Chapter 156
The jet touched down on Japanese soil as if the world had held its breath along with us. My skin was still hot from what had happened between Vincenzo and me minutes before, but now it was as if a curtain had been pulled back. Reality came crashing down hard, cold and heavy.
As soon as the wheels touched the runway, Vincenzo stood up from his seat, his eyes even darker than usual. He picked up his cell phone and dialed without hesitation.
“I need to speak to the director now.” His voice was firm, dry, impatient.
Nancy and I exchanged glances. She was fidgeting, sitting next to me, biting her fingernail as if that would keep the world from falling apart.
Vincenzo paced back and forth inside the cabin of the jet while speaking in Italian to the man on the other end of the line. I didn’t understand everything, but his tone was that of someone who wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.
When he hung up, he threw the cell phone on the couch and ran his hands through his long hair. He took a deep breath, just once. Then he picked up the phone and dialed again.
“He’s going to put her on the line,” he murmured, almost as a warning.
“Her.” The woman who destroyed his life. Who tried to destroy mine. The woman who had a child with him and hid him for seven years. I still didn’t know if I felt more angry or scared.
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. Until the sound of the room changed and a man’s voice came from afar.
“Okay, she’s got the phone,” the prison director informed.
The silence that followed was suffocating. I imagined that Vincenzo would wait for her to say something, maybe apologize, or try to justify what she did. But no.
He didn’t give her the slightest chance.
“You’re not going to say anything,” he began, firmly, harshly. “I just want you to listen.”
He took a few slow steps around the jet. It was so quiet that I could hear the air conditioning working.
“You’re going to hear the voice of the man you destroyed. The man who loved you and was betrayed in the worst way. The man who had his life turned upside down because of your choices.”
He stopped by the window, his back to me and Nancy.
“I’m going to fix the stupid thing you did. I’ll cross this country if I have to. But after that… you’ll never see my son again. Never again.” His voice shook, but he didn’t let it fall. “If our story meant anything, if this boy really matters to you, if there’s still a shred of humanity left inside you… when you get out of prison, stay away. From him. From me. And from Rachel too.”
The silence returned. Thicker. More cruel.
The silence on the other end of the line lasted a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. I could feel the tension in the air like a rope about to snap.
Nancy had stopped biting her nails. She was now staring at Vincenzo as if she was trying to understand how much that man could take before he broke inside.
I wanted to say something, anything, but I couldn't. Because even without seeing her face, I felt that Veronica was listening. Really. For the first time.
That's when she spoke. In the lowest and most pain-filled voice I've ever heard from anyone. Just one word.
"Done."
And the sound of the call being ended came right after.
Vincenzo stood still, with the phone still in his hand, as if he wasn't sure what he'd just heard. He looked at the screen. Then at me. And only then did he lower his arm, as if the whole weight of the world had come down with it.
"She would never have said that... if it hadn't hurt." He spoke more to himself than to us.
"Do you think she'll really walk away?" I asked, even though I knew he still didn't have an answer.
He sat down on the couch and rested his elbows on his knees, running his hands over his face. For the first time since everything started, he looked… tired. Really. Not physically, but from the inside out.
“I don’t trust her,” he said, his voice hoarser than before. “But I trust that now she knows she’s lost.”
Nancy, for the first time, approached slowly. She sat down next to him and put her hand on his shoulder. It was a simple gesture, but loaded with meaning. As if to say: “You’re not alone.”
I knelt in front of him and held his hands.
“We’re going to get Rafael out of there. And you’re going to show him that his blood doesn’t define who he’s going to be.”
He looked at me, and his eyes were moist. But he didn’t cry. Vincenzo Moretti doesn’t cry. He just feels, silently.
“We need to go to the hotel. Get some rest. Tomorrow morning we’ll meet with the special forces agents who will help us.” — He stood up, firmer now. — Whatever happens from now on… it can’t go wrong.
We grabbed our things and left the jet. Outside, Tokyo was a mix of lights, silence and a strange feeling that time was moving faster there.
As we got into the van that would take us to the hotel, I looked at Vincenzo once more.
He was different.
Darker.
More determined.
And yet… more vulnerable.
But before I could say anything, his phone vibrated again. He answered it right away. He frowned. And then looked at me, tense.
“What happened?” I asked.
He pressed his lips together.
“It was the Italian agent who’s in Japan. He said that one of the Yakuza security guards was seen with a child who could be Rafael.” He paused. “They were entering a warehouse… and it’s not just any warehouse. It’s one of the mafia’s hideouts.”
My stomach turned. And this time, it wasn’t fear.
It was a feeling.
Something was about to go very wrong.
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