Viola, Laurent, and Jo followed Tara without encroaching on the man’s space, scanning the people and the area.

“Buon pomeriggio.”  Tara said warmly. People skills were by far the domain of her sister, but Tara knew most people were receptive if you smiled and were open.  She’d stick as close to the whole truth as possible and do whatever she could to endear herself to him.

“Buon pomeriggio,” answered the man as he looked them over. Still, he returned Tara’s smile.

“L'intero vigneto è stato perso?”  she nodded towards the main house and the vineyard beyond it.

“Maggior parte. Si parla di cercare di salvare il resto, ma chi ha il tipo di denaro per intervenire e farlo? Non me. Forse è per questo che sei qui?”

“È possibile che la mia famiglia avrebbe investito in un tale sforzo, se fosse stato trovato l'uomo giusto per vederlo per noi.”  She shook her head sadly at the state of the house and the once lovely vineyard. “Molte persone sono rimaste ferite?”

“Alcune persone sono state bruciate mentre cercavano di spegnere gli incendi. L'unica persona che era il proprietario. Tuttavia, non è morto a causa del fuoco. Qualcuno lo ha ucciso con un coltello prima di accendere il fuoco.”

“Le loro ferite sono state viste da qualcuno con una formazione medica? Ho un'infermiera con me."  She nods to Jo.

"Abbiamo qualcuno che li ha aiutati, ma non hanno un addestramento. Potrei mostrarti chi è ferito. Cosa vorresti in cambio?"

“Non sono a casa da un po '. Potrebbe essere bello avere qualcosa da mangiare fatto in una casa con le mani premurose. Un pranzo leggero, buona compagnia e la mia infermiera farà il possibile per aiutare i feriti.”  It was true. Tara had missed several Sunday dinners now and she found herself longing for a hearty breakfast, any meal really, at a table surrounded by people who loved her. She couldn’t fathom how great aunt Tara lived like this for so very long.

Viola sighed.

The shepherd nodded and said, “Sarei lieto di offrirti un pasto in cambio di assistenza medica per i feriti. Ho una casetta come questa, tra la vigna e la foresta, se vuoi unirti a me?”

Tara smiled and nodded, walking alongside the shepherd, “Come ti chiami?’

From behind her, Tara heard something like “just ask him about the fucking poker game”, but it wasn’t addressed to her, but Jo. 

“Enrico,” said the shepherd. “Enrico Pacitto. E il tuo nome??”

“Sono Tara Mastrosimone, è un piacere conoscerti Enrico.”  She found herself almost instantly glad she hadn’t brought Brigitte along.  He was a shepherd but pleasant enough. Brigitte would have them tied up in this little village for days helping the sick and winning Enrico’s poor heart.  

“Un piacere, Tara Mastrosimone. Sono sorpreso di vedere visitatori come te dall'esterno. Pensavamo che tutto sarebbe finito con Cunio morto e il vigneto scomparso.” He smiled. “Non che mi stia lamentando, ovviamente.”

Tara sighed and let some small bit of her sadness and despair show as she spoke to Enrico,“Spero che non sia il caso per te, e per tutte le persone che vivono ancora qui. La verità è che sono venuto qui sperando di trovare il signor Cunio su una questione del cuore. Qualcuno che amo caro visitato durante uno dei suoi tornei recenti e non sono stato in grado di riconnettermi con loro. Avevo sperato in aiuto del signor Cunio in questo senso."

“Questo potrebbe non sorprenderti, ma gli uomini che odorano di pecora non sono stati spesso invitati ai giochi di poker. Non posso dirti molto su di loro, ma potresti parlare con il vecchio Giuseppe Gatello. Era sempre ai giochi di poker. Potrebbe sapere chi stai cercando, vive in città, vicino a Palazzo Vecchio.” They reached the house and the shepherd turned apologetically. “Puoi darmi un momento per ripulire le cose?”

“Certo, prenditi tutto il tempo che ti serve, siamo onorati di essere i benvenuti qui.”  Tara said warmly. Enrico smiled again, then retreated into the house, where he appeared to be shouting for a wife, mother, or sister.

“We’ll eat a light lunch, help the injured we can and then we’re on our way.  Simple as that. We’ll talk to this man Gatello. If God is good, he can help us.”

As she finished speaking, they all saw the movement from the treeline and started to drop, with Tara reaching out for Jo as well.

