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Adriana stopped, taking in the scene.

“Keep moving.”

“Where?”

“Just move forward.”

Men emerged from the restaurant doorway.

I saw the first through the moving crowd. He wore an earpiece and kept his right hand beneath his jacket. His gaze locked on mine.

“Run.”

I caught Adriana’s hand as we drove into the crowd. People shouted as we forced our way through. A woman dropped a paper cup, sending hot liquid across the pavement. A vendor swore when I shoved past his display and it went crashing to the ground.

Behind us, one of the men called out. Two others separated and moved down opposite aisles. They were closing the exits.

I pulled Adriana left between a flower stall and a table crowded with painted ceramics.

The men did not fire. There were too many cameras and too many witnesses. Lucia’s murder could be reduced to an old enemy, a failed robbery or a story she shouldn’t have pursued. Killing a Cavalho in the centre of Florence would force politicians, police and every criminal family in Tuscany to ask questions.

The Coccico cartel wanted us silenced. They did not want a war they couldn’t contain. That restraint would not save us. It only meant they would use their hands instead of their guns.

One of them appeared ahead.

I changed direction and dragged Adriana behind a stall.

“What are we doing?” she asked.

I pushed through a gap between two tents and entered a side street.

Adriana ran beside me, breathing hard.

Footsteps followed.

The street narrowed between tall stone buildings. Laundry lines crossed overhead, and rainwater dripped from iron balconies. A bicycle leaned against one wall.

Headlights swept across the far end. Another vehicle. They had sealed the street.

I drew my weapon just as the first man turned into the street behind us. I fired once. The round entered his thigh and shattered the bone. He dropped with a scream, his weapon skidding across the cobblestones.

The second man reached beneath his jacket. I fired again. The bullet struck his shoulder, spinning him into the wall. I had deliberately aimed away from his chest because dead men couldn’t answer questions.

A third figure moved behind them as more footsteps came from the far end of the street. I could fight through one direction, perhaps two. But I couldn’t guarantee Adriana would remain untouched. I seized her arm and pulled her into the first recessed doorway I found. The entrance was hidden behind a stone column and an iron drainpipe. The wooden door at our backs was locked. The space had been designed for one person. I forced two into it. Adriana’s back struck the door. My body covered hers.

“Don’t make a sound.”

She nodded.

I braced one hand beside her head and wrapped the other around her waist, drawing her tightly against me until no part of her remained visible from the street.

Footsteps entered the lane.

Adriana’s breath struck my throat in short, warm bursts.

“Slow it,” I whispered.

“I’m trying.”