Chapter 4 Enzo
ENZO
Getting up, I head to the bathroom mirror.
A cruel smile stretches across my face. What wouldn't I give to take a piece of glass and ruin this pretty face everyone seems so enamored of?
A scar so grotesque it would make them avert their gazes instead of openly worshipping me with their eyes.
My fingers trace the contour of the mirror, the thought so appealing yet so unreachable.
I'd tried it once, and it had backfired.
I'd learned my lesson that day—we can want certain things with all our might; it doesn't mean we're going to get them.
I shake my head, trying to shrug off those thoughts.
It never does me any good when I indulge in fantasies…
in the what-ifs. Because in my alternate reality, I'm the ugliest person on earth.
But at least then I could see who is genuine and who is not, who loves me for who I am, or who loves me only for my face.
"Tough luck," I mutter to myself, and I go in search of a cigarette.
The following morning, I take out the briefcase and do a little swap, placing the ring in a small box instead. I do a quick inventory of my weapons, and then I check out of the hotel.
Getting in my car, I place some guns under the seat for easy reach before heading toward the airport.
While this job should be easy, it never hurts to be extra safe, not only because of my line of work but also because of who I am.
There are few people in Sicily who don't know who I am, and it might invite enemies to play.
The car purrs to life, and I quickly shift gears until I'm skidding down the road. I'm twenty minutes into my drive when I notice another car right behind me. I monitor my side mirror and note that they are following me. Keeping a distance, they still take all the turns I take, even the dummy ones.
Interesting.
I decide to play with them a little, and I start weaving through the streets of Palermo like a madman. The thugs follow suit, and I have to give it to them. Few people can keep up with my driving.
I'm almost amused at the situation until they decide to pull guns on me, two men climbing out of the windows and aiming AK-47s at me.
Fuck!
These aren't regular thugs.
I swerve the car, barely avoiding the incoming bullets. I do a quick U-turn and I avoid their car, but they are quick to follow.
Shit!
Their car seems to have a sunroof too, and one guy is quick to climb up and aim at me.
I slam my foot on the brake, and the bullets whiz through the passenger door.
That was close!
I put the car in reverse, and instead of running away, I go toward them at full speed. We're already in a secluded part of the city, so there is little chance of casualties. I also know that if I don't get rid of them now, then I'm going to be looking over my shoulder the entire trip.
And that's something I do not want to do.
I slip the ring into my pocket and put two guns in my lap, ready to use them.
I push down on the accelerator, at the same time unbuckling my seat belt.
Once the car's moving at full speed, I grab the guns, open the door, and roll onto the pavement.
The car crashes into theirs, but not before a few of them jump out.
Fingers on triggers, I shield myself from any open attacks and fire.
The sound of bullets flying right and left is deafening, and the guys are holding their own pretty well. I take out two of them, and there are two more left. They've now abandoned the AKs in favor of handier pistols.
I keep shooting until I run out of ammo. I do my best to reload the guns quickly, and then I switch positions.
I need to end this fast.
I have maybe twelve bullets left in total.
I'll give myself six bullets per person, but that means that by the sixth bullet, one person must be dead.
Forced by the circumstances, I must take this seriously.
I can't play anymore, which is a pity, since I needed to blow off some steam after the conversation with my father last night.
Entering a tense headspace, I tune everything out and look at my surroundings as a board game, calculating angles and distances.
Lines and squares appear all around my field of vision, and I calculate the probabilities. To make it just a little more fun, I challenge myself to limit the game to two bullets per person.
The moment I see an opening, I run out from my hiding place and across the street, hiding behind another car. Without giving them any time to regroup, I turn around and aim at the first guy. One bullet lodges in his leg, the other in his heart.
One down!
The other seems to have hidden. I scan the area for any movement, and I finally spot him trying to get inside the already ruined car.
Interesting. He's looking for something.
My lips curl up as I watch him take the empty briefcase, convinced it must have the ring inside. I spend a second at war with myself. Should I kill him or let him leave with the empty case?
The decision is made for me when he enthusiastically opens the case only to realize there's no ring. Even better, his impatience puts him in my vantage point, so it takes only one squeeze of the trigger to watch him fall.
Targets vanquished and with plenty of bullets left, I rise to my feet and dust off my suit. In retrospect, I realize maybe I shouldn't have been so careless with my car, since I find myself without a ride at the moment.