The Mosin-Nagant rifle, a favorite of snipers throughout the continent, was a bolt action rifle with five shots. Truly skilled shooters could drop five men before they reloaded. In this case, however, Adina Molini wasn’t being paid to eliminate the maximum number of people. Instead, she was supposed to eliminate those who posed the greatest threat. 

Adina blinked, cursing her age. Ten years ago, she could have put a bullet through each of their four foreheads; now, her vision wasn’t what it used to be. But Francesco’s orders were clear: remove the biggest threats. And she had no intention of disappointing her old partner, both for the favor she owed him and the money he’d surely pay regardless. 

With her targets no longer screened by the damned shepherd, it was time for her to act. 

The brown haired woman with one arm would have the first three shots aimed at her, while the man with the guns would get the other two. Depending on her results, Adina would reassess whether to reload and keep shooting, pull back into the woods, or break the cover of the treeline and move towards them. The latter option seemed least likely. The trees were far from the targets, but they provided excellent cover. Retreating to the woods wouldn’t be too bad. It had been a while since she’d done a job like this. If she removed one or two threats, why push her luck?

Adina shifted to line up her shots, and three of them turned their heads toward her.

Cazzo. 

She jerked up the gun and pulled the trigger.

The first shot, ironically, would have missed Viola if she’d stayed standing still. But as the young woman acted in her own self interest and dropped to the ground, a bullet that might have missed her blasted through her eye socket and out the back of her skull. A second shot hit her in the shoulder and a third struck her side, but she was already merely meat by that point.

There was a paused before the fourth shot; Laurent, seeing Tara staring at Viola’s corpse, grabbed his boss and pulled her to cover behind the shepherd’s house as Jo scrambled after them. 

Tara couldn’t think.  Everything had locked up.  This wasn’t at all what she had expected and her brain struggled to process the things she was seeing as fast as they were occurring.  It wasn’t until Laurent was pulling her away that suddenly the world lurched forward to motion once more. Realizing she was missing her chance, perhaps their last chance, to keep on the trail of Oriana, Tara’s gun came free and her muscle memory kicked in.  

Laurent winced as a shot hit his side, but he grimaced, leaned around the corner of the house, and emptied his pistol’s magazine at the treeline. “Eh bien, je frappe quelque chose- I mean, I hit something. Stay down.” He immediately sprinted around the corner. Tara, ignoring the danger, sprinted after him. Jo, still stunned but not wanting to be left alone, removed her gun and followed Tara.

They all ran toward the treeline, shooting wildly as they went and missing with every shot; still, their charge, one that Billy Mastrosimone would undoubtedly have approved of if it wasn’t his daughter doing it, seemed to throw off their attacker’s aim. The next five shots from the rifle crashed into the dirt or over their heads. Laurent, Tara, and Jo burst through the brush, coming face to face with a middle-aged woman reaching for a pistol. Laurent was the first to reach her, but the woman kicked at his injured side and sent him to the ground. Laurent hit the ground hard, but Tara and Jo had their opening, striking the woman with two shots in the leg and chest that sent her to the ground. Laurent, scrambling on his hands and knees, knocked the gun away from the woman before collapsing back on the ground. Tara and Jo approached with their guns trained on the woman.

“WHERE’S FRANCESCO!?!”  Tara snarled, pure rage pouring out of her eyes. 

Tara noticed the woman’s tongue moved strangely in her mouth, like she was trying to move something with it. Dropping instantly beside the woman and thrusting the business end of her gun into the woman’s mouth preventing her from biting down, she called out to Jo, “DON’T LET HER BITE THE PILL - GET IT!”

The woman froze, then seemed to struggle more, trying to crack something against the gun, but Jo reached inside and, after shouting from being bitten once, removed a fake tooth that she tossed into the woods. As soon as she did, the woman stopped moving and went still.

“Check on Laurent.” She told Jo, keeping her gun on the sniper.

Jo dropped to the Frenchman’s side immediately, but he waved them off. “I am hurt, but not too badly. Unlike your Italian companion.” He grimaced.

Tara choked back a sob.  She couldn’t say why she cared.  Viola might have killed Lucia. Probably did considering how Ori had greeted her… the woman at least had extorted her mother.  No, she shouldn’t care and yet, she did. It was hard not to think of Viola laying there dead and not see Ori’s face. Not knowing what else to do she channeled her anger at the woman beneath her gun, who looked up at her without blinking, seemingly calm.

