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“Nothing.” I grimace as I try to keep the bird as far away from me as possible.
“Doesn’t look like nothing to me. You’ve got sweat running down your forehead.”
“Just drop it, Ella,” I order, but when has she ever done as she’s told?
“Tell me what’s going on,” she insists, slipping back into her shoes.
I can’t admit this to her. I know how ridiculous it sounds.
“Tiero,” Ella says, more softly this time. “You can tell me.”
I look into her eyes, and compassion has replaced her earlier annoyance.
“It’s the feet,” I half mumble.
She blinks a few times and frowns. “The feet?”
“Yes, it has palmates… They freak me out.”
“Palmates?” she repeats more like a question. How can she not know what they are?
“Webbed feet,” I explain.
“What?! Why would webbed…” She doesn’t get a chance to finish her sentence, as out of nowhere, a very angry black swan races across the water.
For a second, we’re both frozen with surprise.
The bundle I’m holding isn’t a duck but must be the swan’s baby. When it reaches land, it charges at us, hissing, its wings flapping menacingly.
We both run toward the house, but all the jiggling is distressing the injured bird, which cries out for its parents.
I look back over my shoulder. We’ve made some headway, but I’ll be damned, the swan is not giving up.
Its huge wings are fully extended. Its neck is curved back, ready to snap at us to defend its young. It’s flapping and hissing is intimidating, even to me.
I’m still holding the cygnet with outstretched arms, but it’s awkward to run like this.
This is ridiculous!
I’m the boss of one of the biggest crime syndicates in Italy, and I’m running from a swan?
Cursing under my breath, I cradle the baby bird against my body with one arm and abruptly stop running. I turn around to face my winged assailant and pull out my gun from the holster. I aim it straight at the angry black swan.
Ella squeals behind me, having noticed what I’m doing.
“Tiero. Don’t,” she screams behind me. Running toward me, she puts herself in between me and the hissing swan, holding out her arms wide.
“You will not shoot an innocent bird. I won’t allow it,” she declares, her face stern.
“Merda,” I curse. I know she means it.
Suddenly, the swan noises grow even louder. Shit, there’s another one joining in the attack… must be the other parent.
Where the hell did it come from?!
Running again we make some ground. We’re well ahead of the birds, but they’re not giving up.
What must we look like? Two grown people running from two angry birds. The big bad mafioso running from an oversized duck.
