Metanoia

“Thank you,” I replied in a hoarse voice, covering my legs with the fluffy material. His long, pale fingers held out a cup of tea with lemon, hot steam rising and hitting my nose.

“You look tired,” Nicholas said worriedly, putting a hand on my shoulder and pressing me against his chest. The steady beat of his heart had a reassuring effect on me, weighing down my eyelids. I had never felt so safe, so relaxed; in my husband’s arms, I didn’t worry about the work I had to do tomorrow, about the people I had fought with — I was happy with my lover, and the little world we had made for ourselves was enough for me. His cold fingers stroked my blond hair in a circular motion at my temple. Nicholas was thin and tall with pale skin; born in Korea, he had moved to Naples for reasons unknown to me personally, taking a job as a teaching assistant at the university where I was studying. I took a deep breath of the man’s citrus scent and smiled softly as I opened my eyes and took a sip of hot tea.

“My father has given me a lot of work, my love,” I admitted honestly as I continued to drink my warming beverage, “I haven’t had time to rest. It’s different here than in Amalfi – more work, faster people and more aggressive. It’s just a stream of endless problems,” I hummed. Nicholas coughed and frowned.

“Mr Wollstonecraft, Robert,” the man began slowly, “is training you to run the restaurant. He’s thinking of an inheritance and he needs an heir.”

I dropped my eyes to my fingers and bit the inside of my cheek, “Dad’s still hoping for Jensen,” I grinned sadly. Nicholas was silent for a moment.

He didn’t like what I was doing, and my husband had mentioned it more than once — he was worried about my safety, which was constantly threatened by the business and my stroppy nature; he didn’t want to wake up one morning to find his dead wife dumped on the Amalfi Coast. But Nicholas’s fear was as strong as his love for me; the man knew how important it was for me to get The Empire, to prove my worth in this world, so he continued to support me. His plump lips dipped to the top of my head and he lightly buried his long fingers in my blonde hair, causing me to exhale in a relaxed manner as a pleasant warmth of intimacy with my husband spread through my chest.

“Hey, darling,” Nicholas reached out and touched my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. I bit my lower lip and exhaled heavily as I felt him pinch my chubby cheek. There was a chuckle in his dark eyes that made me smile embarrassed; the man took my right palm in his and slowly ran his fingers over mine, stroking them. We didn’t tell each other much about ourselves, but that protected Nicholas more than it did me. I didn’t want my father to know about my love, or I would have lost my chance to rule the casino forever. Still, it was almost impossible to hide my father’s business, especially here in London, so I had to tell Nicholas about the illegal part of my life. “Even if Mr Wollstonecraft gives the restaurant to Jensen, your brother will give it to you,” he said.

I nodded slowly. Jensen had mentioned more than once that he didn’t see himself as a full participant in this business, thus creating an alternative scenario in my favour.

“When this is over,” the man continued, leaving kisses on my knuckles, “maybe we could go to Vietnam?”

“What about there?” I asked with a smile. He shrugged.

“Something new.”

In those moments when Nicholas was by my side, I forgot the cold-blooded murders, the thefts, the blood on my hands — nothing existed, just the two of us. In his eyes was my whole world, my black sea that gave me hope for a better future; his smell took me back to my childhood, where security and love reigned; his smile made my chest swell with warmth, his casual touches, his caring voice, his tender kisses — all of this made me a different person. Next to him, I was just Alana, unharmed.

Suddenly, there was a vibration in the walls and the sound of explosions and gunfire in the distance. Frowning, I pulled away from my husband and jumped up, dropping a cup of boiling water on the floor, which shattered into tiny shards all over the floor. In an instant, the peaceful idyll turned into a terrifying battle with the attackers, who kept bombarding the walls of the house, trying to get inside. The windows shattered and I quickly began to look around for weapons; guns were often hidden under tables and I took two, handing one to Nicholas (the man was a terrible shot, having held a firearm three times in his law-abiding life). It was happening faster than I could have realised – several men had already made it into the house before they quickly dropped dead from the bullets, but, distracted, I didn’t notice as one of the attackers grabbed the hot poker Nicholas had used minutes earlier to stir the wood and coals in the fireplace and struck me in the forearm, sending a wave of sharp, stabbing pain down my arm. Giving in to my reflex, I fired a bullet in his direction, noting the black spots all around. Nicholas was exchanging fire with three men.

