Only Adimari’s closest friends and relatives called him Sal. But he made no objection. Being called Sal by the lovely Vicountess was so surprisingly pleasing that he actually blushed. Disguising his confusion he held out the journal. “Can you read it?” he asked.
Larra opened it carefully. “Yes, I think so. Most of it at least. And I can probably guess at the rest. Let’s see…,”
“So,” a voice shouted. “You and this English cunt seek to betray me. I thought as much.”
Both Larra and Adimari jerked around in the direction of the voice. Barzagli stood in the entrance of the tent, Sergente Uzzitsi behind him along with several soldiers. “I’ll have you shot; Tenente and I’ll make this whore wish she’d never been born.” He pushed into the tent, his gun drawn and made a grab for Larra. But this time he got something he hadn’t bargained for.
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