“Well, the day isn’t a total loss and thanks to our drug-dealing friend a few stops back, I know how to make a tight-lipped bitch talk.  Are you good enough to help me get her back?”

“Stop posturing. Kill me and be done with it. Most people in my situation, one I’m very familiar with, say that they will tell you nothing. Unfortunately, in my case, it is the truth. I know almost nothing. I was asked to kill you by Francesco Bianchi, and I did it for my old friend and his money. Other than your names and a threat assessment of the people who travel with you, I don’t know much else.”

“How do you get in contact with Francesco?”

“I don’t. He called me.”

“Did you meet with him alone or did he have anyone with him?”

“I didn’t meet with him at all. I live in Tuscany. He called me, told me to stay here for a few weeks and keep an eye on things- to be ready if someone told me to come out to this place. If I saw anyone, I was supposed to remove the biggest threats. I got another call, here I am. If I tell you who called me, will you kill them too?”

Tara tilted her head to the side, she considered the question.  She hadn’t really thought about how many people she would kill… could kill until this precise moment.  Francesco had been a given. Sure she’d find the strength to pull that trigger without much effort, it would be like the son of a bitch who had left her father to be stabbed by that crazy bitch Sarah.  But the village, the people there, how many of them knew? How many would pay for that? Was she capable of that and if she left them alive, would that later come back to bite her or those she loved? It was a question three generations of Byrne women had now asked.  The previous two had answered it differently with different results.

“Whatever. It was Fallo. Cazzo di culo. That’s everything I know. Get this over with.”

Tara listened to the sound of her own breath, the wind in the trees overhead and for a moment, it felt like home.  Not New York, but Canada. She stood up, keeping her gun pointed at the other woman.

“How much did he pay you for this or… was he going to pay you I should say?”

“I don’t know. I did it as a favor and trusted him to be generous, as he often is.” She closed her eyes, waiting.

There was no other choice.  Tara drew a breath, exhaled, and pulled the trigger. Jo turned away, but didn’t seem too rattled. Laurent, who looked as if he’d been appraising her, nodded and spoke. “Good. I think it would be best to return to the city. Find this man quickly, so we can be on our way before your enemies learn what happened here.”

Tara, asking for it quietly, took the pencil and the small pad of paper from Jo and quickly scratched a note, putting it into the pocket of the sniper.  

Ready to talk?  You know how to find me.

Let’s do business.

T.M.

“Let’s go.”  With that, Tara walked away from the dead woman without another word.

***

After paying a visit to Donatello Fallo and permanently ending his ability to dispense bad information, Tara, Zetico Crupi, Brigitte, and Jo arrived at the home of Giuseppe Gatello. The knocked, and the door opened to reveal an elderly man in his 70s. He was wearing a comfortable suit, and his hands shook. He studied his four guests with a great deal of curiosity, welcoming them in and shutting the door.

“E cosa posso fare per voi quattro?”

“Buona giornata signore, mi chiamo Brigitte Mastrosimone. Sto viaggiando qui in Italia con mia sorella e alcuni colleghi di mio padre e siamo stati indirizzati a te come persona che potrebbe essere in grado di aiutarci. È una questione terribilmente personale, una faccenda del cuore che vedi, e ci sono ottime possibilità che ti sia imbattuto nell'oggetto degli affetti di mia sorella minore in un recente gioco di poker a cui hai partecipato? Potremmo avere un momento del tuo tempo per discutere della questione?"

“Americana? I speak English very well. No need to trouble yourself.”

Brigitte laughed, “Oh how very nice!  My mother’s native tongue is Italian but I do so struggle with it.”

“That did not sound like struggling but did sound like you were thinking. You will have to spend more time in the country. Then, will be reflex. And I am in many poker games. Who is it your sister loves? You know what they say- unlucky in love, lucky at cards. I hope I have good news for her.” Giuseppe couldn’t help but smile at the blonde lighting up his kitchen with her smile. 

“So do I.”  Brigitte said brightly, her smile never giving a single hint of the nerves she felt after the story of what happened to her sister in the village.  “His name is Orin Montini?”  She waited knowing the man would not have heard of such a name. 

Giuseppe sighed and shook his head. “No, I am afraid I don’t know this man. I knew an Orin once who played cards, but he died back in the nineties.” He paused. “Perhaps the eighties. It does not matter. He is not the man.”

