Page 7 of Gilded Saint

A full moon lights the stone stairs as I escape, head swimming with everything Massimo wants for his family.

The Lupi Grigi are looking to invest billions to shore up their defenses and enhance product delivery options. The guns and explosives will put them at an advantage over law enforcement all over Europe, and the submersibles Gagliano aims to add to his fleet will enhance the ships he’s already converted to “stateless vessels,” meaning they skirt international regulations.

When I’m back home, I’ll convince Nick he’s got to do something. The ever-growing expansion of the shadow fleet goes against the mission of the syndicate to maintain world order while promoting profits. The trouble is the balance of what’s best for the world and what delivers profits is tricky. However, I stand a chance of convincing Nick this doesn’t bode well. He’s the one who engineered the mega bust on the Grigi family because they were too powerful. If we deliver everything Massimo is seeking, he might meet his goal of making them the most formidable in Europe once again, with growing clout in North and South America.

The flat sea laps at the shore, and I’m tempted to remove my boots and let the sand seep between my toes. High-end hotels line the cliff, but few wander this stretch of sand beneath the cliffs late at night. The steep trail deters the masses. The sandy beach makes Atrani a rarity along the Amalfi Coast, and if I were here for a different reason, it would be tempting to stay for a while.

A high-pitched cry breaks the peaceful ocean lull.

“Stai zitto!” the deep voice shouts in Italian.

It’s the feminine, distressed cry that sends me running.

I charge up a dirt path and break into a run when I hit cobblestone.

The cries mellow, but high-pitch squeals escape every few seconds, as if a hand covers her mouth. And of course, I didn’t bring my fucking gun.

In the shadows, the back of a man comes into view. His shoulders are wider than mine, but so is his waist. He has a woman’s back pressed to his front. One hand covers her mouth. She kicks her leg back, but hits air.

He grunts in Italian, telling her to relax.

As I get closer, my eyes adjust, and I recognize the flower print dress.

I tap the man on the shoulder. He whips around, arm raised, defensive, forgetting all about the girl.

I haul off and deck him. His head slings back. I clock him with a right hook. He stumbles back against the stone wall, and I plant a fist head-on.

He holds a palm up to his face, and the whites of his eyes glow in the moonlight as he registers blood.

That’s right, fucker.

“Do you know who I am?” he yells in accented English that’s a spot-on match for all the Italians I hobnobbed with earlier in the day.

“No. Don’t care to either.”

“You’re going to regret this, fucking American.”

“Leave. Now.” I point toward the street.

It’s a steep climb to the town, but he can breathe through his mouth. Based on the spurting blood, I broke his nose. Good.

If he charges me, with one kick I’ll break his leg and leave the fucker to crawl the incline.

He mutters, spewing Italian profanity. He raises a fist but pauses, looking between me and the girl. She’s backed up to the wall, clutching her neck, which makes me think he throttled her.

I see red. Not the flowered dress. Not the blonde with wavy hair. I see my sisters. Rage overwhelms me. I raise my fist, and he drops his, wisely backing up.

“You’ll pay,” he grunts.

“For stopping an assault on a young girl? I don’t think so. Get the fuck out of here.”

I would’ve enjoyed cracking his leg, but the coward spins and heads off into the shadows.

There’s no doubt he’s in the Grigi clan. An older man, out-of-shape, with the ego to threaten. Probably the head of one of the smaller families, but I didn’t meet him today, which means Massimo doesn’t see him as a player. Whatever the fuck. Everyone who knows me knows I won’t stand for abusing women. Can’t stomach it, so you don’t fucking do it around me.

The girl backs away, hand on her neck, those gigantic eyes glowing in the moonlight.

“Did he hurt you?”

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