Page 65 of Marcello

Sixty seconds later, I reached sea level.

I slowed down to a brisk walk and headed for the water.

Along the way, I ripped off my hoodie and shoved it in a trash can. The burned holes in the front were too conspicuous for me to keep it.

Ten minutes later, I found a bench by the bay –

And threw up in the grass.

A couple of tourists gave me a disgusted look and hurried past.

I sat down weakly, my whole body trembling.

As I looked out at the Bay of Naples and all the giant ships in the harbor, I replayed everything that had just happened.

It felt like a bad dream – totally unreal.

Even the surprised face of the Camorra drug dealer seemed like a shot from a movie.

After a while, I calmed down.

Buzzcut said he and Lametta would find me, so I waited on the bench.

For hours.

Eventually, the sun went down.

They never showed.

As I watched the sky turn dark, I wondered to myself, Did I just kill someone for no good reason?

It was a question I didn’t have an answer to.

At least, not until the next morning.

21

When I got back home late, Federica was already stoned. We’d been fighting so much recently that she didn’t even bother to ask where I’d been.

Despite everything from that afternoon feeling like a bad dream, the dream didn’t fade. In fact, it got worse.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the Camorra thug lying dead on the ground, the white of his track suit slowly turning red.

I would have given anything to stop seeing him. Or to at least stop caring.

You only did it so Mama, Gemma, and Edoardo can be safe, I kept telling myself.

It didn’t work.

I fidgeted like a junkie who’d gone days without a fix. I didn’t know what to do. I considered getting stoned with Federica, but I worried I might become paranoid. I was already afraid the cops might bust down the door; I didn’t need to make it worse.

So I got blinding drunk instead.

That did the trick. I passed out a couple of hours later.

I slept fitfully. In my dreams, I was always being chased.

By Fausto…