Free Falcon's Angel by Danita Minnis Page A

engine.
    “But you can’t tell if it’s him?” Capo asked. “Don’t you remember?”
    “I remember,” Luciano said, and at the boss’s disdainful snort, added, “His face, it is changeable. He could be from anywhere.”
    Luciano had been watching Angelina Natale and her boyfriend for days. They arrived together at the Conservatory in the morning, and left to have dinner in one of the bistros nearby in the evenings. The guy never left her alone for one minute. Until today, the first time Luciano saw her leave the apartment without her bodyguard.
    “Ah-h-h,” Capo said. That exasperated sigh did not bode well. “And who is he?”
    “He’s her boyfriend.” Luciano turned left at the light, three cars behind the taxi. She was going back to the apartment.
    “This, I know.” The leaden tone in Capo’s response spurred him to elaborate.
    “They live together. Ugo wrote a note. It’s the same guy that stopped him from getting the Stradivarius that night in the Roman district.”
    “Idiota, what is his name?”
    “We got nothing on the guy, Capo. Nobody knows him.” The only thing he knew for sure was that Antonio Russo wasn’t his real name.
    He’d been scouring the streets making inquiries, trying to find out who the man was, and still he got nothing. The guy didn’t exist. Now the boss was getting angry with him because Ugo had screwed up.
    “She doesn’t know who he is either,” Luciano added. “And Ugo was right about her. She has no idea who she is. I bet she doesn’t know about the Stradivarius.”
    “Of course she knows.” Capo’s tone was dead enough to prevent Luciano from mentioning that Angelina Natale’s witch’s eyes had widened in surprise when he’d mentioned the violin.
    “Luciano, I want his name. No more fooling around, capisci?”
    “Sì, Capo. There is one more thing.” Luciano cleared his throat. “They went to the polizia.” He held his breath in the silence that followed, mentally cursing Ugo to the grave.
    He should have been glad that the boss was on the phone instead of in his face, but Luciano knew better. There wouldn’t be anywhere he could hide between heaven and hell if he didn’t give Capo what he wanted.
    When the boss finally spoke, his quiet directive was ominous. “I don’t care how you do it. Get me that violin.”
    Capo didn’t wait for an answer and hung up.
    “Sì, Capo,” Luciano Biagi said dutifully to the dead line. He had been about to tell the boss the plan he’d set in motion, but when Capo was mad, he was mad.
    Angelina Natale would give him that violin. And she would give him much more than that.
    Next time, there would be no going to the police. Il Dragone would see to that.
    * * * *
    Angelina stopped smiling and slumped back in the seat of the cab. During lunch with Zio and Aunt Maria, Detective Biagi’s accusations against Tony clouded her mind. She had gotten through it with what she’d hoped resembled a genuine smile and kept up a steady dialogue on her training at the Conservatory.
    Fortunately, her aunt and uncle had asked many questions about the Arcangelo Corelli symphony, which was turning out to be quite a celebration. She’d given them the details of the three-day festival with local actors and actresses set to perform famous plays of eighteenth-century theatre.
    By the time she returned home, she’d convinced herself that the detective had the wrong man. Tony had had plenty of opportunities to take the violin if he’d wanted to. Like when she was asleep at night. But he never left her side, they slept spooned, and he kept her warm in the night.
    The detective was also wrong about her. He thought she was the Maestro’s daughter. Not many people knew Giovanni’s legal name Natale, and although it wasn’t her real name, she was still offended by the apparent invasion of privacy.
    She had come to think of herself as Angelina Natale these past few months. It was like living a double life. A life she loved.
    Did the