I stop by a window to make sure I look presentable enough, and then I hail a taxi. I might still make it to my flight.
True to his word, the taxi driver takes me swiftly to the airport. The moment I step inside, something is odd. I can feel it in the way the guards are looking at me. Even the airport staff seem to be in on some type of joke as they follow my every movement.
I'm alert and a little wary, but my suspicions are confirmed only when I see a few other people in black suits heading toward the security area, their clothes clearly hiding guns.
Shit!
Whoever is after this ring has the entire airport controlled. There's no way I'm getting out alive if I continue.
I try to look as relaxed as possible as I make my way to the restroom. The moment I'm inside, I immediately lock the door and prop a mop under the handle. Then I think about my options.
The bathroom has a window that leads to the outside yard. I raise myself up to survey the area, and I don't spot any black suits. For now, this might be my safest bet.
I hold on to the stall as I push myself up to the window, propelling myself outside. It takes a little effort, considering the size of the window. My feet hit the ground with a thud and I make a run for it.
Stopping by the parking lot, I don't even think as I break a window and hot-wire a Fiat.
If the airport is a no-go, then my only option is by sea. The question remains—who the fuck would be so desperate to get their hands on a damned ring?
Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I dial Manolo. I quickly explain the situation to him, but I only get a vague answer.
"You knew what you signed up for," he says, and I bet he's shrugging off his responsibility. Gritting my teeth, I hang up, the urge to smash the phone almost too overwhelming.
Yes, these jobs come with a certain degree of danger, but for someone to control an entire airport?
One hand on the wheel, I use the other to take out the ring and study it. There has to be more to it… Curious, a little peeved, but mostly still committed, I map out my course.
I always keep a yacht at Porto Empedocle, so I just have to get there and set sail for Malta. A few hours by sea, there shouldn't be any issues—at least I hope.
I change cars when I'm outside Palermo, and then it's only a couple more hours until I reach Agrigento. I stop in the city to do some shopping. When I pass by a bookstore, a sudden idea forms in my mind. Maybe I can find out more about this ring.
I enter the bookstore and browse the history section. I find a few titles about Anglo-Saxon England and decide to buy those. I'm almost at the register when I spot a kid looking quite scandalized as he picks up an erotic novel, the cover a dead giveaway for the genre.
A smile pulls at the corner of my mouth, and I watch, amused, as he furtively starts reading the first few pages before deciding to buy it. He goes to the cashier and puts the book facedown on the counter.
I stay slightly behind, noting the nervousness of his movements.
He can't be more than thirteen or fourteen, his height a clear indication that he hasn't gone through puberty yet.
He must be all of five feet, and his clothes seem to hang off his slender frame.
Once he's paid, he puts the novel in his bag and dashes out of the shop.
I slide my own books onto the counter, the ghost of a smile still on my lips.
Absentmindedly, I grab some cash from my wallet and give it to the cashier.
When I look at the person behind the counter, though, my smile falls immediately.
She's biting her lip and gazing at me with a come-hither look, slowly pushing a note with her number on top of the books.
I roll my eyes and take the books, leaving her note behind.
"Signor…" I hear her call behind me, but I'm already out the door.
The perfect way to ruin my day.
My lip twitches in annoyance and I pull out my pack of cigarettes, slipping one between my lips and lighting it. Taking a deep drag, I dial my uncle to ask him for more weapons. Seeing that this ring might prove more dangerous than I'd previously thought, I need to be prepared for anything.
He gives me the address of his warehouse, and I head over there.
When I arrive, I'm greeted by my uncle and his friends, and they invite me to have a drink with them.
As much as I want to be in and out, I know it would be disrespectful to my uncle if I did that.
So, to appease them, I stay for the first round of drinks.
It's almost five hours later that I convince them I am indeed in a hurry, and they reluctantly let me go—with enough ammo to last me a month. A while later, I arrive at my boat.
The yacht has a bedroom with an en suite bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. While the surface isn't that big, it has all the comforts, and it runs extremely smoothly. I'd used it a few times before to sojourn on the Mediterranean.
It's also my sanctuary when I visit this side of the country. No one has ever been on my boat, and as long as I'm alive, no one ever will.
I carry the weapons inside the living room before stocking the kitchen with the groceries I'd bought.
When everything's done, I start the engine.