Page 87 of No Stone Unturned

“The cat?” He held up one hand. “No. Pretend I didn’t say that.” He slipped out of the room, carrying Principessa and giving me a grin over his shoulder.

That cat was driving me nuts.

I took a quick shower and examined my hands. The burns were still raw and tender, but improving. When I got out, I dried my hands, added the ointment and rebandaged using the smaller wraps Slash had provided. It felt good to more easily flex my hands and slip the engagement ring back on my finger. I took a minute to admire it before I went downstairs.

Nonna was alone in the kitchen, cooking again. “Buongiorno, Lexi!” she said cheerfully.

“Buongiorno,Nonna,”I looked around the kitchen. “Dov’èSlash?”

“Ah, lui è al mercato,” she answered.

Mercato. Market. Yep, Slash must have already left for the market. She insisted I sit at the table and poured hot milk from an aluminum pot into a mug that sat in front of me. I took a sip. It was hot, delicious and seasoned with some mild spices.

She set a plate of hard biscuits in front of me, mimicking how I should dunk them in the milk to eat. I followed her instructions and ate them, the milk dribbling off my chin. The biscuits were followed by a plate of fresh fruit and what was surely freshly squeezed orange juice. Just like that I was stuffed, and I’d barely got out of bed.

Eventually she joined me at the table, sipping coffee of her own and nibbling on a biscuit. I pulled out my cell phone, thinking about using my phone translator so we could actually have a conversation, when there was an abrupt knock at the back door.

The knock surprised her, and she frowned. Maybe people didn’t often knock on her back door. Or knock at all. I wondered if she ever locked her door.

Before she could respond, two men opened the door and stepped in. Possibly neighbors or friends, but I wasn’t getting that vibe from Nonna.

She stood and started speaking to them angrily in rapid Italian. I didn’t like how this was playing out, so I was coming to my feet as one of the guys shoved her back into the chair.

“Whoa,” I said jumping between them and holding out a hand. “What the heck do you think you’re doing?”

The guy muscled me aside, pushing me back until my butt was against the stove. I reached behind me, searching for some kind of weapon. I grabbed a wooden spoon dripping with tomato sauce and brandished it at them threateningly.

“Who are you?” I said in English.

They ignored me. The muscled guy stayed where he was, effectively trapping me against the stove while the other disappeared into the house.

“Where are you going?” I shouted after the guy.

No one responded. I debated taking on muscle guy—not that I had much of a chance of winning—but I didn’t like what was happening. Still, I considered the option on the table if he made any other move.

The second guy came back almost immediately and said something to muscle guy before whipping a phone out of his pocket and speaking rapidly in Italian. Then he returned the phone and walked over to me. Muscle guy moved aside.

“Where is the man?” he said in halting English.

“The man?” I repeated, pretending not to understand.

He jabbed a finger toward my chest. “Yes. Your man. Where is he?”

Slash. They were looking for Slash. I had to figure a way to stall them. “Look, dude, I’m just visiting my grandmother. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He narrowed his eyes, then strode over to Nonna, asking her something in Italian. She spit on him, so he gripped her jaw, and the second he touched her, I’d had enough. I jumped on his back, screeching like a banshee and poking the wooden spoon at the most vulnerable spot of his body, given my position—his eyes.

He shouted and released Nonna, trying to buck me off. Muscle Guy tried to grab me, but my poking was causing his comrade to stagger all over the kitchen, and he couldn’t get a good grip. I was pretty sure I scored a hit at least once in the eyes because he roared in pain and slammed me hard between his body and the wall, trying to loosen my grip around his neck. A picture of Jesus and some decorative plates fell, but I held on tight.

Muscle Guy finally managed to grab my arm, when a ten-pound gray missile abruptly shot onto the back of his neck, scratching and biting.

Muscle Guy immediately let go of me, clutching his neck and screaming.

“Get him, Principessa,” I shouted as all hell broke loose.

Nonna shrieked at the top of her lungs and started throwing dishes, glasses and whatever was handy at both men. Principessa got her claws tangled in the guy’s shirt, so she was slashing at him fiercely to get free, and scratching the hell out of him in the process. Apparently Muscle Guy was allergic or deathly afraid of cats, because he was so panicked he staggered around the kitchen shouting and bumping into everything he could, trying to get her off. I was still hanging on tight around the other guy’s neck when we swerved near the stove. I dropped the spoon and grabbed the pot of hot milk, saying a small prayer of thanks that my bandages actually worked as kind of a pot holder. I dumped the milk over his head and jumped off his back.

He screamed as the scalding liquid splashed over him. As he swiped at his face trying to see, I snatched the iron skillet from the stove. It was filled with something that smelled delicious, probably our lunch, so I felt sincere regret when I brained Muscle Guy as he was trying to smash Principessa against the wall. Hot food splattered across him and most of the kitchen. The cat miraculously freed her claws from his clothes and streaked into the living room. Muscle Guy went down like a sack of potatoes, hitting his head on the corner of the kitchen table on the way to the floor.

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