Chapter 4 - The Ride Home
|
The rain had turned into a torrential downpour by the time Matteo’s black sedan pulled out of the diner’s parking lot. The rhythmic thumping of the windshield wipers was the only sound in the car.
Lena sat in the passenger seat, drowning in the oversized charcoal jacket. She stared blankly at the blurry red taillights of the trucks passing by on the highway. Her wrist throbbed where the leader had grabbed her, a dark purple bruise already blooming against her pale skin.
Matteo drove with one hand casually draped over the steering wheel, his eyes scanning the rearview mirror every ten seconds. It was an old habit. A survival mechanism he hadn't needed in three years, suddenly resurrected.
“They weren't just random drunks,” Lena said softly, breaking the silence.
Matteo didn't look at her. “I know.”
“The leader… before you broke his arm, he gave you a name.” Lena turned her head, studying her husband’s sharp profile illuminated by the passing streetlights. “He said they worked for someone named Victor. Who is Victor, Matteo?”
Matteo tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. “Nobody you need to worry about. He’s a bottom-feeder trying to make a name for himself by moving into abandoned territory.”
“Your abandoned territory,” Lena corrected him.
“It’s not mine anymore,” Matteo said sharply. “I left that life behind. I bled out on your apartment floor to prove it to you. We are normal people now.”
“Normal people don't disarm a man with a knife in three seconds, Matteo,” Lena said, her voice shaking slightly. “Normal people don't interrogate bleeding men on a diner floor. You think Victor is just going to let this go? You broke his men. He’s going to come looking for the guy who did it.”
Matteo pulled the car into the driveway of their quiet suburban home. The motion-sensor light clicked on, illuminating the manicured lawn and the small flowerbed Lena had planted in the spring. It looked perfectly idyllic. Perfectly safe.
May you like
Matteo killed the engine and finally turned to look at his wife. The coldness in his eyes was gone, replaced by a deep, protective fierce loyalty.
“Let Victor come,” Matteo whispered, reaching out to gently touch the bruise on her wrist. “He has no idea what he’s waking up.”
