AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Rafaella's crying becomes the loudest sound I hear, and the knowledge that any balance she had has gone to hell increases my terror in massive doses. Puke. I want to vomit.
The second this thought lasts is everything that precedes the moment when the car's tires suddenly decrease in size, taking the wheels straight to the ground. The driver loses control of the steering wheel, and the SUV spins out of control, at an absurdly high speed, until it hits hard enough to ricochet.
Each of these events shakes my body in the car like I'm a drink in a cocktail shaker, and if I thought pain shot through me while the car was just braking and bouncing on the asphalt, when it finally stops, restrained by whatever it is what it collided with, my open mouth is not capable of even taking in an ounce of air.
I can't move. I can't even cry. My vision is blurred by tears and dizziness. The strong smell of smoke seeping through the windows is just another stimulus in the chaos of increasingly nearer noises that surround me.
I close my eyes again as they start to burn, and I feel the hot, sticky texture splash onto the only piece of my skin that isn't covered by Rafaella's body. It's my elbow, stuck in the gap between the two front seats of the car. I try hard not tolet my mind wander, but in the midst of fear, pain, and utter hopelessness, it's an unwinnable battle.
Impacts shake the car's bodywork as if it were being machine-gunned, dominating my hearing, and making it seem like this is the only one of my five senses that still works. So, when silence falls over us, and the only movement I feel near me is Rafaella's rapid breathing pressed against my lower back, I'm sure it would have been much better if I had died.
Not knowing whether it was a gesture of mercy or a mockery of fate, I faint.
CHAPTER 61
________
Vittorio Cataneo
“Come on, Don! Are you tired already? Shall I get you a chair?” Tizziano teases, moving his feet on the mat, and I put my arm across my forehead, preventing the sweat from dripping into my eyes, ignoring my brother completely.
I don't know if he'll ever learn that his tactics don't work on me. His right fist advances, raised to my face, and I close my guard. He turns his body, raising his leg to try to kick me in the ribs, and I take advantage of the opening to give him a hand.
The impact of his back on the mat is loud, but it doesn't take him two seconds to propel himself back onto his legs. We walk around a small invisible circle on the floor, surrounding each other.
The conversation with Matteo earlier left my head full enough that I felt the need to trade the suit for workout clothes and the office for the gym. Finding Tizziano on the mat was a pleasant surprise, because I really needed a challenge and, to my frustration, the underboss is the only one who usually offers me a real one.
“Yes, Dario,” I respond to the call when my security guard's voice sounds through the electronic piece in my ear.
“We have a situation.” His tone makes me abandon my fighting stance and puts my body on an entirely different kind ofalert. Tizziano furrows his eyebrows and stands up too, letting his arms fall to his sides.
“What situation?” My brother approaches, stopping too close to me as if the movement was enough to allow him to hear what is being said in my ear.
“We don't know what happened yet, but the housekeeper was just found unconscious on the road leading to the mansion.”
“Luigia?” I ask, even though I am aware of the impossibility.
The woman practically never leaves the house. Rafaella, however, I know that she was outside the property because Gabriella left with her. I clench my teeth waiting for the answer, which takes much longer than the speed of sound should allow.
“No, sir.”
“Gabriella?” The two seconds of hesitation are all the response I need to start moving, immediately reaching the ring ropes, and stepping through them.
“We don't know where she is, sir.”
***
The living room at home has become an operation center, and I walk around it, watching every computer screen lit up, hearing every mouse click and every keystroke.
Despite all the doctor's efforts over the two hours that have passed since Rafaella was found, the girl still hasn't woken up. Every second she goes without opening her fucking mouth is one I feel like I'm wasting my life on. Even though, deep down, I know she won't have anything useful to say.
I took a shower, changed. I spoke to the men who found the housekeeper unconscious. I watched security videos from the property that showed an unmarked white van abandoningRafaella's unconscious body at the furthest possible point from where patrols usually go. I gave orders and saw them being carried out. I followed the definition of basic action plans to retrace Rafaella and Gabriella's steps since they left home.
I saw images of the two cars that took Gabriella out of the Cantina, both destroyed, of the lifeless bodies of her security guards, five left behind still in one piece, without a doubt, like a message. The same reason Rafaella was abandoned here, unconscious, but without serious injuries.
While doing all this, I kept the control mask on my face without wavering. The promise of death pulsing in my chest like a second heart is a different kind of countdown.
It takes an admirable kind of stupidity to defy me in any circumstance, but what was done today inspires no feeling in me other than a hatred so visceral that I find myself unable to express it in words or even in thought. So, I keep waiting and counting, second after second, minute after minute, the moment when the person responsible for provoking me will pay.
