Metanoia

“I’ll go back to my duties and keep working, and Lynette will think this is our honeymoon,” Jensen replied seriously, taking a few steps to the side. “And Mum will return to our family home with Mark.”

I had to roll my eyes in anger. I hated that woman as much as I hated her man.

“How dare she return with her lover to the mansion where our father died?” I spat reluctantly, but got no answer.

Every thought of that woman filled my throat with bile, my heart with disgust and revulsion at the realisation that her genes were in my blood, that my hair and eyes were part of hers (I had changed the colour of my hair, but if I could have my eyes gouged out, I would definitely do that too). Even the word ‘mother’ was not to be used in her direction – a traitor who was alive because of Jensen, who supported the ideas of patriarchy, who convinced me that my only chance for a better life was to marry a powerful man, did not deserve my recognition and respect, and even my father’s surname did not protect her position. Brought up on the literature of Jean Jacques Rousseau, she had no choice but to grow up subservient to a man. Once, when I was a child, she tried to read me one of his works: before she could even begin, I began to fret and cry, not wanting to listen to what he had written. I only felt an unpleasant shiver run down my shoulders when I thought that a man should be the head of the family and have complete control over his wife and children, and a woman should be a subordinate and serve her husband.

At the thought of marriage, I lowered my eyes to my unadorned left hand – it had been empty since Nicholas had died in the fire. Clenching my fingers into a fist, I looked up to where the clouds hung heavy like grey walls, obscuring the bright blue sky. The morning dampness spread through the city in cold gusts of wind that blew litter and flyers across the ground. The thickening clouds created black patches in the sky, inspiring a ghostly desolation that churned to the bone. Tangled hairs formed at the back of my neck as I frowned thoughtfully into the grey distance, longing building in my soul. An unbearable rattle echoed through my heart, making me oblivious to the pain that had hardened inside me over the past few months. It seemed impossible to escape the endless sky, that the impenetrable clouds, like a maze, would not allow me to find a way out – fear was devouring me from within, waiting to meet its own Minotaur¹. (The Minotaur¹ is a legendary creaturefrom ancient Greek mythology, half man, half bull, who lived in a labyrinth onthe island of Crete and ate those whom fate threw into the maze.)

“Alana,” Thomas’ loud voice came from behind me, pulling me out of my own thoughts. I swallowed hard and ran my palms over my face to bring myself back to reality. Tapping my heels on the stone pavement in front of the restaurant, I stepped closer to the man who was sitting by the fallen planks next to the stairs, staring at them thoughtfully.

“Do you think this is evidence?” Jensen asked, sitting down beside him and holding out his hand for the object. I had to slap his palm lightly.

On the floor, between the burnt planks, lay a silver heart-shaped pendant. Its chain was broken and the small stones that decorated the metal had almost fallen out, leaving only empty notches.

“Prints,” I replied to his questioning look, without taking my eyes off the pendant. Employees weren’t allowed to wear jewellery, and visitors often didn’t wear such simple and silver ones. I stood up and motioned for Jensen to take the pendant for examination, “I need the results as soon as possible. I received a nod.

Sighing, I raised my head to the sky and noticed the clouds. Jensen came up behind me, gritting his teeth, “The guards were talking about the evening event.”

“That’s right,” I replied a little more quietly, feeling the onset of a headache, “I have an assignment in London.”

“Another businessman,” he began.

“Another car,” I replied with a chuckle, “you’re coming with me.”

“Of course,” Jensen smiled brightly, forcing me to lift the corners of my lips, “you always need someone to cover your ass.”

The guards surrounded the castle and surveyed the area around it. Inside the building itself, the maids were bustling about, carrying dishes and laundry, scrubbing the floors to a shine, cleaning up after the previous night. After reminding me of our meeting tonight and kissing me on the cheek goodbye, Jensen quickly made his way to his upstairs bedroom and took off his jacket, where Lynette was probably already. My brother’s wife didn’t interest me as much as her sister, about whom I had a bad feeling – Skye’s appearance resembled a sickly, if not fatal, skin condition, thinness, dye-burnt hair; perhaps the Carbyn sisters weren’t as simple as they seemed at first glance.