“Too many,” shouted the man hiding behind the wall. He was out of bullets, I had a few left.

“Cellar,” I shouted back, he was right, we could not defeat so many people.

Nicholas nodded and took a few steps to the left towards the stairs, I fired the last shots at two of the men, then threw the pistol at the head of the third and followed my husband. We had about a minute. A hot stream of blood ran down my forearm and over my fingers, leaving marks on the floor, but the shock prevented me from feeling the pain of the wound. He quickly opened the iron door and let me go first, staying close to the stairs.

“I’ll call my brother,” I said, turning to Nicholas, “he’ll get help,” I put my arm around the man’s shoulder and led him into the concrete-walled room. He jerked sharply at the doorknob, which didn’t budge, and then it snapped open. Frowning, I looked up at his pale face.

“There are guns here,” my husband reminded me. I nodded quickly, catching my breath.

The noise around me pressed on my head, making me panic and lose my mind. The man turned towards the stairs as I squeezed my fingers tighter around his hand, noticing the black ball rolling down the steps. It all happened too fast — one moment I was holding Nicholas, feeling the warmth of his skin, and the next he was running out of the bunker, slamming the iron door in my face. A second later there was a huge explosion that knocked the whitewash from the ceiling onto my head. I stared at the door with a frozen look of shock on my face, my mouth open and tears in my eyes, I couldn’t breathe out and the blood kept dripping onto the floor — Nicholas had just been here and now he was gone.

Grenades had saved my life more than once in firefights, but on this ominous night they played against me, taking my husband’s life with a shuddering explosion. The bunker was not a bunker at all – a small room in the basement with concrete walls and an iron door was a torture room, so it was only locked from the outside. I still remember how, seconds after the explosion, I felt a strong urge to empty my stomach, but a flood of tears, which I wiped from my cheeks with trembling fingers, prevented me from even taking a breath.

The months of searching for the culprits had turned into a nightmare for me.

The trembling in my body, the stabbing pain in my heart, and the thoughts flooding my mind made me exhale heavily and get out of bed, exposing the exposed skin of my arms and legs to the cool breeze of the night. I ran my fingers nervously through the strands, picking up the loose hair in a wisp and leaving it on the bedside table. There were no cigarettes nearby, nothing to stop the voice in my head that had been telling me all these years that I was to blame for my husband’s death, that I was unworthy of him, and that he died, died, because he fell in love with a terrible person like me. He died for an unworthy person. My heart began to beat so fast that I had to sit on my knees in front of the bed and grab the blanket. I couldn’t breathe, the tears were choking me, my head was spinning. I covered my mouth with my hands to muffle my sobs. The pain in my chest grew rapidly. All these years this pain had lived inside me, every night I thought about what could have prevented Nicholas’ death, that I could have been in his place, that I should have been in his place. Just like today, I had to be in my brother’s place. Tears filled my eyes again and began to trickle down my cheeks, forcing me to cover my mouth more tightly so that no one could hear the sobs. So that no one could hear that I was in pain. I hated myself for it and was scared at the same time, because wherever I go, I bring death with me, my hands are soaked with blood and dirty money. Even the place of Jensen’s wedding was covered in blood, the castle where he and his wife laughed and were happy in their marriage turned into darkness and bullets. I was afraid to admit that years of self-control might be wasted. It was frightening to realise that I could have lost my brother. He was my blood and my soul. I would have been burned a thousand times if it would have eased his suffering.

I didn’t sleep that night. I lay with my back against the bed, staring at the night sky and crying because I had no other choice.

I was awakened by the strong vibrations of my mobile phone. An agitated Thomas, in a feigned calm manner accompanied by occasional coughing, inquired about what had happened last night and my current location. After informing my deputy of Jensen’s health and Dante’s (unreported) home, I hung up. Pressing the corner of the phone to my lips, I closed my eyes and felt the stinging pain of inconsolable tears pouring down for hours; my nasal mucosa was dry and my throat ached for water.

