METANOIA

Wounded Heart

I hung up the phone and ran to my car, driving quickly toward Pizzolano, the closest point to Avellino. I gripped the steering wheel nervously as I realised that my attempts to reach my brother and Vincent had been unsuccessful. After another unanswered call, I tossed the phone into the backseat of my car with annoyance. The picture of the nighttime city outside the window was a smeared host of watercolours: the speed limit was several times higher than it should be. Overtaking and clipping the vehicles in front of me, I finally reached the meeting place, where Thomas was standing tensely beside his car. The blood rushed to my face, I felt hot despite the cold wind that slammed into my face, panic squeezing my throat.

This was what I was trying to avoid in every way possible — Jensen was in enemy territory, being chased and obviously fired upon. It was hard to admit to myself, but the thought of Boyd being by his side gave me some comfort — not just because we both hated Liam, but because of the man's military experience. Vincent knew far more about weapons than anyone around me, and he'd worked in hot spots where corpses lay in rows on the ground; he'd definitely be able to buy time to get to Salerno.

Paths of bright light began to appear on the Italian night horizon, coming from the xenon headlights of the security vehicles. I turned the steering wheel sharply to the left and braked, jumping out of the Aston Martin. When Thomas saw me, he stopped fiddling with his walkie-talkie and headed in my direction.

"Any news?" I asked confusedly, catching my breath. I put my hands to my sides, frowning, but my deputy only shook his head negatively, and I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. Taking a half step back, I took a glance at the number of guards and the approximate armoury of the men — it was very bad. My heartbeat rattled in my ears as I desperately tried to think of a plan to save Jensen and Vincent.

"They're still in town," Thomas pronounced, holding out his walkie-talkie, from which came a barely audible noise. My tense fingers gripped the object nervously.

"What's even going on?" breathing heavily, I hissed into the deputy's face, exuding anger. Adrenaline pounded in my head as the hamam flared in my chest, burning away the remnants of common sense.

"Vincent reported at least four vehicles of Weber's men. No military vehicles yet," Thomas gulped and everything that had once reminded me of the robot in him evaporated. We were all on edge.

"Weber isn't stupid enough to produce a tank," I frowned, pressing my lips together. Liam wasn't a stupid man, but you couldn't call him adequate either — he'd do anything to get leverage on me — he'd blackmail me with Jensen, probably decide to keep Vincent for family squabbles — but my duty was to save them both. And desire. I needed them both.

Hopelessness pressed at my throat, preventing me from turning my words into sentences. Letting my men into Avellino territory meant sending them to certain death while hiding in a safe place. I bit my lower lip nervously, no longer hearing the Salerno night, or the noise of the radio, or the people around me. These people, the guards, they saw me as their leader, they saw me as their source and support; to stay behind their backs when the real Mafia war was breaking out was to be a coward, to be what my father saw in me.

I wasn't a strong woman — my physical training didn't allow me to engage in close combat, my shooting skills remained sufficient for defence but not for attack — but I still had the unconditional loyalty, the humanity that my father, Vincent's family, had lost. My strength was manifested in loyalty and an unwavering belief in the values that define our essence and our actions, making me truly unwavering in defence of those I love. That strength will not allow me to prevail in a direct fight with Weber, nor will it be my bulletproof vest, but it is what will allow me to cross the border.