Standing at the entrance to the castle, the wind blowing in through the open windows and doors, I lowered my gaze to my shoes, crossed my legs and took a deep breath. I felt like I missed Amalfi – the Italian town had become much more at home to me in recent years than my native London. The greyness around me was killing me, plunging me into a gloomy reverie that I could only try to shake off by increasing my workload. The sea, with its tranquillity and silence, the peace to be found in the crashing waves, in the spray of cold water, reminded me that in a world where there is hell, there is also heaven. Here, apart from my father’s shop, which burned with some periodicity, I had nothing. A slow, throbbing pain began to pound in my temples as I realised how many problems I would face on my return to Italy, even though I still couldn’t figure out who had caused the two restaurant fires: I had made enough enemies over the past few years who were determined to take not only business and territory, but also the title of “the man who destroyed Wollstonecraft”.

A gust of cold air hit my face with the clear smell of earth before rain, forcing me to look up. The glass doors to the courtyard were open, as they had been the night before, and Dante was sitting at the large table where a few hours earlier there had been large Italian dishes and bottles of dry white wine. His large back, the intimidating scars on it hidden by the thick fabric of his charcoal jacket, looked dull and lonely against the grey sky. Tapping my heels on the tiles of the house, I approached the man and saw a laptop and a cup of espresso in front of him.

“Is there a problem with the bar tab?” I asked, stepping around Dante and sitting to his right, the man sitting on the edge with only the corner of the table between us – so I could study his face. Tilting my head slightly to the right and squinting my eyes, I watched as he slowly lifted his gaze from the laptop screen and turned coldly to face me. Taking a deep breath, Dante leaned back in his chair and picked up a small cup of espresso with his large hand; I could see the turquoise vein lines through his skin.

“Some vitals didn’t add up,” he replied blankly, taking a sip of his drink. The piercing look in his brown eyes slowly began to ignite a fear in me that chilled me to the bone, “Nothing serious”.

“You should be more careful,” I said slowly, realising that our small talk was turning into a cold verbal battle for me.

“Just helping Jensen out,” De Rosso said as he set his empty cup down on the saucer.

I crossed my legs and squeezed them tighter – to control my aggression, which pierced my skin with a sharp heat that made it hard to breathe. The man sitting in front of me had full access to the financial records of the bar through which I laundered my illicit earnings; I had a right to be angry at Jensen for such reckless behaviour.

“And what caused this altruism?” I asked, narrowing my eyes slightly.

“The usual help to a friend,” the man replied evasively. Talking to Dante, I had the oppressive feeling that he was controlling his every word, trying to keep me at a distance. His piercing brown eyes and bushy eyebrows were lifeless and vacant, giving the impression that the man was incapable of smiling. De Rosso’s demeanour was, in my eyes, arrogant and unapproachable, as if he had absolutely no interest in other people, not even his so-called ‘friend’ in the person of my brother. His monotonous voice, devoid of any emotion, and his stilted gestures gave the impression of coldness. Realising that it would be impossible to establish a dialogue with such a man, let alone extract information from him regarding access to financial figures, I lowered my eyes in frustration as I rose from my chair. Smoothing my white shirt against my body, I cast a final glance at Dante, who immediately returned to his computer, losing all interest in our conversation. Straightening my back as if my spine were a bar of steel, I dismissively reminded the man to lock his doors for the night, then retreated.

“Who are you, Dante De Rosso?” I whispered.

The clear night sky, devoid even of stars, was slowly being replaced by grey and cloud, revealing a different London beyond the reach of the naked eye. The old mansion, rather small compared to my father’s residence in Italy, was indeed old – the bright red brick that made up the walls of the building was illuminated by the xenon headlights of the sports cars parked at the foot of the stairs. The tight black fabric of my long dress squeezed my ribs as I breathed; my feet were beginning to ache from walking in heels (I had to soak my feet in a shower of hot water to be able to dress for today’s event). The front strands of my hair fell in large waves across my face as I leaned forward to adjust the belt on my hip that secured the sharp knife to my skin. I had gotten used to this kind of protection: I had no intention of killing anyone today, and I generally did not encourage close combat, but the knife was not only a means of self-defence in critical situations, but also a tool that could be used to pick a lock, cut a rope in the event of a kidnapping, or damage a pocket to get a phone out. Although my appearance was in keeping with the theme of the party, I was met with puzzled, interested and even judgmental looks – apparently neither Luca nor his guests expected me to accept an invitation to the event.

