Saving Maria
668 Words
Days later, when Victor could finally leave his sickbed without grimacing in pain, he stepped outside onto the terrace of the secluded villa. The Italian breeze carried the scent of cypress and distant sea, so different from the urban landscape he once ruled. His wounds had begun to heal, but the betrayal that caused them still burned fresh in his mind.
Jordan joined him, leaning against the stone balustrade. "Another day in paradise," he remarked sarcastically. "Though I'd prefer if paradise didn't know we were here."
Victor's eyes scanned the rolling hills that surrounded their hideaway. "Tell me about the local players," he commanded, his voice still carrying the authority that had once made men tremble.
Jordan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's a patchwork. The Conti family controls most of the northern region – violent bastards with old-school methods. The Barese crew runs the ports. And there are at least three smaller families fighting over the rest." He hesitated before adding, "Word is, some of them have heard rumors about an American hiding out in their territory."
Victor's jaw tightened. "Names?"
"The Contis are the most curious. Their don sent men to ask questions in the village yesterday." Jordan studied Victor's expression. "Should we be concerned?"
A ghost of a smile crossed Victor's face. "No. Let them wonder. Every predator needs to know when new competition enters their hunting ground."
"And are we competition?" Jordan asked carefully.
Victor turned to face him fully. "We're whatever we need to be to rebuild. Allies, competitors..." His eyes hardened. "Or executioners."
---
Three nights later, Victor and Jordan moved through the shadows of a small coastal town. Despite Victor's still-healing wounds, he walked with purpose, his senses alert to every movement in the darkened streets.
"Contacts say three of Conti's enforcers have been spotted around here," Jordan murmured as they turned down a narrow side street. "Probably shaking down local businesses for protection money."
Victor nodded silently. The quiet night air was suddenly pierced by the sound of a struggle – a muffled cry followed by the crash of something being knocked over. Both men froze, then moved toward the source: a dimly lit alleyway between two shaggy buildings.
There, three burly men in expensive suits had cornered a young woman. Despite being outnumbered, she stood her ground, her posture defiant even as blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. One of the men held her arm in a painful grip while another loomed menacingly.
"Last chance, luv," the leader growled in Italian. "Tell us what you heard, or we'll make sure no one ever finds what's left of you."
The woman's eyes flashed with contempt. "I told you – I heard nothing. Now get your hands off me before I remove them permanently."
This earned her a brutal slap that echoed in the confined space. Still, she didn't cry out, only glared at her attacker with even more intensity.
Jordan tensed beside Victor. "Those are Conti's men. Top enforcers, not just street muscle. We should walk away, boss. Not our fight, not our territory."
Victor observed the woman, noting the way she calculated her odds even while pinned against the wall. "She's got fight in her," he remarked quietly.
Jordan exhaled sharply. "Yeah, well, fight won't do her much good if she's dead in five minutes. We're still rebuilding, Victor. We can't afford to make enemies here yet."
But Victor had already made his decision. He stepped forward into the pool of light cast by a single street lamp, his footsteps deliberate on the cobblestones.
"Goddammit," Jordan muttered, reluctantly following. "Always the f*****g hero complex with you."
The three Conti men whirled around, their hands instinctively reaching inside their jackets. Recognition dawned on the leader's face, followed by a contemptuous sneer.
"Well, look who it is," he said in heavily accented English. "Victor Reis. The king who lost his crown back in America. I heard one of your own men put you down like a dog."
- Writer