Tara wondered what the hell her sister was doing, why had she asked for the fake name of Oriana that she’d invented for her fellow dorm mates?  How was that helping anything?!? And then, it hit her as she listened to Brigitte making small talk with the older man: Brigitte couldn’t open with ‘hey do you know this well-known powerful psychopath’ … a girl had to build up to that sort of question and find the right in.  Otherwise they would likely be leaving someone’s kindly old grandfather in a pool of his own blood. Tara’s want to rush through this now seemed so much like Viola’s disdainful comments about her wanting to talk to the Shepherd and break bread with his family. And so, the younger Mastrosimone watched Brigitte working the man over and waited, trying to see where her sister would go with this thing and how she meant to bring it back around to Francesco and …

Tara realized then that Brigitte had looked to her no less than three times in the last minute and that expression of hers wasn’t a polite ‘just checking’ … she was waiting on her!  Tara piped up, “Brigitte! Wait, what about the man that Orin works for? He’s with the government, yes? Perhaps he was at the poker game? Perhaps he can help us find Orin!” Tara played up the starry eyed hopeful girl as best she could.  She was no actress like Brigitte but she did feel some of what she was trying to play at feeling. She prayed it was a passable impression of doe-eyed girl lost in love.

“Of course!  Mr. Gatello, do you happen to know um… Bianchi… um… what’s his first name?  A Mr. AH! Francesco. Francesco Bianchi? He might have been there.”

Giuseppe’s eyes widened, then he shook his head. “If your lover works with that man, it is better for you not to find him. He is a dangerous man, and anyone who works with him is better left unfound. You seem like good girls. Pretty girls- I haven’t had this many lovely ladies in my kitchen since unification. Forget the man, forget his friends. Go back to America and marry someone else.”

“Enough.”  Tara said.

Brigitte sighed.

“If I may, Miss Mastrosimone?” asked Zetico Crupi.

Tara looked at Crupi and gave a barely indulgent nod. 

“Mr. Gatello, you may not remember me, but I worked for Don Vecchio in St. Louis. You attended a very high stakes tournament with him many years ago.”

Giuseppe studied Zetico carefully. “I don’t remember you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. I was a young bodyguard with long hair. But you remember Don Vecchio? The riverboat tournament? There was a prize of-”

Giuseppe nodded. “Was that the one where the Irishman went into the bathroom with his wife and-”

Zetico cleared his throat and nodded, quickly moving past the point before the elderly Italian could recall any names.

“Yes. That one. I remember you played honorably that day. You folded a hand that had been mistakenly dealt to you, even though no others saw the error. These girls are also honorable. They are trying to find Francesco Bianchi to avenge- to rescue their friend. Please help them.”

Giuseppe pursed his lips and looked at Brigitte. “Is this true?”

Brigitte had the good sense to look ashamed, “Yes, Sir.  It is true. I was scared that because of Mr. Bianchi’s reputation that you like so many others would not help us.  We’re desperate to save our friend. We’ve been here for more than a month now and we can’t even be sure she’s still alive but we can’t go back without knowing.  We must find Bianchi. We have to know the fate of our friend and, God willing, save her.”

Giuseppe nodded. “I understand. I’m afraid I don’t have much to tell you. I was at a poker game with Mario Cunio and a few friends. There was a stranger there who seemed to know Cunio- his name was Francesco. He was complaining about having to live in the forest and having to travel so far north to get supplies. He also mentioned an underground fighting ring in Rome run by someone named Stracchi. That’s all I know, ladies, I’m sorry to say.”

Tara stood up and stepped towards the old man, leaning down she kissed both of his cheeks.  “That you had such courage to speak to us, it means more than you know. I was beginning to doubt the stories my mother and father told me about the Old Country.  Maybe there is honor here after all. I will not forget this regardless of our mission’s outcome. I promise you.”

“No need to worry about all that. Just be careful. If you feel like you owe me something, give me a good game of cards sometime.”

Brigitte shook her head slightly. “Mr Gatello. I am scared.” She wet her eyes as she looked at him blinking. “You tell me that we should stay away from him, and you tell me he is a bad man, but all you know is that he has two associates and their names? It sounds like you only know the man lived in the woods many years ago. Please. I don’t like that my sister’s friends got hurt because of this man. I don’t want to get hurt.” She lowered herself then in front of him, almost kneeling, but not actually letting her knees touch the floor. God forbid she get whatever it was on this floor on her clothes.

