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25
Vincenzo
She doesn't answer," Emilio repeated for the third time after still, no answer had crossed my lips.
How could I? I was practically on the gas pedal. I cursed the bad road conditions ahead. It was difficult, even for an SUV like this one.
"Vince," Emilio growled.
"I understood you," I hissed back.
She did not answer. This was probably just punishment because I had not responded to her calls either and had rather stubbornly stuck to ignoring her. What this had brought me, I felt in my body now, because I suffered alternately heat and cold, not to mention nausea that had spread in my gut.
Merda.
If I had just affirmed all that she had said and told the truth, she wouldn't be alone in that damn car right now. There would be no accident.
Emilio had repeatedly told me that she must have crashed after the pursuer tried to vehemently push her off the road. The Sián was fast. But was it also designed to save a driver who had an accident?
I could probably answer that. I knew the infernal car inside out.
"How much longer are you going to be?"
"I can see where the accident happened," I hissed as soon as the column of smoke came into view. Not good. Not good at all. The hybrid engine required a special division of the fire department once it caught fire.
I took the next bend regardless. As soon as the accident scene came into view, I braked and prepared to jump out of the car.
My gaze flitted over the scene. At one section, the guardrail was missing; behind it, there was nothing for a long time until I discovered the Sián. Amedea had collided head-on with a tree, and I saw more scraped metal than I wanted to.
The red Porsche had gotten away better, parked in the middle of the road with its front dented. The driver's door was open.
My Jeep came to a halt, and I jumped out, focused enough to stuff my phone into my pocket and my gun into my waistband instead of running headlong to the scene of the accident. Whoever had been driving the Porsche couldn't have disappeared.
Faster and faster, I hurried toward the guardrail, only to have my first suspicions confirmed.
Halfway to the Sián, I spotted a man who was purposeful enough with a firearm in his hand to tell me his next plan.
I gritted my teeth. If I raised the gun and pulled the trigger, he would be dead in the next five seconds. But that was not satisfactory. Not at all.
I didn't have much time, but I started moving anyway, my gun tucked back into my waistband. The guy didn't deserve a mercy killing. I wanted to look him in the eye when the last bit of life left him. And it would because he had thought I was the one in the Sián. Because he had wrecked the car.
Because he had shot at it.
Because… because he had put Amedea in danger.
Because he had hurt her.
Because it reminded me of a situation, I had never wanted to live through again.
If she was dead, if she had died because of him… I bit my tongue, fighting down the memories of Rina and the voice that told me it was all my fault because I had ignored her calls, and approached the guy from behind.
On silent soles, like death itself. A muscle in my jaw twitched when I was no longer four yards away.
He probably didn't hear me coming because the accident had momentarily taken away his hearing. My advantage. His end.
I grabbed his shoulder, jerked him around, and disarmed him with two hand movements. His gun fell to the ground, and I stared at his face. His nose was bleeding.
And yet, at first glance, you could tell who it was.
