"Chiara," Darren finally says. "Everything okay?" Greasy Guy looks Darren up and down with narrowed eyes and spits out what I'm guessing is a question. Darren responds, calmly, in Italian. It's the most I've ever heard him say in Italian, and I can't even tell if his accent's right, but it's seriously hot. They go back and forth a few times, Chiara chiming in once in a while. I pick out a word here and there, but I mostly make up what I think they could be talking about. My version sounds like this: Greasy Guy: "Who the bleep are you?" Darren: "A friend of Chiara's." Greasy Guy: "What kind of friend?" This is when he puffs up his chest to make himself look stronger. Chiara: "Not that kind of friend, so chill out. Besides, Pippa's got dibs on him." Darren: "Is there a problem?" Greasy Guy: "Yeah. You. How about you get out of my way?" Darren: "Chiara comes with us." This is when Darren nods in my direction and I back up a hair. Greasy Guy: "You can't have her. We're not through here." Chiara: "I should have cut ties with you years ago! You selfish piece of bleeping ble--" Greasy Guy: "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put a dent in that pretty face of yours!" Chiara backs away and links her arm with mine, pulling me over to where Darren and I had stood. I turn my head to check on him. He's right behind us. Greasy Guy takes off toward Manarola. Okay, so my version of their conversation must not have been accurate."