“He is bad. I see it in his eyes, in the eyes of others. Stories about him hurting people, which you already seem to know. The poker game at Cunio’s was… six weeks or so ago, not years. And if you don’t want to get hurt?” Giuseppe looked at her sympathetically. “Then go back to America. And don’t get old.”

Brigitte nodded slowly. “I see. I’m sorry, I might have to get old. I do want to be a good wife and mother one day as we all do.” Giuseppe looked at her with a tender pity and nodded.

Tara rest a hand on her sister’s shoulder gently, forcibly not rolling her eyes. The day Brigitte settled with one man, became a good housewife and birthed a liter of children as their mother had was the day that she’d stand in a church before her family and god and marry Oriana.

“Thank you for your time.  Come along, Brigitte. Everything will be alright.”  Tara ‘comforted’ her sister and guided her out of the house.  She could say one thing for the blonde, if she stuck with Broadway, she was sure to win a Tony award.

Chapter 6: We Who Are About To Die, Salute You!

When everyone had gathered back in the plane’s meeting room, they all looked at Dr. Magnotti first. “Laurent will be fine,” he said. “He was very lucky that the bullet missed anything essential, and the man also seems to be a quick healer.”

“He is,” said Laurent, walking into the room and taking a seat.

“Perhaps too quick,” added the doctor, “since he’s not supposed to be up yet.”

Tara sat starring a map of Southern Italy, a scowl on her face.  Crupi loomed over her shoulder protectively even here. “Rome.” She finally said shaking her head.  “We’ll be hunting a needle in a haystack. Please tell me you know Rome at least a bit better than some of the other cities, Ren?”  

“Casa dolce casa,” said Renato. “It’s where I grew up. What are you looking for?”

“Stracchi.  A man running an underground fighting club.”  She couldn’t even be bothered with making a witty remark about her family’s long history with underground fight clubs and how that was bound to end terribly since it was so entangled with her love life.  Instead she looked as if she was sucking on a lemon. It was one more breadcrumb in a seemingly endless sea of them and still no Oriana.

“I know the place. It’s outside the city. I can take you there directly, if only to see a smile return to your face.”

Tara blinked.  “Wait… wha- You can?”  she looked utterly shocked and then, the smile began to return to her face.

“Si. I know everywhere in Rome- and there is my smile,” he grinned. “Now, how do I earn a kiss?”

Brigitte slipped herself between Ren and her sister. “You need approval first. A test run if you will.” She smiled and batted her eyes at him, and then put a single finger up to his lips. “But for that, you need to impress me first, and I’m very hard to impress. After all, my papa is the Godfather of all New York.”

Renato froze as the finger touched his lips; he nodded.

“Who’s going to the fighting ring then?” asked Jo. “I think I did pretty good, you know. Not as good as Laurent, but still.”

Tara stared at the map, as if waiting for it to speak to her, as if she thought to see Ori there somewhere on the small icons of trees.  Ori was in the forest. Why did that feel right? Was she thinking about her when she looked to the sky and the trees? Could she see the sky and the trees?

Tara blinked away the thoughts, “You did good, Jo.  You’ve all done well.” Tara hesitated. She didn’t want to send anyone else to die.  Viola hadn’t been one of her people, per say, but she had died because Tara had picked her to come along.  Whoever she picked now might die too. She ran a finger along the edge of the leather chair, wondering if this was how her great aunt Tara felt in this same spot less than two decades ago.

“I am able to fight,” said Laurent.

Tara nodded.  “We all go this time.  Save the doctor, of course.”  She nodded to herself. “I would say you stay as well Brigitte but I know better than to think you’ll listen without a fuss.  Jo we need your skills and this is a fight club not a picnic. I need protection and … someone who knows the area. I don’t know what the hell we’re going to do it without all of you.  Laurent, if you’re sure?”

“I am sure.”

Tara nodded.  “All hands on deck then.”  She drew a breath. “Brigitte… Viola had made a suggestion.  She said I should wait to use it until the right moment. She suggested that we send the plane to another city and take a train to whatever destination we needed to arrive at unknown.  That way, if Francesco is tracking the private plane and it’s flight logs, we might get some time unseen. This might be the moment. Thoughts?”

