Chapter 88: Mafia Kings: Massimo: Chapter 89

After a hearty breakfast of frittata – eggs, bacon, and cheese baked in a casserole – and copious amounts of espresso, I walked out of the café and down to the shore.

I couldn’t see Venice from where I stood, but I knew from my boat ride with Lucia that several large islands were in the way.

I’d see Venice soon enough from the Isle of San Michele.

I only had to wait about 20 minutes before six black Mercedes drove up and parked on the road next to me.

Lars and Adriano got out, along with 20 men who worked as foot soldiers for my family.

A grin spread across my face from ear to ear.

As Lars and Adriano walked over towards me, Adriano held out his arms. “C’mere, you big lug! Jesus, you look like shit.”

I laughed as I hugged him.

Always trust Adriano to give it to you straight.

“That’s what four weeks on the run eating food out of cans will do to you,” I said.

“Yeah, but what’s this?” Adriano said as he patted my overgrown beard. “We should’ve brought a fuckin’ barber, too.”

I chuckled and then embraced Lars. “Thanks for coming.”

“Are you kidding me?” he said. “Wouldn’t have missed it.”

“Always wanted to storm the beaches at Normandy, huh?” I joked.

“NO,” Lars said with a raised eyebrow. “Definitely not. But as long as you do it, I’m going to have your back.”

“Thank you.” I looked at Adriano. “I appreciate you being here, I do… but you’re still recuperating from those cracked ribs.”

“You don’t realize how long you’ve been gone, bro.” Adriano patted his sides. “Fully recovered. Clean bill of health.”

“But you and Bianca just got married a month ago,” I protested. “You shouldn’t go.”

“That’s what I told him,” Lars said.

Adriano shook his head. “You stood shoulder to shoulder with me in Florence when the bullets were flying. Forget that I’m your brother – if I don’t help you after everything you did for me, then I’m not the man Bianca deserves.”

“I think she’d rather have you safe.”

“She wrecked that car and almost died to save you and me. I think she’d rather have a man who tries to be as brave as her instead of a coward for a husband.”

In my exhausted state, that really got me. I had to blink a couple of times as my eyes misted up.

“Niccolo said you proposed to this girl,” Lars said.

“I did.”

“Shit,” Adriano muttered as he studied my face. “You’re really in love with her, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“Then I’m definitely going,” Adriano said.

I hugged him again, then said, “All right… by the way, did you get that thing I asked about?”

“Of course.”

Adriano gave me a small box, and I opened it.

“I tried to get the closest one to what you described,” he said.

“It’s perfect. Thank you,” I said as I put the box in my pocket.

Then I turned to address the men who had come with Adriano and Lars. “Thank you – all of you. Your presence here today not only means a lot to the family… it means a lot to me. I’ll never forget it.”

The men all nodded and murmured their replies.

You’re welcome.

Of course.

It’s our duty.

Lars popped the trunk of one of the cars and pulled out clothes on a hanger. “Your Guillardo suit.”

Signor Guillardo was a tailor in Florence who specialized in incorporating Kevlar and ceramic plates into his suits and tuxes. They weren’t entirely bulletproof, but they were the next best thing.

“Fuckin’ saved my life when Mezzasalma shot me,” Adriano said.

It was true. The only reason he’d gotten cracked ribs and not a perforated gut was because he’d been wearing a Guillardo tux.

“This isn’t going to be enough, though,” I said. “You brought all the bulletproof vests you could get your hands on?”

“Every single one not being used by the men guarding the house,” Lars confirmed.

“By the way – what happened with that assassin who took a shot at Dario?” I asked.

Lars and Adriano exchanged a look. Lars’s was more along the lines of Don’t you say a fuckin’ word while Adriano just smirked.

“What?” I asked, confused.

“It’s a long story,” Lars said.

“But a very interesting one,” Adriano said with a snorting laugh.

