Page 113 of Enduring Caine
“How’s your English, Signore?” asked Bruno. “One of the men with me doesn’t speak Italian, but I can translate for him if needed.” He gestured toward the driveway.
“It’s excellent,” said Giovanni in English. “We can meet in my office.”
A hand touched my arm, nudging me out of the way. Henri walked around me with a slight nod. He stopped next to Giovanni.
“If you don’t mind—” A deep voice came from outside the door, one I knew all too well. Elliot Skinner joined the TPC agent in the doorway, along with a woman whose dark jacket read INTERPOL. “—our warrant says we can talk in your gallery.”
Henri leaned in and whispered something to Giovanni, who spun to face him. Rage clouded Gio’s features, full face flushing red, but Henri didn’t flinch. He just gestured to the northern end of the villa, toward the gallery. In near-perfect English, with an Italian—not French—accent, he said, “This way, gentlemen.”
Chapter 49
Antonio
SamanthaandIstoodoutside the gallery to watch her FBI mentor Elliot Skinner, Carabinieri TPC officer Bruno Gallo, and Henri, the undercover TPC agent, leave with the other officers. They carried no guns, left with no paintings or stolen antiquities, and gave no hint the first two knew Samantha or me.
“Taxes!” bellowed Zio Giovanni from the gallery.
The door was open, and Samantha inclined her head. “Should we go in? Or make our escape?”
“What happened to that curiosity?”
She battled to hide her smile, her twinkling eyes giving her away. “It’s killing me.”
I pressed my hand to the small of her back, and we entered the gallery.
Giovanni paced through the room, flailing his hands in the air. “Do they have any idea how ridiculous this is?”
Cristian sat in one of the antique chairs by the wall, watching his father. His head rolled in our direction. “She’s not welcome here.”
Samantha opened her mouth as if to argue, but I cut her off.
These words would be more acceptable from me. “You already told us you watched last night’s videos. You saw what she did for you. For Leo. For me. Not only did she risk her life to save your painting, but she exposed Vincenzo. How dare you tell her she’s not welcome?”
Giovanni diverted his path to storm directly in front of me. His face was deep red, nostrils flaring. “This is more of Saint Peter’s justice. You two broke the rules—”
“You broke the law,” I snapped. “Whatever they were here for is your fault.”
“What taxes?” Samantha’s voice was calm, matter-of-fact. As though this were another of her investigations and nothing more.
His hand flew towardThe Magdalenon the far wall. “They’re claiming I owe import taxes on that painting.”
“So pay them,” I said.
“That’s not the point!” yelled Gio, who resumed his pacing. “They think I’m a weak old man? My lawyers are going to eat them alive.”
Eat them alive? He was lucky they only had information about a single painting and that they weren’t here about a murdered Interpol agent.
Samantha didn’t flinch but headed to the door. Was she giving up so easily? No, she closed it over and returned to my side. As expected, she also sidestepped when I attempted to slide my arm around her waist. Professional Samantha had arrived. “It’s interesting timing, don’t you think?”
“Interesting? It was Vincenzo. That son of a pig sent them a photo of the painting.” Gio stopped in front of one of Cesca’s paintings, the one of the person walking alone. “They said if I don’t pay my taxes and fines for importing her, they’ll seize her and throw me in jail.”
“Papa,” said Cristian. “Calm down. I don’t want you to have another heart attack.”
“Calm down?” Gio growled. “They come into my house and dare ask me to hand over information about someone? They think I have no honor?”
Samantha nudged me, flicking her eyes toward the two men.Information about who, she mouthed.
“About who, Zio?”