“Would I stay with the plane?” asked Dr. Magnotti. “Or accompany you?”

“You would be with us, we might not take you to the fight club itself, but I would have you travel with us to Rome nonetheless.  Your skills, while not overly used yet, could prove vital to us. We’ve already seen how fast things can turn.”

The doctor nodded. “Well, I’ll pack my things.”

***

It was strange, after having to hunt through Genoa and Florence, to simply follow someone to their destination. Tara was grateful that her father had insisted on the local scout, and Renato seemed pleased to be the recipient of such gratitude. He took them by cab to a spot outside the city that would have been difficult to find without him. Cars and a few horses were lined up in the middle of nowhere. The group approached the four men who seemed to be standing guard; Renato recognized one and had a brief conversation with the man. No one seemed to care about their weapons, so the group then followed a staircase that seemed to lead underground. The caverns must have been old Roman ones, long since emptied of anything valuable. Once, they might have held treasures, but now they simply led to a circular area where a bunch of chairs were set up, facing down on a small arena about twenty feet across. The patrons looked like a mix of the rich and poor, but they had a shared thirst for blood in their eyes. A man clearly running the operation sat on an elevated chair, slightly above the crowd. He was large, looking more like a fighter than a mastermind. 

Renato’s voice appeared close to Tara’s ear as he said “That’s Rex Reggiano. He’s running the place now, after the previous owner was killed. Recently. I’ve never met him, but I know of him. Used to be a fighter, then he became a guard. He’s not big on fancy formality, but respect would be good.”

Tara nodded at Renato’s words.  This place wasn’t wholly like some of the places from her grandmother's and mother’s journals.  She could almost imagine the man William Bowden, who her uncle had been named for, in that pit.  Or her grandfather. She’d seen his picture numerous times, he wasn’t as big as the man named Bowden but he had long arms.  She suspected that made him the fighter the journals said he was. Hard to knock down a guy you couldn’t get near.

Tara cast her eyes about the room, taking in the patrons.  Again, not unlike those from the stories. Nona Bella hadn’t much cared for the places in word, but she ended up in enough of them that it made Tara doubt.  Perhaps it was that a woman writing a journal for her kids didn’t want them to think poorly of her and she was every bit as bloodthirsty as her father Salvatore had been?  There was no way to know for sure. Personally, Tara told herself she didn’t care if men clobbered each other into oblivion, but the truth was she’d never seen it happening right in front of her.  A few punches, she didn’t react to, but as the fights would wear on - Tara did find herself looking away once or twice. For as much as she was trying to build a tolerance to such brutality, she wasn’t yet used to it.  Still, this was the life she was choosing to be a part of, and so she tried to force herself to watch.

Reggiano stood up and crowd quieted. “Ne ho abbastanza. Tempo per l'evento principale.”

Tara tried not to look shocked.  THAT had been warm ups? She straightened herself and spoke quietly to her companions,  “I suppose an introduction would be best, is there an etiquette to a place like this?”

An older man wheeled a cart full of weapons into the center of the arena: spears, swords, daggers, and other tools of Ancient Rome.

Tara stared at the weapons.  She had expected to see a great deal in this place but certainly nothing of this sort!  She glanced at Brigitte to gauge her response.

“I’d talk to him quickly,” said Ren. “Before the fights begin.”

Tara delayed no further and made her way towards Rex. The crowd was beginning to notice Tara’s group- particularly Tara, Brigitte, and Jo. There weren’t many women present, and the crowd of men looked hungry. For her part, Tara was used to ignoring men, she supposed her sister was too though in another way, she didn’t look to see if Jo was handling the attention alright - instead she just said a silent prayer that she was.

Renato made his way toward Rex, bowed politely, introduced himself by mentioning the street he grew up on, and introduced his rich American boss.

“Che cosa vuoi, americana? qui per la lotta?”

Tara inclined her head respectfully, “Sono venuto per informazioni, se mi aiuti a imparare ciò che devo sapere, potrei darti la possibilità di vincere una grossa fetta delle mie spese di viaggio. Mio padre è ricco e mia madre non ha talento per il gioco d'azzardo. Non lo sorprenderebbe se seguissi le orme di mia madre.”

“Di solito ci occupiamo di sangue, non di conoscenza. Ma non sono contrario. Cosa vuoi sapere?”

