Chapter 20: The Hand on the Gate

The barrel swung from Livia to my face, and the hall came apart.

Women screamed, and benches scraped, and a hundred men reached under their coats.

"Nobody move!" Ruggero shouted. "Or the first shot is hers!"

I did not think.

I pushed Nico down behind the bench with both hands and said, "Stay."

Then I stood up.

The old man with the white beard was an arm's length from me, leaning on his stick.

I took the stick out of his hand.

"Child," he said.

"Forgive me."

I stepped out into the aisle.

Ruggero's gun came around, and he aimed straight at my chest.

"You should have stayed in Paris," he said.

"I should have come home sooner," I said.

He smiled and his finger tightened.

Alessio's hand closed on my wrist and wrenched me sideways.

It was the same grip as at the airport, hard enough to bruise, and this time I understood what it meant.

The gun went off.

The sound slammed against the painted ceiling.

Alessio jerked, and his cane skittered across the floor.

He did not make a sound.

He just stood a second longer in front of me with his arm still around my waist, and then he sagged.

"Alessio!"

I caught him.

Blood was already coming through his white shirt at the shoulder, bright and fast.

Ruggero swore and brought the barrel round for a second shot.

I swung the stick with everything I had.

It cracked down across his wrist, and the gun spun away over the stone.

Ruggero howled and clutched his arm.

I hit him again across the knees, and he went down on one leg.

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