Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I watch a shiny red car flash by my eyes so fast it’s a blur, impossible to tell the make or model, though when it’s a good bit in front of me, I get a clearer view. I’m looking for Mario’s canary yellow Ferrari and Peterson’s blue Camaro. It isn’t until I notice the red car’s made its third lap around the track and is heading for the fourth that there’s unrest in the crowd, but worst of all… I haven’t seen Mario. Not once.
Nor Peterson.
I look wildly around me, wishing I spoke the language so I could gather pieces of conversation around me, when I realize I’ve got a smartphone in my pocket I could put to good use.
I hit a translate website and quickly type in what I hear.
Lui è andato.
He is gone.
Qui?
Entrambi.
Both of them.
I don’t need a translator to decipher the words Peterson and Rossi. They’re not here. They began the race, I saw them with my own eyes. But neither are on the racetrack anymore.
My heart begins to pound. I lost them.
Mario’s in trouble.
My legs shake as I walk down the steep path that leads to the next loop of the race. I’m not the only one who’s gotten that idea. Other spectators are on the lookout, hunting for the two missing racers. They shout at one another in Italian, and the most troubled among them seem to be the beautiful women. But fashionable Italian shoes don’t make for good walking, and they quickly give up their chase when the steepness of the landscape makes it impossible to traverse it in heels.
I take off my shoes and walk barefoot.
My belly clenches at the steepness of these roads, the rocky terrain, and the certain knowledge that this isn’t safe at all. How easily one could fall over the edge into the ravine below. This is what makes it illegal. This is what makes him excited. I close my eyes against rising nausea when I see the depth of the plummet ahead of me.
Where is he?
I go to call Santo but quickly realize that I have no cell reception here.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. I need to alert Santo. To see if he discovered anything he can share with me.
I feel alone. And for the first time in my adult life… I hate it. I hate knowing I’ve got no one to turn to. In the brief time I’ve been with the Rossis, I’ve observed how loyal they are to each other, how dedicated. Even when they argue, they have each other’s backs. Even when they fight like cats and dogs, they’re family. And in the eyes of their family, that’s everything.
They’ve all got someone to turn to, no matter what. And even though they live by a code that’s so contrary to my own personal experience, my own code of ethics, even, devotion and fidelity are at the top of their list of priorities. And I want that. I want that so badly, it hurts.
I swallow a sob as I come to the bottom of the hill and see something shiny in a gathering of fallen leaves. I bend down and pick it up.
Mario’s wallet.
No.
Oohhh my God. The race is still going, and Mario is nowhere to be found. I tuck his wallet in my pocket and look at my useless phone again.
Think.
Think.
I press on my temples, as if somehow that will make me think harder.
They are no longer on the racetrack but they were.
So something had to have stopped his car—both of them—and quickly disposed of or even hidden their cars. But they’re big, flashy, expensive cars not easily hidden.
I walk the length of the track and almost give up hope that I’ll find them. I see nothing that would give away where they are.
I look to where an overhang of trees covers the mouth of a cave. At first, I don’t see anything that would lead me to believe I’m getting warmer, when a gentle wind rustles the trees. Behind the low-lying branches of the cypress trees, I see a flash of blue. Then just as quickly, it’s gone again.
I hear voices behind me and quickly flatten myself against the leafy terrain. No one else has made it this far. In the distance, I hear the squeal of tires and screams and cheers. The race is over. Soon, they’ll be questioning where two of their drivers went.
Peterson has a vendetta against Mario. He’s tricked me and Mario, and possibly Romeo, into having us come here.
What does any of this have to do with me? Why have I been under attack? Why was I forced out of my home and into Mario’s protection?
We’ll have answers, I know it, soon. But as I stand and unfold myself, intent on finding them, I know in my heart.
I can’t leave Mario.