Emotional exhaustion based in the chest area accompanied me throughout the morning and when I got out of bed and went to the mirror, I realised that the inner pain was beginning to take its toll on my appearance – lack of sleep, too much coffee and nicotine, the tears made me look like a dead man with sunken cheeks and swollen eyelids, a red nose and dry lips, the tips of my hair were split and I looked more like a haystack. I used to look in the mirror and smile at my own reflection, in those days my family was together, my father and Nicholas were alive; my blue eyes, like a bright sky, radiated life, and my cheeks and blonde hair added to the radiance. I didn’t know what I had become.

The hot shower didn’t cheer me up, but it warmed my limbs and the blood rushed to my face, hiding my discomfort. My suspended state prevented me from lifting the weight on my chest, and wiping my skin sharply with a towel, I tried to wash away the feeling of being involved in yesterday’s incident. My head was heavy and ached intensely, making me want to sink into a soft bed and not move for hours or 24 hours, but a boring feeling in my stomach reminded me to eat, so with a conflicted feeling I made my way to the ground floor. Weakness in my body slowed my movements and black spots began to reappear in front of my eyes, but in the kitchen I managed to find some hard-boiled eggs, which I quickly peeled from their shells and popped into my mouth, barely managing to chew. I washed my breakfast down with water and took a deep breath, feeling the tremor slowly fade and leave my body. The weakness remained, but I had the grace to make my way to my brother’s bedroom. I noticed the half-open door to Jensen’s bedroom and hurried over. Lynette was sitting on the edge of the bed, Dante was standing with his back to me in his usual position: arms crossed over his chest, but I could see how tense his muscles were. I was sure he was frowning. For a second I thought my brother was getting worse, but later Jensen started to talk. He was awake.

“Good morning, sista,” Jensen said with a sudden cheerful smile. I moved closer to his bed and sat down in Lynette’s place, who turned away reluctantly at the sight of me and stood by the window; the girl hated me after last night, her psyche needed time to adjust to the family she was in.

“Morning, Jensen,” I blinked suspiciously, rubbing his short blonde hair, “how are you feeling?” my innate concern for my brother’s life receded into the background at the sight of his bright sea blue eyes glowing with happiness as if yesterday had never happened.

“Like a mosquito bite,” the man grinned back, continuing to gnash his teeth, to which I only lowered my gaze and pressed my lips together to hold back a chuckle, “as usual,” he waved his good hand, to which I imperceptibly breathed a sigh of relief. A pleasant warmth spread through his chest from the fact that his brother was all right, despite the wound in his shoulder, “you’ve improved your driving. Have you been taking lessons?” Jensen clarified, not missing the opportunity to end with a joke that made me roll my eyes, which I immediately regretted because of the sharp pain.

“Yes,” I picked up on his joke, “how to drive with a bleeding passenger. A special course,” Jensen nodded happily, glad I wasn’t hyperactive, then turned to the window where Lynette was standing – I wasn’t sure what caught his attention more, the view out the window of the unknown room or his wife, “Do you remember anything from last night?” My insides tensed at the change of subject, Dante came a little closer, stopping in the same position near the wardrobe. He knew more about my business than I suspected and that made me wary of him. Lynette was silent.

The laughter in Jensen’s eyes didn’t disappear, but the smile slowly faded, leaving only soft lines like marks on his face; he took a deep breath, patting the soft blanket with his palm as if searching for the right words, his feet twitching nervously, “I was in the kitchen when I heard an unintelligible noise. I saw the guards getting nervous, checking their weapons,” there was a grim expression on my brother’s face, evidenced by his straight gaze and slightly frowning eyebrows, his head tilting depending on the part of the sentence, “the guard opened the door as they immediately started shooting at him. There was no chance.” I continued to listen in silence, “I picked up the gun, tried to get an idea of the situation outside, saw only black cars and men in uniform.”

“Military uniforms?” I shook my head incomprehensively, squinting my eyes.

