Page 112 of Enduring Caine
Giovanni said, “It was bad. My doctor’s dealt with many gunshot wounds, so he could handle most of it. Once he was stable enough, we sent him to the hospital for the rest.”
“And,” said Cristian, “we reviewed a lot of video this morning. The last thing we saw was Vincenzo in the control room. Then the video feeds all died and came back on when you and he were with the boat. That was clever of you to get the painting back. We caught all the discussion, including when he confessed to killing Johann.”
Giovanni’s face tightened, his neck flushing red. “Four years that Interpol agent hid under my roof.”
“Papa,” whispered Cristian.
“It’s a test, I know.” Gio’s eyes went heavenward. “Johann, I’ll work on forgiving. But Vincenzo? Working for my greatest enem—”
“Signore!” One of the guards rushed into the room. “The Carabinieri are here.”
Giovanni tapped a napkin on his lips. “Who? Specifically?”
“Not one of ours. Three vehicles are at the front gate. They say they’re not looking for trouble.”
Giovanni waved the guard away. “Probably just here about last night’s gunfire.”
The guard shook his head. “They have a warrant to search the premises.”
Was this related to the photo I sent to Elliot last night? Henri made it clear they knew it was from me. Could they really get a warrant so fast? Probably not, unless they were ready for it.
“It’s more likely about Johann,” I said.
Cristian shot from his seat, barking out orders to the guard and two others who arrived at a run. “Let the Carabinieri officers through the gate. Monitor their every step. Hide the automatic weapons. Minimal staff visible. Cesca to her room.”
“To your room, you two,” said Giovanni, finger pointing at us.
Antonio stood, taking my hand. “No. If it’s about last night’s shooting or Johann’s death, they’ll want to see the video and speak with Samantha.”
His uncle shot him a glare but threw down his napkin and headed out of the dining room, toward the grand hall and the front door.
Antonio and I walked several paces behind him, shouting voices and hurried footsteps all around us. I’d almost grown accustomed to having watchful eyes everywhere, but this flurry of activity was different. They weren’t just eyes; they were trained men, getting into position.
I pulled closer to Antonio. “What’s going to happen?”
He slipped his hand out of mine and covered his mouth to whisper, “Do you think it’s Johann? Or maybeThe Magdalen?”
“I don’t know.” Was that painting really enough to come in? End their years of surveillance? Or was this a shot across the bow? A warning? Or was Johann’s death something that had to be answered for?
“We could also find the man who was to drive us to Mario’s and just leave?”
I chuckled. “I’m too curious about this.”
Antonio shook his head and took my hand again, pulling it to his lips. “Why does this not surprise me?”
Giovanni came to a halt at the front door and one of the men opened it to the grand courtyard and the auto court beyond. Sun streamed in around him as he folded his arms, not moving any further. “What can I do for my friends at the Carabinieri today?”
A man approached, rich olive skin and salt and pepper black hair, dressed in a dark blue jacket with CARABINIERI emblazoned across the front in white. Underneath, the letters TPC. Above, the flaming grenade insignia of the cultural heritage crimes team.
Antonio leaned close to my ear. “Is that Bruno Gallo?”
I moved so I could see around Giovanni. “It is.”
Bruno Gallo had been Elliot’s contact in Italy in the fall. They’d worked with us on the fresco theft.
“Do you think they heard about the fresco?” I whispered.
“Also possible.”