“We came to steal a car,” my brother said, leaning into my ear. A few minutes earlier, Jensen had been telling the valet exactly where to park his car, constantly smoothing the fabric of his black suit, “but I think if such a beauty disappears from the party, everyone will notice.

I grinned back and took his arm. We walked back to the manor together.

Luca Ronald was the epitome of a rich youth who had not yet met the fate of early family life and business. I did not investigate his finances, although there is no need to, because I knew that his spending was irrational (the diamond pool table, which he broke a week after installing it), but the man himself had repeatedly claimed a recent purchase – a Bugatti Centodieci, a limited edition car of which there are only 10 in the world. My client contacted me a few minutes after he heard about the deal between Luca and the sheikh, wanting to get his hands on the new sports car without any unnecessary witnesses. Car theft was not my main source of income, but the money it generated was shared between me and my team, excluding middlemen, staff and so on. It was probably an extension of what I had been doing with Antonio’s father; I really liked cars, in a way this part of the job gave me pleasure, because while most cases were standardised and universal, each one was unique, with different cars, people and circumstances everywhere. It was important to choose the victim first: a banker with a shady past, a politician involved in illegal business, or men who looked like pathetic parodies of Capone or Gotti, but according to the statistics it was the children of such people who most often fell under my influence. They paid no attention to the cars, which made it easier to rob them. Then came my team: Xiaomin, a Chinese girl who was on holiday now, and Richard, a tall man with blue eyes that looked very deep against his dark skin, who had served time in one of London’s prisons for stealing a cabriolet. These two, professional thieves, would gradually trace the victim and the car using the technique I had taught them, and when the time came, they would disappear with the car without a trace. I gave each member of the team an increased percentage of the sale in exchange for the fact that they were responsible for the theft – victim, police, mafia, it doesn’t matter, they were looking for my guys, but not for me, formally I was not involved in their activities. This helped to avoid conflicts between the families that rule the illegal world, as well as unwanted wars and shootouts, but when my boys were being hunted, I stood up for them. But there was one memorable moment: when the case of the theft of two sports cars came up for trial, which was supposed to take place in Molise, I managed to move to Naples, where Antonio kindly did not interfere in my business and allowed me to finish what I had started. All the witnesses from the court suddenly disappeared and I had to pay my partner in Naples part of the proceeds from the sale of the cars.

“The car key is on the second floor,” Jensen said softly in my ear as we entered the villa, smiling and nodding to the butlers and other guests, “third door from the left,” he reminded me, “don’t forget.”

I mentally rolled my eyes in annoyance and suppressed a sigh of flow of emotions.

Objectively, this case was different from the others, at least in that I was directly involved in the theft, I had to show up at this dinner tonight to quietly steal the keys and then quietly hand them to Richard who would be waiting for me outside the grounds of Roland’s mansion. Luca, for reasons unknown to me, had hired a large number of guards and strengthened the pass system; now each guest had an individual code, and forging it, though possible, was still disproportionately energy consuming. After discussing this with Thomas, we agreed that I should accept the invitation to the ball.

Behind the massive doors blocking the entrance to the mansion, the Ronald family’s grandeur was concealed: a grand foyer with a high ceiling and stucco on the walls, an extended bar with a variety of drinks around which guests were already gathering. Most of the young people remained in the lounge to the right, sitting on leather sofas, not hesitating to place on the coffee table whatever illegal drugs they could steal from their parents. The wall behind them was empty – it used to be a display case of crystal china and silverware that Luca had broken at another party.

I walked on, still holding my brother’s arm, keeping a calm face and discreetly inspecting the guards. The preconceived plan was to disappear unnoticed from the lobby where the main event was taking place, find the office on the first floor and get rid of the car.

