The terrain is rough in this part of Caserta. We drive for a long time over a bumpy dirt road before turning onto a highway dotted with potholes. We’re about fifty kilometers from the location of one of Sal’s safe houses. Calisto sent De Rossi a tip that Sal will be spending the weekend there with about thirty guards. With Calisto’s help, I was able to hack into the cameras and determine their positions, so the two cars full of De Rossi’s soldiers driving ahead of us will clear most of them before we even arrive.
I eye Ras’s hands on the wheel of the Mercedes—hand actually. He’s using his other one to type out a text, only half-paying attention to the road.
“Hands on the wheel or let me drive.”
He flicks his gaze up to mine in the rearview mirror. “What are you? Our safety police?”
“Would be a shame if De Rossi died in a car accident on his way to Sal because you were too busy typing out a lame sext.”
He rolls his eyes and tosses his phone down on the console. “I’ll have you know the lucky few who’ve received my sexts called them erotic masterpieces. I’m thinking about publishing a book.”
De Rossi chuckles. “Is that what you plan to do in retirement?”
“Sure.” Ras smirks. “Not like that’s happening anytime soon, so I have plenty of time to collect new material.”
Retirement. A strange concept when it comes to men like us. Made men don’t retire. We die. Some lucky few who get too old for the game are given a chance to disappear into obscurity, but it’s rare.
I’ve never really thought that far into my future until recently.
For the last few days, I’ve noticed the strangest thing. When I think of what’s to come after this business with De Rossi is done, the only thing I see is Martina’s face. If I force myself to exclude her, I see nothing.
She’s the only thing that matters now.
It’s a shame it took me so long to see it.
I wanted to say goodbye to her before we left, but I decided not to at the last moment. She hasn’t left her room since she screamed at me in front of her brother. I don’t think she’s read my letters either. She’s still angry, and I want to give her space, even though it’s killing me to be apart from her.
At least I have all the motivation I need to get back to De Rossi’s in one piece.
I adjust my cufflinks and gaze out the window.
We’re getting close now.
Our phones ping with status updates every few minutes from the cars ahead, and so far, everything’s going smoothly.
Too smoothly if you ask me.
Calisto turning on Sal was something few would have ever predicted, but I have a feeling Sal’s paranoia could have extended to his right-hand man, especially after their argument.
If Sal has set some kind of a trap, we’ll know it soon.
After another ten kilometers, the side of the road turns dense with foliage.
De Rossi peers out toward the trees. The close we get, the quieter he is. If there’s anyone who hates Sal as much as me, it’s Damiano, and I suspect his head is as heavy with memories as mine was a few days ago.
I’ve managed to let go of them since.
Now, all I seem to think about is Martina.
“I’m going to dance on that fucker’s grave,” De Rossi mutters, his elbow hanging out the window, and his fist pressed against his lips.
Ras pulls over and gives his guy a call. “Are you in position?”
I assume the answer he receives is yes, because the next word out of his mouth is, “Engage.”
The first shots are fired.
Sal’s not going to be the only person to die tonight. We’re not taking any prisoners from his squad. Those men have been with him for a long time, and nothing good would come from keeping them alive.
As shots ring out in the distance, we climb out of the car and pop the trunk to get all the equipment. Bulletproof vests, knives, guns, ammo. I can’t remember the last time I was armed to the teeth like this, but the occasion warrants it.
While De Rossi is going to be squeezing the life out of the don, Ras and I will need to make sure no one comes to the fucker’s rescue.
When we’re ready, we get back into the car and move much slower than before. Soon, we see bodies littering the driveway.
“I counted twelve,” Ras says when the house is in sight. It’s surprisingly modest by Sal’s standards—the man likes to show off his money—but I suppose that’s the kind of sacrifice you have to make when you’re fighting for your life. A one-story concrete building, bulletproof windows, armored doors.
“Fourteen,” I correct him. “You missed two lying by the trees.”
“They’re clearing the back of the property now. We should wait until we get the green light.”
De Rossi shakes his head. “Let’s go. If he’s got an escape tunnel in there, I don’t want to give him enough time to crawl through it.”
We hop back out, our weapons pointed and ready. The crew did a good job here, so we reach the front door without getting into any scuffles.
Ras and De Rossi step aside for me to take a look at the mechanism on the door. I frown. We’ve got a problem on our hands.
“Get back. Now.”
To their credit, they move without a word, trusting me to know what I’m doing. When we’re a safe distance away, I turn to them. “Door is rigged with explosives. It’ll blow if we tamper with it without disengaging the mechanism first.”
“Tell me you know how to do that,” Ras says.
“I know how to detect them, but I’m not an explosives expert. We need to look for another way in.”
De Rossi nods. “I’ll call Calisto. He might know of a weak point.”
“I’m going to check the perimeter to see if there’s anything I couldn’t see on the camera feed.” There has to be another way in.
I keep my gun close as I round the house and make it to the backyard. De Rossi’s guys are all over it, but they’re too busy with Sal’s men to help. I press my back against the wall and take it all in. There’s no back door, and the windows aren’t big enough to squeeze through even if we could get through the glass.
That’s when I see it. A patch of grass just ahead of me that’s got a slightly different hue than the rest.