“Looks like it,” the man said confirming, “black, no camouflage, there was also some strange embroidery, like,” Jensen wanted to raise his other hand, but the pain made him drop it back on the bed, “like two zigzags superimposed on each other.”

Confusion froze on my face. I had to bite down on the inside of my cheek and knit my eyebrows to keep my emotions in check.

“Can you draw?” I asked as if in a trance, quickly finding a notepad and pencil in the room.

“Give it to me,” he drew curved lines like three triangles with two strokes, “the guard was hit hard. I was hit by a bullet as I ran to the other side of the castle, they were shooting absentmindedly, must have gone through the window.”

“None of the guards survived,” Dante said stoutly, twiddling his thumbs. He kept his head down, as if he were watching from the outside.

“They went into the house,” Jensen’s words made my insides twitch, “then I was about to pass out, so I don’t remember anything. But it was as if they saw the wound and left.

If they knew who I was, they wouldn’t have left so easily. It took a lot of effort not to roll my eyes at that moment. Lynette stalked out of the room and I gave her a disapproving look for being so blunt, then looked at Dante and nodded towards the door, keeping eye contact with him. The man rose from his seat and followed the girl, leaving me alone with my brother. With a relieved exhale, I turned back to Jensen and looked stubbornly into his tired face.

“Can you draw a portrait of someone?” I asked, raising my left eyebrow, and my brother shook his head negatively. Apparently all the people were wearing masks and he couldn’t remember their faces. “Did you hear what they were talking about?” Jensen shook his head again and I lowered my eyes and exhaled loudly. I had the task of finding a grain of sand between the dunes in front of me.

Thoughts scattered in different directions, like invisible threads carrying each idea for finding the attackers – at least I knew their symbolism, and that made my path much easier. I had to get back to Amalfi to avoid irreparable consequences, but at the same time I had to deal with the restaurant and Jensen’s injury as quickly as possible. The warmth of my brother’s hot palm burned my cold fingers, which I unconsciously clenched into a fist on the blanket. Looking up at the man, I could see the worry on his face, mixed with guilt for the trouble he’d caused. There were so many guesses as to what had happened that it made nonsense of everything.

“If the mafia wanted to destroy me, they would do it through you in the most perverse way,” I said bitterly, nodding slowly.

“Maybe they didn’t want me dead,” Jensen replied. I looked up at him in surprise, “Maybe it was a warning.”

I paused for a moment to consider his words. If Jensen’s consciousness hadn’t been distorted at the time of the wound, and if he remembered exactly what the enforcers had done when they’d spotted the bullet, then their goal might have been to scare me through my brother.

“Or cars?” the man continued, listing options as I listened in silence. He began to elaborate, but the longer he spoke, the more I realised that the source of the threat could come from anywhere. Disgruntled farmers, greedy car owners, disgruntled arms dealers – they could all be the cause of the attack; they could all get together and start a war against me, and they’d have a much better chance of winning.

There was a knock at the bedroom door and Thomas came in, his blond hair dishevelled and his white shirt creased as if he’d dressed in a hurry. His long fingers were clutching a folder that immediately caught my weary gaze. The man walked quickly over to the bed, wished Jensen a speedy recovery and then showed me the documents.

“An unknown client has hired a private military company to take down the castle,” he pointed with his fingertip at the text on the sheet, which listed the members of the attacking group, the time of the order and the signatures of both parties to the agreement.

“Who’s the customer again?” I asked, frowning at the papers that lacked this information. None of the names listed were familiar to me, but on the last page was the inscription V.B.

Thomas sighed, “Unknown.”

“What do you mean ‘unknown’? ” I quickly raised my angry eyes to him. I really was ready to kill anyone who had any part in the attack on my brother – anger was building in my solar plexus, coursing through my veins.

“This military company has a very cunning chain of command,” Thomas handed the documents to Jensen, who took the folder with a healthy hand, frowning as he read, “so far only the names of the people involved in the attack are known, but not the masterminds. There are the initials V.B.,” Thomas put his hands at his sides and exhaled tiredly. I hadn’t realised from the start how anxious and suspicious my deputy was – he was considered part of my family, even though he didn’t have my last name,” the man added quietly at the end.

