Read Online Gun Metal Heart by Dana Haynes - Free Book Online

he turns to.”
    The blonde tilted her head. “And is this gunrunner and soldier by any chance named Gibron?”
    The Serb hitters exchanged surprised glances. “That’s her name, yes. You know her?”
    Major Arcana laughed, exposing her canine teeth. “Not officially, no. But we’ve traveled in the same circles. Her reputation is … the word impressive doesn’t do it justice. If she’s helping the Mexican, well, this whole thing just got a bit more fun.”
    Lazarevic said nothing. He never did. Kostic picked loose tobacco off his tongue and said, “Israeli is dangerous? Worth attention?”
    The blonde bit her lower lip. “Yes. She’s dangerous and worthy of our attention. But I think we stick to our plan. If she chooses to get involved … well…” The blonde amped up her smile. “Cool!”
    *   *   *
    Diego met Daria at the squat, utilitarian, and ever-bustling Santa Maria Novella train depot in Florence. A steady stream of people flowed through the station. The flow vectored away from Diego the same way leaves in a river divert around a half-submerged boulder. He wasn’t large, and he didn’t glower or threaten. People just avoided him.
    Daria, in sneaks, cutoffs, and a ratty T-shirt, threw her duffel over one shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. “ Buon giorno. ”
    His head bobbed in a subtle nod. “Hey.”
    â€œFirst, find me a clothing store. Then get me a gelato. Then tell me about Gabriella Incantada and the thing she invented.”
    *   *   *
    Daria knew Diego had an old-fashioned sense of propriety. She likely had much more money at her command than he did, but she knew he’d insist on paying, because it was his gig. She chose the Spanish retailer Zara, because the clothes were inexpensive but looked posh, and because Diego wouldn’t know the difference. She found a short, sleeveless sundress in bright daisy yellow and white and black patent sandals with ankle straps. She picked out some panties. In the dressing cubicle she did her hair in a French braid and slid on a pair of expensive, designer sunglasses she’d nicked from Signora Docetti the Current.
    She applied enough makeup to cover the cut under her eye. That, plus sundry bruises here and there.
    Out on the bustling Via Lambertesca, she let Diego buy her a sturdy but tiny black leather backpack, engraved with the fleur de lis sigil of Florence. The bag was large enough for a wallet, a lipstick, and the cutthroat Spanish razor. Just the basics for a day on the town.
    Around them, Florence zipped along at a frenetic pace. Tourists flowed like storm-swept creeks, running over their banks and splashing into museums and shops and restaurants. The lanes were tight and only rarely intersected at right angles. African refugees hawked bright, cheap tchotchkes and buskers performed under gaily painted awnings, occupying the exact same spots their kind had for centuries.
    Daria linked arms with the slight man in the cowboy hat and aged boots. “So, what’s the play?”
    â€œSupposed to meet Vince. He’s not at the hotel room. His shit’s still there.”
    â€œAnd you checked the local bordellos and drunk tank?” Daria didn’t think much of Vince Guzman, and she saw no reason to hide it.
    Diego pulled a pack of Camels from his back pocket, plus an old steel lighter. “Yeah. No sign. But the guys with the white scorpion tatts are all over the place.”
    Daria mulled that. “Show me the engineer’s hotel.”
    *   *   *
    The meeting was set for the Hotel Criterion de Medici, a boutique establishment carved into the hollowed-out, historic shell of an ancillary building adjacent to the sprawling, green Palazzo Pitti. A New Zealand hotel conglomerate had purchased the building and transformed it with enough coaxial cable, Wi-Fi, and blade servers to run a