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She meant l’Aeroporto di Venezia Marco Polo – Marco Polo Airport – a small regional airport with only two runways. Flights were sparse because it was far more convenient for the average Venetian to ride the train to nearby cities. Most people only used Marco Polo as a connecting flight to bigger airports for international travel.
But I had flown in that morning on my family’s private jet, and it was sitting in a rented hanger awaiting my return.
My visit to the Widow was only supposed to have lasted a couple of hours. The plan had been to talk to her, turn around, and immediately fly home.
Things had changed just slightly.
“We can get to the airport by water?” I asked, surprised.
“More or less. There’s a canal that goes right up by the runway.”
That was definitely an option.
The biggest problem was if Fausto had known I was going to go see the Widow…
Then he definitely knew my family’s plane was at the airport.
Which meant there might be mercenaries waiting… or, at the very least, moles to identify us on our arrival. There was no telling what kind of trap I might be walking into.
Not to mention that I would have to clear it with the Widow if I wanted to take Lucia with me. Otherwise, it really would look like I was kidnapping her.
But after saving the old woman’s life, I didn’t see her having a problem with it. A temporary stay in Tuscany was better than fighting our way through a bunch of mercenaries to get Lucia back to the palazzo.
Time to make a couple of phone calls.
However, I would have to cut the engine if I wanted anybody to hear me.
We were approaching two pretty big islands with a gap between them. “What are those up there?” I asked.
“Murano. The left side’s got a town, the right side’s nothing but marshes.”
“Can you hide us up there and kill the engine so I can make a call?”
“Aren’t you worried about the bad guys?”
“I’ll keep a lookout, but I don’t think they’re following us.”
We headed towards the island on the left with the town. As we got closer, I realized Murano was like a much smaller, plainer version of Venice.
We approached a long stretch of two-story brick buildings that looked like the exterior of a little-used warehouse. Several piers were attached to the buildings, so Lucia pulled up next to one and shut off the engine.
Niccolo or the Widow – who to call first?
I opted for Niccolo, just in case he had a bigger strategy I wasn’t privy to.
He answered on the first ring.
“Are you alright?” he asked in a strained voice.
“I’m fine. There was a shootout with more mercenaries at the university, but I got the Widow’s granddaughter out.”
I realized I had just used the old lady’s nickname in front of Lucia. Not exactly the kind of respectful aura I’d been trying to project.
“Uh, Signora Fioretti’s granddaughter,” I amended.
I glanced up at Lucia. She just smirked at me like I KNOW you’re full of shit.
I grimaced and looked away.