“Private Military Company, according to the documents. VB,” I replied, “bloody mercenaries,” I suddenly remembered.

“You know them?” asked Dante, crossing his arms over his chest, standing at the door without entering the room. I frowned slightly, feeling an inner reluctance to talk to the man – he knew about the casino and probably had access to Jensen’s bar finances, which meant he understood how I laundered money, but I had no desire to tell him more. Thomas and Jensen’s expectant gazes pressed against me, forcing me to choose my words carefully:

“This company offered to work with my dad,” I said carefully, crossing my arms over my chest as the cold began to run through my palms, “I saw the offer document, but my dad didn’t take it. He didn’t,” I corrected at the end, looking down at the floor.

V.B. was the name of a private military company that provided mercenaries for assassinations, threats – contract killers who did their work for money, often used as extra soldiers in military conflicts. Although the organisation was mainly known in British circles, it was registered in South Africa, where it is not illegal, and had been in existence for at least five years. I had no information about its founders and owners. One day, while talking to my father in his office in Salerno, I noticed among the many papers scattered on the table an offer from CVC, about a month before my father died. He had thought about it for a long time and, although I did not support the idea, he was going to accept it out of personal conviction; at a time when my father’s only business was a restaurant, he was convinced that mercenaries would provide better security and, however much I tried to dissuade him, pointing out that the cost would not pay off and that there was no point in hiring high class killers to protect an ordinary building, the man stuck to his guns. I turned down the military company’s offer as soon as The Empire came under my authority.

I sighed heavily and rubbed my face with my palms. My head still hurt, but I understood that the people in front of me were waiting for a decision that they would have to act on.

“Do you know their boss?” Jensen asked.

“No,” I shook my head, “I haven’t contacted the company directly,” I glanced at Thomas, who was sending a letter to V.B. about rejecting the offer, “I’ve just hired other people,” I shook my head frowningly, biting the inside of my cheek.

I had to find a solution right away, which made me stare at the wall and withdraw into my own thoughts. An injured brother, the dodgy Dante De Rosso constantly on the prowl, an unknown private military company, a burnt-out restaurant, the looming problems in Salerno – it seemed that my head was ready to explode at any moment from the amount of turmoil, to which I exhaled heavily, biting my lower lip. Returning to Italy would allow me to manage my own affairs while The Empire was being repaired at the expense of the insurance company; it meant that while I was away from London I would have to increase security at the restaurant to reduce my worries. Things were more complicated with the mercenaries, as their names were no guarantee that they would be caught and able to divulge information, but I had to try.

“Thomas,” I breathed out, gathering my thoughts into a coherent sentence, “get the castle cleaned up: all the bodies removed and all the stuff moved here,” I got up from the bed and took the folder from my brother, “and you get the restaurant security and this list,” I pulled out the paper with the names of the mercenaries involved in the attack, “get information on the company owner and the client.

I scratched my upper lip sharply with my fingernail, hitting a large mole.

““Okay,” he nodded, folding the paper in half and walking out of the bedroom.

“Lynette,” I said louder than usual as the girl appeared in the doorway and walked through Dante closer to me, “take care of Jensen’s condition,” my voice was harsher and rougher, most likely her tendency to take offence annoyed me greatly, “we’re flying to Naples tonight. When Thomas arrives with the things, you’ll pack everything up and redress the wounds.”

Lynette’s sharp exhalations, which I could tell by the way her chest was jerking up and down, were accompanied by wide, doll-like, green eyes that stared at me, frightened but stubborn. She clasped her hands behind her back and stood a few feet away from me.

“No,” she said quietly, which I didn’t even notice at first as I was about to turn to Dante. I straightened my back, bringing my shoulder blades together and furrowed my eyebrows, revealing a few wrinkles between them. The girl continued, looking around the room, “He’s badly injured and hasn’t received proper medical attention. Infection could set in during the flight,” she exhaled nervously, “there’s a risk of thrombosis. Decreased pressure causes the air cavities in the body to expand, which could have a negative effect on Jensen,” I lowered my head slightly and looked at the girl ruefully.