Chapter 11: The Wrong Woman

The first bullet went through the lamp behind Raffaele's head.

He shoved Gemma to the floor behind the bed and fired twice at the doorway.

One man dropped.

His two guards, who had followed them up, came through the hall in a rush, and the suite became a room full of noise.

Raffaele flattened against the wall by the window, reloaded, and counted.

Six Orsatti men.

One down, and a second clutching his arm.

On the sofa, the heir had already pulled Fiammetta to her feet.

They were heading for the service door at the back of the suite.

"Stop her," Raffaele said.

A guard went after them, and was shot in the shoulder.

By the time Raffaele cleared the bed, the service door had slammed, and he heard the elevator.

He swore.

A bullet hit the wall beside his ear.

The map of his harbor lay on the bed, torn where somebody had grabbed half of it.

Gemma was on her stomach beside him, her robe soaked with spilled wine.

"Stay down," he said.

"I'm down!"

"Stay lower."

"Raffaele, on your left!"

He turned and shot the man coming at him, and the man went over the table, taking the candles with him.

A tablecloth caught fire.

The fire ran up the curtain, and in the glare he saw one more gun swing toward Gemma's head.

He caught the man's wrist and drove the muzzle up and hit the ceiling with two bullets.

Then he broke the man's arm over his knee and put a round through his chest.

The man fell, and did not move again.

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