Intruders #3
I am usually more alert, but I don’t hear the footsteps approaching fast from behind until it’s too late, until Lorenzo’s body impacts mine, sending me crashing to the damp grass.
He tumbles off me, but as I roll over, he launches himself on top.
His technique is solid. He uses his thighs to pin me in place and holds both of my wrists above my head.
I’m no easy mark, and I draw up my knees, ready to push with my legs and thighs to unbalance him.
But first, I stop to assess his expression, to evaluate his intent.
He stills, his face directly over mine. I feel the soft caress of his breath on my cheeks, coming from his exertions.
Everything around me fades except for the touch of our bodies.
His intent is not to attack but to demand my attention.
His eyes are dark and unfathomable. Once again, his eyebrows scrunch together, and he lowers his body along my own, his face inches from mine.
My body reacts in turn to his proximity, pressure and slick skin, combining to stoke my arousal.
His hair is still wet. As he hovers over me, a drop of water begins forming on the end of his nose.
After a second, I lift my head and, with a deliberate swipe of my tongue, lick the droplet away. He recoils a few inches, staring shocked at me, before his eyes drop to my chest as he notices what’s going on between my legs.
“What is this?” he says, pressing the hardness of his groin into mine.
Before I can respond, two things happen simultaneously.
Every light in the house and around the grounds switches off, leaving us in complete darkness. Then a familiar female voice calls out from across the lawn.
“Enzo!” Mrs Bellacci barks out from the darkness. “Intrusi. Quattro.”
“Stay down.” The urgent stiffening of Lorenzo’s limbs is tangible. His warm words whisper harshly in my right ear, his face a shadow, his hand briefly placed over my mouth. “Be silent.”
Without making a sound, he lifts his body deftly from mine and moves away. My eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the darkness, but in that time, Lorenzo’s hunched silhouette has moved away towards the house.
I lift my head and strain to make out the sound of movement, but all I hear is the usual nighttime overture of the breeze, cicadas and frogs.
In my peripheral vision, I detect a shadowy figure slinking across the lawn from the direction of the olive grove.
A sudden flash from the back of the kitchen accompanies a dull crack, the oddly familiar sound of a shot from a suppressed firearm.
A muffled groan of pain comes from the oversized silhouette that drops to the ground.
Although I am trying to make sense of what is happening, I instinctively feel that these armed intruders have been sent to target me.
I assess the area. Thick darkness dissolves, becoming tangible layers of black and grey as my awareness sharpens and I make sense of the backdrop.
Two more dull gunshots sound from the far side of the villa.
I’m climbing to my feet, entirely alert now, when I hear a scuffle not far from me.
My night vision is improving, and I see two shapes tussling.
One of them is undoubtedly Lorenzo’s lean, muscled physique.
He appears to be getting the better of the other man, but then I spot another figure heading towards them, holding out an assault rifle.
This time, the gunshot is loud and raw with no suppressor.
It’s a wild warning shot. The assailant wears no night-vision goggles.
Instinct takes over, and I steal quickly across the grounds towards the intruder. Close up, he’s camouflaged from head to foot in black and holds his gun out in front, steadied by both arms. I act fast when he raises the weapon to his face, readying to fire off a shot.
I launch myself at his torso, knocking him to the ground as he fires into the trees.
We roll around the wet earth until I successfully wrest the gun from him and throw the weapon away from us both.
A gunshot goes off behind me, but I have no time to check.
I know he has no military training from our short engagement.
Back unsteadily on his feet, he fights wildly in an untrained way.
Seeing the opportunity, I execute a single punch to his solar plexus, which has him paralysed, winded and dropping to his knees.
I could follow up with a death blow, but I want him alive to find out why he has come.
Pivoting smoothly, I swing a bare heel kick to the side of his head, which I know will render him unconscious.
Maybe I've observed other fights involving the same technique, I don't remember, but he falls sideways onto the ground exactly as I had anticipated.
As I straighten up, Lorenzo calls out something, and Mrs Bellacci responds.
A couple of seconds later, the lights blaze across the grounds, blinding me for a second.
I find Lorenzo to my right, a firearm over his bare shoulder, standing over a body on the ground.
His gaze finds mine, and he looks puzzled when he sees the figure at my feet.
“Where do you want him?” I ask, nodding to my catch.
“Outside the kitchen,” he replies, pointing across the grounds.
Bizarrely, we drag the bodies by the arms across the grounds as though this is something we do regularly and line them up outside the kitchen alongside two similarly attired men.
Both appear dead, one shot in the chest, the other in the head.
None of them is dressed in ballistic body armour.
When Lorenzo drops his man alongside, who is also lifeless—a broken neck, if I had to guess—he stares at me and shrugs, wondering why I am not doing the same.
“This one is alive. Unconscious. We need to tie him up and lock him up somewhere secure. When he gains consciousness, we can find out who he is and why he’s here.”
He nods once and heads into the kitchen. He returns with thick plastic cable ties and helps me to secure the man from head to foot. I notice there is blood on Lorenzo’s clothes.
“Were you hurt?” I ask with concern, nodding to his shirt.
He stops what he’s doing momentarily to follow my gaze, then looks up, grinning. “This does not belong to me. What about you? Are you okay?”
“I’m unhurt.”
“Good. That is good.” For some reason, his concern warms me.
“Let’s get this one locked up.”
Once we’re finished, we drag the unconscious intruder to a garden shed at the back of the kitchen and lay him on top of sacks of fertiliser. Lorenzo ensures the door is padlocked securely before we return to the kitchen.
Mrs Bellacci is already seated at the pine table.
We pull out chairs and sit together in silence.
Behind her, on a dresser, sits a rifle with an American-made suppressor—a Remington.
A silent communication goes on between her and Lorenzo.
Feeling the need to confess, I am about to come clean about Albert and the message he sent me, concerned that my silence has put them both at risk. Before I get the chance, she speaks up.
“My sincere apologies, Mr Redbrick,” she says eventually, heaving out a sigh.
“There are things we have not told you. You should not have witnessed what happened tonight. But it is not really my position to explain. I will call Dr Romano and ask him to come over first thing this morning. We can share breakfast, then everything will be clarified. But for now, please shower and sleep, if you can. Lorenzo and I will clean everything up.”