"Bene, questa è la mia prima volta in un istituto come questo. Immagino che tutti quelli a cui vengo dopo questo dovranno adeguarsi a ciò che mi mostri qui. Sono, comunque, un bravo studente."  Tara made herself a bit more comfortable, giving some of her attention to the ring. “Sto seguendo un uomo pericoloso. Le persone sono state riluttanti a parlarmi di lui. Hanno paura di lui."

“Sei fortunato, non ho paura di nessuno.” The large man leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his knees. “Chi è l'uomo?”

Tara looked him up and down slowly.  He probably wasn’t afraid of many people, by the look of him at least.  Her father might have a rough go of putting a guy like him down … before the chair of course.  Her only reply was the name, “Francesco Bianchi.” She paused and attempted to read his non-verbal reactions.

Rex nodded, half expecting it. “"Conosceva bene il mio ex capo. Un'altra donna ha chiesto di lui." He paused. “"Ti dirò cosa ha detto il mio capo all'altra donna. Per un prezzo. Non sono contrario ad aiutarti. Ma sono nei guai. Abbiamo sempre tre fiammiferi. Spade, scudi. Lancia. Tutte queste vecchie armi da gladiatore oggi sono stati arrestati. Una rissa e ho bisogno di qualcuno che lo sostituisca e siamo stati fortunati con i recenti sostituti. Aiutami e ti dirò tutto ciò che devi sapere. Ero la mano destra di Stracchi per gestire questo affare, e sono stato il prossimo per lui per tutto, ti aiuterò a vincere o perdere, per esempio ... un milione di dollari.”

“E se ti esibisci come l'altra donna, ti pagherò persino.”

Tara nodded thoughtfully and was about to speak when Brigitte spoke in perfect Italian instead, “Sono Brigitte Mastrosimone, siamo le figlie di Don Billy Mastrosimone di New York. I soldi non sono un problema. Nostro padre sarà felice di ringraziarti per averci aiutato in questo compito, ma non sarebbe contento di nessuno dei due a rischiare i nostri colli sul ring. Per questo temo, dovrai trovare un'altra anima coraggiosa.”

Rex laced his fingers and rested his chin on them. Then he looked at Renato. “Hai una reputazione in città come un topo onesto. Garantisci questa persona?”

Renato nodded, knowing that if Tara and Brigitte failed to pay, then he would pay a heavy price. But he trusted them.

Rex seemed to stumble over how he wanted to phrase things; eventually, he waved Renato up to approach him and act as a translator. Renato listened carefully, repeating everything Rex said as accurately as he could.

“Alright, you’ve earned what you want to know. A few weeks ago, we had a woman show up and demand to see Stracchi. Stracchi told the guards to tell her to go fuck herself. She sent the guard back to ask ‘with what?’ Stracchi laughed, said to bring her in. Well, in walks this beautiful woman, says she has some questions for Stracchi. He said that he only talks to winners, and gestures to the fighting pit. He must have seen something in her eye. I didn’t, to be honest. Thought she was just another piece of ass looking to latch on to a powerful guy. So she asked what it would take to get him to talk, and he tells her she needs to win a fight. We don’t have lady fighters too often, but there’s a couple around, so we called them up. Stracchi tells the stranger, Oriana was her name, that he needs a good show. So she hops down in the arena wearing a dress and picks out a couple short swords to fight someone with a spear. Questionable. Well the fight’s over before anybody barely knows what happened. Claudia, the other fighter, had a sword sticking out of her shoulder after one spear thrust. The crowd wanted blood, but the stranger spared her. The second one, at least, was a good fighter. Entertaining. Stranger had to dodge a bit more for that one, but Flavia got sliced in both legs and fell down. The crowd spared her, because at least it was a good show. Well, this stranger throws her swords in the sand, then walks up to Stracchi and sits on his lap. I was standing guard next to him, saw what she did to him. Played the guy like a fiddle- not that I could have resisted her either.” 

Tara tensed.

“She was asking about a guy named Bianchi, just like you. Stracchi told her Bianchi was training 7 new girls, and he also mentioned a partner in Bari. Well anyway, that was what they said other than small talk and flirtation. After about fifteen minutes, Stracchi and this Oriana left together, all over each other. The next morning, they find Stracchi dead in his bed. He’d been disemboweled like an animal had ripped his guts out, and I took over the place.”