He needed time. That was all. He needed to live just a little bit longer. He’d figure out the next step later.
Mouth dry, Valerio gambled: “Did you think you were the only one sent to keep Errichiello and Silvestri in line?”
Another pause, then the voice was closer than before. “How do you know my name?”
The response brought a surge of hope. Lazarov hadn’t called his bluff.
“Let’s stop playing games,” Valerio shouted. “You know I can’t discuss my mission with you. If you let me die, it won’t be the Naples police you answer to.”
“You’re a bullshitter, Alfieri. Prove it.”
Valerio scoffed, warming to the role. “Fuck you, Lazarov.Youprove it. That idiot Silvestri shot me—I need medical attention. Make whatever calls you need to make to confirm that what I’m saying is true. But stop shooting, and let’s get the fuck out of here.”
—
When Valerio saw Lazarov, he knew his words had found their mark. The clever, brutal face was full of suspicion, but there was also a reluctant agreement in his eyes. His hand gripped the gun still, finger on the trigger.
“Put that thing down,” Valerio said, reaching towards him as if he expected support. “And help me up.”
“You killed my men,” said Lazarov. “Put down your weapon, and get back in the trunk.”
“I’m not going back in there,” Valerio snarled.
“Then I’ll shoot you now.”
“Fuck it, Yasen. I’m bleeding out. I don’t have a lot of time. Get me out of here.”
Yasen was close enough for a head shot, but Valerio didn’t dare use his jammed weapon again. He offered the handle to Lazarov, as if a peace offering.
“Cuff me if you need to,” Valerio said. “But I’m riding in the front. And you’d better get someone out here to get rid of those bodies.”
Lazarov took the gun and stared at it for a moment as if considering. He squatted down and looked Valerio in the face. There was a frenzy in those eyes—dark and chaotic. Valerio felt the calculation of the moment. Lazarov might decide to kill him after all.
“I don’t like you, Alfieri,” he said. Then, holding the gun like a hammer, slammed it into Valerio’s cheek. It was so sudden, so brutal, Valerio didn’t have time to brace. His head jerked back, something crunched in his cheekbone.
“Get back in the trunk,” Lazarov said. “I won’t ask again.”
—
Trapped once again in the dark and stink, Valerio vomited. He tried his best to keep it in—but there were some things out of his control right now, and this was one of them.
He took deep breaths and tried to slow his heart rate. The last thing he needed now was a heart attack.
“Worry about one thing at a time,” he told himself.
—
At least his hands were free this time. He used them to investigate his wounds. His leg was still bleeding and excruciatingly painful. It was swelling badly and was hot. He felt around in the trunk for the roll of duct tape he’d located earlier. Then, adjusting the belt he’d secured earlier as a tourniquet, Valerio wrapped his leg tightly in tape. The blood and the damp and the mud made it tricky work, but he managed to get several layers secured. He hoped this would slow the bleeding. He used the rest of the tape to stop the bleeding from the dog bite onhis forearm. He felt the rest of his body. He was bruised, and his cheekbone was fractured, but those injuries weren’t life-threatening.
—
Keep thinking, he told himself.What do you know? What do you have? What can you use?
He was alive. He’d killed two men, and somehow convinced Lazarov not to kill him.
Now, he thought more carefully about the lies that had bought him more time.
We’re on the same side, he’d told Lazarov.Did you think you were the only one sent to keep Errichiello and Silvestri in line?