Although people like Luca contributed a great deal to my financial well-being, I genuinely hated them – having inherited the business from his mother, he spent money recklessly and irresponsibly, while his hapless deputies tried to avoid bankruptcy. This approach to work irritated me: while I had struggled all my life to get a place in my father’s restaurant, Ronald had just been born; every time I had to deal with him, I felt a genuine disgust.

I didn’t notice Luca right away: the dark-skinned man stood eccentrically in a circle of his friends, swaying from side to side as if he couldn’t stay on his feet. His hands waved incoherently in the air as if trying to prove something, his face was puffy, his hair a mess; Ronald’s clothes looked sloppy and unkempt, as if he’d dressed with his eyes closed.

I’d heard about his family for a long time; even the mansion the guy had turned into a nightclub had once been the home of generations. Despite such an ugly idea of Ronald’s, he had aristocratic roots, but I could not understand if that had any meaning. In the light of the night, the dark wood from which almost everything in this house was made added charm and mystique, but these thoughts quickly disappeared as I noticed the people standing around the new pool table. I had no doubt that it was worth several hundred thousand pounds, unless it was a fake that his grandmother sometimes used – aristocrats had rapidly lost their influence in the last half century and were more status than real proof of the presence of money.

I took a deep breath and gripped Jensen’s hand tighter with my fingers. It took a lot of effort to turn the contempt in my eyes into polite arrogance (Luca was one of those people who used his family name shamelessly, having nothing to do with this success. He often reacted positively to my hubris because he had a high ego, believing himself to be more intelligent, wealthy and influential).

With a disdainful sneer, I glanced at the young man coming our way. I exhaled immediately and the muscles in my back tensed.

“Alana,” Luca said immediately, “I’m so glad you’re here,” the man leaned over to my palm and planted a light kiss on it. I swallowed, feeling the pungent smell of sweat and alcohol from the man in my nose.

“I couldn’t miss such a bright event,” I replied politely with flashing eyes and a small grin, “I think you know my brother. Jensen,” I turned to him as he reached out to shake Luca’s hand.

“I heard about the casino,” he frowned as he expressed his regret, “I hope you recover soon. Maybe if it was run by a man it would be all right, who knows?”

I smiled dismissively, realising that my behaviour had gone unnoticed by Luca. I had no idea how much alcohol he’d had since this morning in order to recognise who was standing in front of him.

“I hope you’ll be our first guest after the refurbishment,” I nodded and Jensen, pushing my lower back, led us to the bar.

The vanity parade that had opened its massive doors that night weighed heavily on my head and made it hard to breathe. The lies in the air were becoming absurd, and as I sat far away at the bar with a glass of water, I could barely contain my laughter as I watched people trying to appear better than they really were – everything had turned into a competition that everyone was trying to win at all costs. The colourful lights and sounds of music that reminded me of fun and joy now seemed dull and artificial. Jensen looked suspicious, obviously afraid the guards would find out the real reason for our visit; his voice was distant, disinterested.

Jensen set the whisky down on the lacquered barstool, pursed his lips slightly and lifted his eyes, “The insurance company is questioning the restaurant’s case.”

I covered my eyes with the palm of my hand and shook my head wearily. This reaction from the agency was unpleasant, but expected – another problem to deal with, but they don’t go into total denial. Maybe I should meet someone from the insurance company.

“I’ll sort it out,” I replied calmly, taking a sip of cold water, “I need to get back to Italy as soon as possible.”

Jensen nodded slowly and swallowed the entire contents of his glass with a jerk, causing me to raise my eyebrows in confusion. There was no trace of yesterday’s happiness on his face; not even the ring on his finger made him smile. My phone vibrated quietly, causing Jensen to look up at me. I slipped the device into my clutch and stood up.

“I need to fix my make-up,” I smiled, squinting, and my brother nodded as he got up and walked towards Luca.

