Cheung tossed the gun and his arsenal in the trash bin and then hurried to the car he’d parked discreetly on the side of the building. He swerved out into traffic and jumped his lane into oncoming traffic. A quick maneuver kept him from a head on collision with a car, and he swerved back in his lane flooring it hard. He kept a cool head. Cheung had been in tighter spots than this one. He’d get out of Italy under the cover of night and then rethink his plan. Bonaduce’s boy took the hit. How old was the kid? Seventeen, eighteen?
As he drove off the local road to the main highway, he relaxed on the gas. Soon he was flowing with traffic and confident that the worst was behind him. That was until he heard sirens. His gaze flipped to the rearview mirror. Seven box shaped blue police cars were in pursuit. It couldn’t be. No fucking way they could have found him this quick. Maybe they were in pursuit of someone else? He’d been too careful.
When his gaze leveled on the road ahead, he had to brake fast. Cars were all coming to halt before a barricade set up by the Carabinieri.
“What the fuck is this?” he shouted as the car came to a complete stop. The other traffic was veered away and men with Uzis swarmed his car. Cheung put his hands up. He was ordered out of the car. He eased out slowly. He had nothing on him. Nothing to incriminate him and he was certain he hadn’t been seen. This he could work out.
Several armed men approached the back of his car instead of him. He watched as the trunk was lifted. The men recoiled gagging, and the one with the gun pointed sharp to his side barked an order at him in Italian.
“What the fuck is going on? What is it?” Cheung asked in Italian.
He was marched to the back of the car. The stench greeted him first. Then his vision connected with the ghastly sight of a murdered man, pale white, with dead cloudy grey eyes, fixed on nothing. A corpse? Who the fuck put a corpse in his car?
Chapter Fourteen
Two days before Christmas the Battaglia home reflected the spirit of the season. Red and green ribbons were decorative accessories along the stairwell. A festive mistletoe hung above each door on the lower levels. And lights were strung up along the halls and every archway. That was her American touch to the holiday. In Italy the season was also celebrated; however, Catalina told Mira she and Giovanni normally waited until Epiphany, which was January 6th, to exchange gifts. It was Eve’s first Christmas with her father, and Mira refused to wait that long.
And there was another reason why. Franco’s body was found. The killer turned out to be the Asian man she encountered between the Christmas trees holding her daughter. The arrest unfolded on the news. He was handcuffed and led away from a traffic stop. The reporter said Franco Minetti, a Sicilian businessman was found stuffed in the man’s trunk. She and Catalina watched from the second level windows as cars of the Italian police drove in through the Battaglia gates. Men in blue uniforms with berets and weapons strapped to them marched through their home. Summoned below, Catalina gave an Oscar worthy performance and collapsed at hearing the news. Mira made sure to stay upstairs during the visit. She didn’t want to know the details or bear witness to the lies. Catalina was confined to her room afterwards, and Mira stood by Zia’s side as she informed the Minettis that Catalina was too sick with grief to attend Franco’s funeral. Mira found it disgraceful that Catalina refused to give Franco the respect of attending his services. However, she understood. A lie was best believed if only told once.