Tock went through the files quickly, finding what she needed. Using a thumb drive, she downloaded the necessary information. While she worked on that, Mads dealt with the standing safe. It was a good safe, but they’d dealt with more secure ones, so it took Mads less than three minutes to get in. She easily found the papers they wanted and removed them.
Looking at her watch, Tock snarled at Mads. Time to go. They grabbed everything they needed and headed down the stairs, meeting Nelle and the others in the dining room. As they worked to finish up, Max abruptly stopped and looked toward the door. Then they all did, because now they heard it, too. Someone speaking in Italian.
Four females dressed in designer everything and the kind of gold jewelry Tock would steal when she needed a quick, but mighty injection of cash from her fence stopped at the open dining room doorway, still gawking at the fluid leaked across the floor from the entrance. One had taken off her big sunglasses, and when she glanced up to look into the dining room, Tock spotted the swollen, black-and-blue side of her face.
The She-lions stared at Tock and her team. The badgers stared back. Neither side spoke. Then, the females simply walked away. They didn’t run. Or start using the phones clutched in their hands. They just turned and left.
Charlie took in a deep breath and, more determined than ever, went back to work. In another five minutes they were done.
They started for the doors, but Charlie paused long enough to look at Streep and order, “Put that back.”
“But it’s—”
“From the Vatican. I know. Put it back anyway.”
With a dramatic and rather loud sigh, Streep returned the silver cross to the side table near the door. Then they walked out into the bright sunlight.
They didn’t all leave, though. Not yet.
*
Paolo de Medici walked into his Northern Italian home with his five brothers behind him. His nephews and sons would follow and scurry off to other parts of the house. Anything to avoid a direct confrontation with their fathers.
“What is this?” one of Paolo’s brothers asked, staring at the floor. Paolo hadn’t noticed the fluid dribbled across his marble. It was sticky and a sickly yellowish brown, with a godawful scent. Even worse, his brown suede Gucci shoes had stepped in it.
Paolo lifted his head and sniffed the air. He smelled death and decay . . . and badgers.
Smirking, curious about what the badgers might have been up to—of course, he now knew he wouldn’t have to fire the guards who’d left their post outside the gates; they clearly hadn’t left of their own free will—he motioned to his brothers to follow. They silently walked down the hall toward the dining room.
She stood outside the doorway, waiting for them. He knew her. Had seen her picture often enough to know her on sight.
“Maxie MacKilligan, yes?” he asked.
“Sì!” she said to him. “And buongiorno! But before you say anything else . . . that’s the only Italian I know. Except for a few curses.” She smiled and he was instantly charmed. How darling she was! He was going to enjoy eating her face off while she screamed.
She put her hands behind her back, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. “We just wanted to say,” she began, looking up at him from under her lashes, “how sorry we are about what we did to your dad. We didn’t know he was anyone important. But we do understand why you’re angry—totally justified, by the way—and we understand how things will be moving forward from now on. I’m sure you understand that, too, right?” There was that smile again. “Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. Have a great day.”
She spun around, the skirt of her blood-covered dress billowing a bit as she twirled; then she strolled past the dining room and down the hall.
Paolo started to follow her but froze at the dining room doorway. He could do nothing but gawk for a moment.
Horrified, his brothers pushed past him. All of them roared in bewilderment and anger, but not Paolo. He kept his roars for when he truly needed them. Instead, he let himself briefly marvel at finding a true opponent. No shy house cats or lumbering bears or stupid dogs. He had found someone worthy.
Finally, holding in his excitement so as not to upset his brothers, Paola stepped fully into the dining room and went to the end of the long table where the head of the family sat at all meals.
His father’s decomposing body had been placed in the chair designed by a master craftsman: two facing lions cut out of mahogany made up the top of the straight-back seat. The old lion’s hands rested on the ornate armrests, his head tilted to the side with his chin resting on his chest; his thick tongue hanging from his mouth; clouded eyes gazing at nothing. Giuseppe was still dressed and, when they quickly searched his pockets, they’d find his wallet and passport. Not even the cash would be missing.
In fact, Paolo realized after quickly glancing around, nothing was stolen. Not even the sixteenth-century cross from the Vatican.
On the table in front of their father were piles of papers. One of his brothers picked a sheet up and gave an angry snarl. He held it up for Paolo to see. It was information on recent product that had come into the country. The bill of lading listed forty-seven “artifacts” from the United States. But if anyone did even a little bit of investigation, they’d realize that no artifacts had come into the port that day. Only full-humans for purchase.
Paolo motioned to his brothers to pick up the papers, but it was too late. Police smashed through the big windows of his dining room. Others kicked down the front doors. They also came in through the back kitchen entrance.
The badgers had contacted the Italian police about them. Had put them on a collision course with armed full-humans. Hoping to get them killed? Maybe. Put in prison for life? Perhaps. Paolo didn’t know or care. The evidence of the de Medicis’ bad behavior was in stacks of papers around his dead father.
Now this . . . this was more than Paolo could have hoped for.
With guns aimed at them, the police yelled at Paolo and his brothers to put up their hands and get on their knees.
Nothing had to be said between the brothers. No looks had to be passed. No subtle hand movements had to be flashed. Because when it came to living in this world—and whether the honey badgers knew it or not—the de Medicis handled things only one way.
Paolo shifted so fast, the police started shooting without aiming at anything in particular. He launched himself across the dining room table and into the first full-human man he came to, tearing into his throat and clawing through his protective Kevlar.
By the time he was dragging the man’s head across the floor, his brothers had gone after the other police in the room.
Paolo jumped back onto the dining room table and dropped the head from his mouth. He heard more police running down the hall toward the dining room, so he roared. He roared until the She-lions came out of whatever den they’d been hiding in to avoid the males in their life and joined the battle. Tearing and ripping and skinning anything that didn’t belong on de Medici land.