I run to it, get down on my haunches, and drag my hand around the perimeter. The handle is hidden, but the bite of its cold metal surface is impossible to miss. I jerk on it a few times until I feel it shift. On the next tug, it swings open.
Below is a dark tunnel that disappears into the ground.
I send a message to Ras and De Rossi, telling them where to go. Then I climb down into the shaft.
It’s not deep, and my shoes hit what feels like packed dirt only moments later. The tunnel splits in two directions, and it’s easy enough to work out which one leads to the house.
I move aside to let De Rossi and Ras descend the ladder. “If Sal ran as soon as he heard the shots, he would have passed this point by now,” I say. “We should follow the tunnel out.” I’m sure that’s where he went. He doesn’t want to die, even if he’s rapidly running out of options.
“Let’s go,” De Rossi says.
We move as fast as we can, given this thing is fucking tiny and we all have to run crouched over. Thank God, it doesn’t take too long for light to appear ahead. Judging by the length of the tunnel, its purpose is simply to get Sal to a vehicle hidden nearby, so that he can use it to escape.
When we burst out into the woods, my hunch is confirmed.
“He’s there!”
Sal’s barrel-shaped form is just ahead and he’s running for his life. We book it after him, but fall back when a shot rings out.
“He can’t have many men with him,” Ras says from behind a tree. “Nearly all of his guys were back at the house.”
“Fuck it,” De Rossi snarls. “I’m ending this.”
He runs low to the ground even as shots sound through the air. It’s reckless, but I can imagine how he feels being so close to victory.
Ras and I follow.
There’s shout. Another shot.
We burst into a clearing and finally find our target.
Sal is crouched behind a fallen tree trunk, peering at us with a gun in his hand. Beside him is another man.
Polo.
My vision bleeds red. So Sal took him in after all. Does Polo know he’s cannon fodder?
Looks like I’ll be getting a kill tonight after all.
“It’s not too late to surrender, gentlemen,” Sal calls out as we take positions behind some trees.
“Three against two,” De Rossi says. “You’re finished.”
Sal laughs. “Odds can turn quickly. Giorgio, I have to thank you for the part you played getting me in touch with my son. We’ve spent a lot of time together over the last few days, and I have to say, Polo’s impressed me with his ambition. I’m sure he learned it all from you. We’ve been talking about how we’ll do things differently if we get a chance to really shake up the organization.”
“You can handle this like a man,” De Rossi shouts, “or you can die like a cunt. Choose quickly or I’ll make the choice for you.”
“Giorgio, son, don’t forget we’re family,” Sal shouts. “Come to my side. It’s not too late. Do me this favor, and we will rule the Casalesi together. Me and my boys.”
“Your boys lie scattered all over the driveway to your house, and Polo will join them soon.” There’s no point in mincing my words. “You’re both fucking dead.”
“Gio! Don’t do this!” that traitorous fuck dares to shout. His head pops up from behind the tree. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for things to get so ugly with Martina. Forgive me, brother. We all make mistakes, don’t we? Let’s start over.”
He’s never called me brother before. Does he think that word means anything to me?
“Polo, you’re a fucking piece of trash,” I bite out. My gaze moves to Ras by my side. “We have to go around them, take them from the back.”
He nods.
We move quickly, but Polo and Sal catch on. They abandon their positions and start running deeper into the woods.
“They’re splitting up,” I shout to Ras. “I’m going after Polo.”
I hope he feels the terror Martina must have felt when he was chasing her. By now, he must realize there’s no way he’s making it out of here alive.
We exchange a few bullets and miss. The foliage is too thick. I see flashes of him between the branches up ahead, and since I don’t want to risk losing him, I barrel through until he comes into full view.
He whirls around, points his gun at me, and shoots.
I jump aside, but it grazes my arm, spearing pain through it. When I return fire, I aim at his knee, and he goes right down.
“Fuck!” he shouts, his voice ravaged with pain.
I walk until I’m towering above him. Blood is dripping down my arm, staining the gun in my hand. I take in his shriveled form and feel a flash of disgust.
“I didn’t mean for it to go this far.” He pants, his panicked eyes fixed on my face.
I step on his hand, working a scream out of him. “Sucks being on the losing side, doesn’t it? You know, before you betrayed me, I was considering putting a word in for you with Damiano. I was going to ask him to take you on.”
That glance at a future he’s never going to get now makes his expression twist with hatred. “You had everything I’ve ever wanted. If you’d shared willingly, I wouldn’t have been forced to try and take it from you.”
I crouch down and take him by the collar. “I had nothing but hatred and pain. Nothing until her. And you dared to try to harm her.”
He chokes beneath my grip. “I’m sorry!”
“Sorry. How fucking sorry were you when you slit Tommaso’s and Allegra’s throats? Two years, they lived with you. Two years, they treated you like you were their own. And you killed them for a delusion.” His eyes bulge as I tighten my hold on him with each word. “I don’t think you’re sorry at all for what you’ve done. You’re only sorry for failing to accomplish what you tried to.”
Polo jerks his arm, and a sharp pain shoots through my leg. I let go of him and look down to see a knife sticking out of my thigh.
He coughs, grabbing his throat with his hands and trying to get back up despite his bad knee.
I lift my gun and point it at his head.
His eyes meet mine.
“Gio—”
The gunshot echoes through the air.