I frowned. “I wondered if the shooter might be Zollner, the guy who took Lucia. He didn’t mention it, but maybe he didn’t want me to know. It was three weeks ago – he could’ve taken the shot at Dario and then – ”

“OH no,” Adriano interrupted with a grin. “It wasn’t him. Trust me.”

Lars shot my brother another look, then promised me, “I’ll tell you after all this is over. Until then, it’s just a distraction.”

“Fine,” I said. “What’s Valentino doing in Sicily? And why’s Roberto in Hong Kong?”

“More distractions,” Lars said. “Later.”

If it was bad news and he didn’t want to tell me, it was probably for the best. I trusted his judgment.

“What about the boats?” I asked.

Lars checked his cell phone. “They should be arriving… now, as a matter of fact.”

Right on cue, three speed boats appeared in the distance. I could hear their engines roaring as they approached along the shoreline.

“You didn’t get them from Venice, right?” I asked. “There’s no chance they’re going to have bombs on them or – ”

“Nope,” Adriano. “We hired them out of Trieste.”

Trieste was a city across the water, about 40 miles from Venice. It was still in Italy but right on the border with Slovenia.

“Alright,” I said, and checked the other contents of the trunk.

Besides the bulletproof vests, there was a huge case that I assumed held Lars’s sniper rifle…

Plus a grenade launcher…

Plus an assortment of all types of assault rifles and pistols.

“Where’s the tools and duct tape?” I asked.

Lars rummaged under some bulletproof vests and pulled out the items I’d requested. “This is unorthodox, to say the very least.”

“Well, I need something for extra protection,” I said. “Zollner will be gunning for me from the second I step off the boat.”

I opened the rear passenger door of the Mercedes and set to work with the tools Lars had given me.

I got the door off its hinges in just under four minutes.

“We could’ve just gotten you a riot shield,” Adriano said as he put on a bulletproof vest.

“A riot shield won’t stop machine gun fire.”

“Let’s try not to expose ourselves to machine gun fire – how about that?” Lars said sardonically.

“Might not have a choice,” I said as I used a knife to rip off the wood lining and leather padding inside the door.

“BRO – do you know how expensive that is?!” Adriano barked.

“A lot less expensive than having me in the hospital for a month,” I answered.

“Roberto would have a heart attack if he saw you doing that.”

“Good thing he’s in Hong Kong, then. If you don’t tell him, I won’t either.”

“Why are you doing that?” Adriano asked.

“You’ll see.”

I finished ripping everything off the inside of the door until it was down to the metal frame.

Then I began wrapping loop after loop of duct tape through the crossbar of the door. I kept the sticky side out and put my left arm through the non-sticky center of the loop. Then I kept wrapping.

Once I’d finished the entire roll of duct tape, I had a heavy-duty sleeve I could carry the door with and still keep my left hand free.

A bulletproof shield taken off a bulletproof car.

Adriano laughed. “You’re the Cosa Nostra Captain America.”

“I can make one for you,” I joked.

“And lug around a 150-pound car door? No thanks,” Adriano said. “You’re the only guy I know who’s strong enough to pull that one off.”

“Plus, I can stick magazines to the tape and keep them handy for reloading.” I demonstrated by sticking five separate clips to the outer surface of the duct tape.

“Huh,” Lars said, mildly impressed. “How’d you think of that?”

“It was a long drive down here.”

“Well, it won’t be a long trip to San Michele, so let me show you what we’re going to do when we get there.”

I set down the car door as Lars produced a computer print-out of San Michele Island.

“I should put on my suit from Signor Guillardo,” I said.

“As long as you can do that and pay attention, be my guest.”

“What about the other guys?” I asked, gesturing with my head to our foot soldiers.

“Lars briefed ‘em before we left,” Adriano told me. “And then he had them repeat it back to him a dozen times while we were driving up from Tuscany.”

Lars looked over at me. “You ready?”

“Go for it,” I said as I started to change clothes. “Tell me all about storming the beaches at Normandy.”