The car left Florence and roared down a highway into the darkness.
As soon as the traffic thinned out, Mezzasalma stomped on the accelerator.
I watched nervously as the speedometer crept up.
130 kilometers per hour… 145… 160…
Which was the equivalent of 80 miles per hour… 90… 100…
But Mezzasalma was still weaving around individual cars like a race car driver.
“Where are we going?” I asked in fear.
“Out in the countryside,” Mezzasalma said with a nasty grin. “To see some friends of mine who will love to meet you.”
“We’re clear of the city, boss,” the sandy-haired man said. “You want me to… oh shit…”
“What?” Mezzasalma snapped.
“I think somebody’s chasing us in a car now, too…”
Mezzasalma peered into the rearview mirror. I saw his white, useless eye twitching as he looked.
Rather than get my head closer to his, I turned around to see out the back window.
In the distance, a tiny set of headlights broke out of a pack of slower cars. It was gaining ground.
“Shit,” Mezzasalma snarled.
My heart leapt in my chest.
Adriano?!
But that was impossible –
…wasn’t it?