I gave my brother’s demure gait one last wary look, making sure my absence would not arouse suspicion, then made my way up the massive staircase to the first floor. Nimbly rounding the corner, I lurked and waited for the guard to pass; quietly rounding his back (my heels muffled the soft carpet on the floor) without him noticing, I walked along the wall of antique tapestries and counted out the third door. Leaning my shoulder blades against the cold wood, I tugged gently on the handle with my left hand, which unexpectedly boiled away. Once inside, I closed the door quietly behind me, feeling my heartbeat echo in my ears. After all these years I’d never managed to cultivate a coolness, like a child doing something inappropriate, I could feel the adrenaline raging through my veins, the fear of being caught feeding through me. The guards Thomas and Jensen had bought told me that the keys were here. Luca’s office was small, different to the ones I’d seen before, empty. A desk with a laptop, a chair and a bookshelf. With a quick exhale, I began to look around the room for the car keys – first checking all the chests of drawers under the desk, but finding nothing, I turned to the books, imagining with interest that Ronald was reading. In fact, it didn’t fit his lifestyle at all. Fingering the spines of the books, I noticed a different one, and when I opened it, I realised that instead of pages, there was a recess where the keys were neatly placed. Grinning, I shoved them into my bag and put everything back where it belonged.

My throat was dry and I swallowed hard, feeling the pressure of my dress against my ribs. My heart was beating so fast I could feel the blood pounding in my temples. I wanted to laugh, loudly, to drown out the music below. It had been a long time since I had experienced such pleasant feelings, the joy of my work. Boundless liberation, accompanied by a violation of the rights of others, of every possible order and norm, a release from responsibility and worries about not conforming to the expectations of others; I was doing what I was not supposed to do and feeling in my place. My fingers grew cold with the anticipation of being behind the wheel of one of the ten sports cars in the range. But what excited me most was the thought that someone like Luca Ronald would lose his beloved car in a matter of minutes; that I had taken something precious away from him, that in time, when the alcohol no longer affected his body, he would realise his level of irresponsibility.

Cautiously, I opened the wooden door and looked out, scanning the long corridor in the dim light of the warm lamps. There was no one around, no guards or guests, which gave me a safe route to my car. The stairs leading to the garage were on the opposite side of the corridor and I quickly shifted my high heeled feet across the carpet, looking back often and listening for any sound. It was dark ahead, perhaps this part of the house had been neglected for so long that even the burnt-out lights in the wall sconces were of no interest. Gradually the reds of the carpet and tapestries faded into colourless patches of unlit corners. I felt something warm on my right shoulder, pulling me towards it – it took me a moment to see the cold gaze of Dante’s eyes in the darkness. My insides clenched at the realisation that I was in an uninhabited part of the mansion, sandwiched between the cold wall and the tall man. I swallowed, interrupting the sudden dryness in my throat, and silently watched De Rosso study my face – we were at an unacceptably close distance.

“What are you doing?” my angry whisper broke the silence between us. Along with the realisation that a familiar face was standing before me, I felt anger begin to seep into my consciousness, acting like the lava of an erupting volcano. An uncomfortable but long familiar energy rippled through me, taking control of my body. The pain in my ribs disappeared, while my chest began to tighten with tension, making it harder to breathe. I tried to control my emotions but they were beginning to take control of me. I knew I had to calm down and find the strength to keep my temper, but it was so hard. The blade on my leg burned, pressing against the heated skin of my thigh – the desire to drive the knife down Dante’s throat grew with every breath.

His cold gaze betrayed no emotion – the stale, unapproachable man continued to scorch the exposed skin of my neck with his breath until he stepped back, letting me inhale more deeply. “I could ask the same question,” he replied, burning me with his icy gaze.

“You’d better get back to the guests,” I mimicked his manner of empty dialogue, turning to my right with the intention of walking out of the dark corner of the corridor, but with a sharp movement the man grabbed my arm and pulled me back, only now it was him against the wall.

The desire to drive a blade as cold as his brown eyes into that stiff neck had never been stronger. I clenched my palms into fists and breathed heavily, furrowing my brow. My gaze became heavy – slowly moving my eyes to his face, I kept the last shreds of patience with a full sense of seriousness. I took a few steps back from his grasp; my desire to finish the task had been replaced by a desire to prove to Dante that excessive liberties had to be paid for.