Private Rome

Chapter 96

We left the track and turned onto Via Roma, a winding country road that would eventually take us back to the city. Soon we were making good progress.

“You didn’t know anything about your father’s membership of this group?” I asked.

Luna shook her head. “He never speaks to me about his business activities. He’s always said it’s because he doesn’t want to put me in a difficult position, but maybe it’s because he felt he couldn’t trust me. So there was a big blank space between us. I mean, I had my suspicions. Through my work I have been able to connect some of the dots. His low-life associates and street-level operations are known to me, places like the Pleasure Hall, but this Propaganda Tre connection was kept from me. Or it was until today.”

She sounded convincing, but someone who’d been born into the mob and had to conceal the truth from her colleagues every single day would be an accomplished liar.

“Must be difficult. You being police. Him doing what he does.”

She nodded. “Very. But families are sent to test us. Love us but test us.”

I smiled. Her expression didn’t soften.

We headed along the valley toward Colle Merulino, a tiny village tucked behind the intersection of two highways. We would join one of them, the Autostrada Roma, and head west into the city.

The country road we were on, the Via di San Vittorino, followed a curve around the shoulder of a tree-covered hill before it narrowed to pass through a tunnel bored through a low cliff. When we emerged into dazzling sunshine, I sensed movement. As my eyes adjusted, I saw the flash of a vehicle speeding beyond some trees, coming along Via Polense toward the intersection we were approaching. It was a large dump truck traveling flat out. The driver showed no intention of slowing. In fact, he was clearly aiming to hit us.

“Luna,” I yelled. “Stop!”

But it was too late. The truck collided with the Defender, mangling the front of the Land Rover, smashing through the engine block, sending us into a terrible, grinding, crashing spin. The cabin filled with smoke, diesel, the stench of burning metal, scorched rubber, and the world went round and round like a Waltzer in a giant hall of mirrors.

My head collided with the side window, which shattered. Everything went distant. I was dimly aware of us bouncing off the truck but still traveling with it, metal caught and hooked on metal as we spun wildly.

Then stillness.

Suddenly movement, hands pulling me.

Thrown onto my back. Above me, snarling unfamiliar faces, tattoos.

The Dark Fates.

A familiar face.

Milan Verde.

Above his bitter, cynical smile, hovering in the sky, was the drone they’d used to follow us from Antonelli’s farmhouse.

Milan Verde lashed out with his boot, and the last thing I saw was his dirty sole filling my vision.