. The goal was to get the students out safely, including Tiffany. As she observed the students, she noticed David’s eyes searching the room. He was also practicing GOAD.

  She didn’t want him, or any of the students, to be anywhere near this killer, but realized his help could be the difference between Tiffany living or dying.

  “You’re Paul’s new amour,” Portia said. It was a statement, not a question.

  “How—” she began, but the woman cut her off.

  “The tone of his voice in the stairwell when we were shooting at you. He always used that tone with me.”

  No. Paul couldn’t have cared for this killer.

  “Oh,” Portia taunted, “you mean he didn’t tell you about us? Perhaps it’s because he still loves me.”

  It wasn’t possible. Feeling a tinge of anger, Erin stepped forward.

  “Stop,” Portia said, backing up. She tightened her grip on Tiffany’s neck. The girl squealed and tears formed at the corners of her eyes. “Drop the gun and kick it to me.”

  “Let them go and I’ll give it to you.”

  “No,” Portia said, pushing against Tiffany’s neck again. “Toss it or the girl dies.”

  Erin tensed and reviewed her options. The gun had jammed. Portia evidently didn’t know that. She also realized attacking her directly might kill Tiffany. And if she did give Portia the shotgun, the woman might be able to clear the jam and shoot them before she could disable her or get the students safely away. Seconds crawled by. Erin saw only one option to get them out of this, but it might still kill Tiffany.

  “Last time I’ll ask,” Portia said. Tiffany yelped as Portia squeezed harder.

  Erin decided to risk it. She held the shotgun sideways in her outstretched hands and moved forward.

  “No,” Portia said, backing against the window. “Put it on the floor and slide it over to me.”

  Erin did as directed, but only slid the gun halfway across the floor.

  “Bitch,” Portia said, and inched forward, keeping her hand tight against Tiffany’s throat.

  “I’m sorry,” Erin said, embellishing her next words. “I didn’t mean to GOAD you.”

  At the acronym, David glanced at Erin. She flicked her eyes at Portia’s feet and then the window.

  He nodded imperceptibly, then stared at Portia, seeming to calculate what he needed to do.

  Portia bent down, removed a hand from Tiffany’s neck, and grasped the gun.

  Swiftly, David slammed his foot into the back of Portia’s leg, and she lost balance. Erin tackled Portia while David yanked Tiffany out of the way.

  Both women crashed into the window, shattering it. Snow and freezing air whirled into the room with a whipping sound.

  “Get them out of here!” Erin yelled.

  The students ran into the hall. Portia, her face bleeding from cuts, pushed Erin backwards, grabbed the shotgun and squeezed the trigger. It didn’t fire.

  Portia snarled and yanked a large sliver of glass from the window and lunged.

  Erin recognized the overhand knife attack. She planted her feet, threw her right arm under the improvised knife, and curled her hand over Portia’s forearm. At the same time, she brought her left hand up, and pushed against Portia’s forearm.

  Portia thrust toward her. The shard of glass inched forward. Erin pushed back and Portia stumbled into the broken window. The cold air and snow obscured Erin’s vision.

  “When you’re with him, you know he’s thinking of me, right?” Portia said and, with one fluid motion, she pressed her ankle behind Erin’s and launched forward.

  Erin overbalanced and fell backward, but still managed to hold onto Portia’s knife arm.

  Now, Portia was on top of Erin and using all her weight to press down. The improvised knife slowly descended toward Erin’s throat.

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Giovanni aimed his weapon at Paul’s head. Paul couldn’t raise his gun fast
enough, so he dropped it as ordered. Giovanni picked up the gun, put it in his waistband, and moved next to Franco. “How bad?”

  “I’ll live. Give me something to bandage my arm.”

  Giovanni pointed to Paul. “Take off your shirt.”

  If I’m going to die, that mother fucker is going to bleed out. “Fuck you.”

  Giovanni, his gun never leaving Paul’s head, stepped toward him and grabbed the neck of his shirt and ripped it off. He stepped backward and handed the cloth to his brother.

  As Franco bound his arm, he said, “That bitch is fierce! I want her. Her and her daughter.” Thoughts of Tiffany on the psychopath’s cross sickened him.

  “Where’s Portia?” Giovanni asked his brother.

  “Upstairs. Chasing a teacher and the kids.”

  “We don’t need them anymore,” Giovanni said. “We have him.”

  Franco stood awkwardly. “We will get the children. I’ll torture them one by one until he”—Franco pointed at Paul—“begs me to stop. I might even rape the women while he watches.”

  Both Grimaldi brothers faced him. Neither saw Tom Forton sneak into the hall behind them. He raised his silenced pistol and shot. Giovanni fell to the floor, dead.

  “Kneel down and put your hands behind your back,” Forton said, walking cautiously toward them.

  Franco hesitated, evidently assessing his options, then grimaced as he kneeled, favoring his wounded leg.

  “Damn good timing,” Paul said.

  “I had no idea the Grimaldis were here,” he said, tying Franco’s hands together with his belt. I came to stop Shelly from killing you.”

  “What?”

  “Paul, she’s the traitor.”

  “No,” he said incredulously.

  Tom shook his head and sighed.