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He knew the old lady wouldn’t take kindly to fucking around with her granddaughter’s safety.
Roderigo grumbled, but he immediately pushed on the throttle and doubled our speed.
“If we get stopped on the way, it’s on your head, not mine,” he said snippily.
“Fine,” I replied, but I kept all sarcasm out of my voice. “Thank you.”
He didn’t answer.
I ignored the cold shoulder.
Roderigo was acting like a complete dumbass. The worst man in my family’s crew of foot soldiers was better than him –
But I thought I knew why.
The Widow’s regime had gone unchallenged for decades. Her power in Venice was so absolute, and the situation so peaceful, that her men had grown complacent and lazy.
Yes, something unprecedented had happened that morning during the attack on the Widow – but Roderigo could write it off as a betrayal by one of his colleagues.
The idea that the situation might have fundamentally changed?
Unthinkable.
Unfortunately for Roderigo and his fellow soldiers, a pack of wolves had come to town.
Hungry wolves, ready to rip out some throats.
Roderigo thought the danger was over because a few mercenaries were dead…
But I feared the danger had only just begun.
Roderigo slowed down as the motorboat moved from a smaller canal into a larger one. Once he was sure there were no boats we might collide with, he sped up again.
The waterways in Venice were like streets – which means they had traffic. They also all had names, which were displayed on metal signs affixed to the sides of the ancient buildings.
I looked around in wonder at my surroundings. It really was like something out of a fantasy.
The city’s foundations had been slowly sinking for centuries. As a result, many buildings’ ground levels had been abandoned to the sea. Several feet of water covered the floors, and small motorboats were moored in what 200 years ago had been a living room. Algae and slime covered most of the walls up to the high-tide marks.
Our boat went under a footbridge spanning the canal. Up on top of the bridge, curious pedestrians peered down at us.
We must have looked odd to them: six tough guys in suits cruising along in a motorboat.
“Has Signorina Fioretti called you back yet?” I yelled at Roderigo over the sound of the motor.
He gave a single, bitter laugh. “Lucia? No.”
“Maybe you should try her again.”
“Trust me, she won’t answer.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because she never answers.”
“But you texted her about the attack, right?”
“I doubt she read it. Probably too busy taking selfies.”
