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However, I noticed something was wrong when I came near Portici. Something felt strange, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. The Lamborghini was fine, and so was my speed and the traffic. More people were trying to get into Naples than out. And yet…
I glanced in the rearview mirror and squinted. A red Porsche hadn't it been behind me twenty minutes ago?
I was probably wrong; after all, there was a lot of traffic around. I drove faster, changed lanes, and tried to distance myself from the other car. The Porsche swerved and stayed on my heels. If I drove off the freeway and onto it again at the next on-ramp, would it follow?
If I were being followed, it would reveal to my pursuer that I had noticed him.
I reached for my cell phone, tapped on Vincenzo's contact, and listened to the ringing through the speakerphone. Again and again, it rang, but he didn't pick up. Until his voicemail came on, which he hadn't even set.
I hung up and glanced in the rearview mirror. We passed more than one exit, but the Porsche remained behind me.
Once again, I tried to reach Vincenzo, but now I felt queasy. Why didn't he pick up?
He could hardly be so pissed off that he refused to answer my call! One-handed, I couldn't send him a message, so I kept trying to reach him.
When I finally reached the height of Torre del Greco, I realized that no matter how many times I called him, he wouldn't pick up.
I snorted and scrolled to Emilio's contact to call him.
It rang precisely twice, then he answered.
"This is a rather ungodly time for calls,Bellissima," he greeted me in comparatively good spirits.
"Fortunately, neither of us believes in god," I muttered, happy to have a pleasant conversation. But the red Porsche in my rearview mirror reminded me why I had actually called Emilio.
"You want to tell me what's going on?"
"The short version is that I'm in the Sián, and I think I'm being followed. They probably believe Vincenzo is driving. I'm on the way to Tramonti, while your brother ignores my calls."
"I'll handle this the smart way, not the way that would suit me better," he replied, suddenly adopting a professional tone. "What kind of car is following you, and since when?"
"Red Porsche. Since Naples. A good twenty-five, almost thirty minutes."
"And where are you?"
"Right near Leopardi."
"Highway?"
"Yes."
"There's no way you're going to Tramonti."
"Where to then?" I asked, already feeling the panic in my bones.
"You continue on the highway toward Nocera Inferiore and then take the country road until you reach the highway that will take you to Striano and Nola."
"But if the person knows where Vincenzo lives, it will seem strange to him."
"As long as you're on a well-traveled route, you should be reasonably safe."
I laughed. Nervously. "I hope so."
"Flavia has informed Natale and Fiero, but it may be that Dario will be there sooner."
"Good. Is there going to be a shootout on the freeway, Lio?"
"I hope not. What about Enzo?"
