When we drove out and reached the highway, I decided to show her what my Macan could do and stepped on the accelerator. The engine roared and the car shot forward, pressing us both into our seats.
“This thing is fucking fast!” Olga cried out in delight, turning the music up.
“You’ll see how the security guys start panicking now. I’ve lost them once already.”
I drove, weaving between other cars, overtaking them all. I was suddenly glad that I had learned how to drive from a man. My dad had always told me to drive safely and steadily, always in control, so both my brother and I had had to learn how to cope in the most dangerous and extreme situations on the road. Dad’s lessons hadn’t been meant to make us road hogs, but to prepare us for the various threats in traffic. Suddenly I heard the sound of a police siren. In the rearview mirror I glanced an unmarked Alfa Romeo with two men inside.
“Just fucking great,” I muttered, stopping on the side of the road.
A uniformed man walked over and said something in Italian. I spread my arms and tried explaining in English that I couldn’t understand him. Neither he nor his colleague knew the language, but from his gesticulation I deduced that I was supposed to show him my license and registration papers. I pulled the documents out and handed them to the policeman.
“Oh shit,” I hissed, turning my head to look at Olga. “I forgot my license.” She shot me a withering glare and stuck out her chest.
“Well then, I should probably go and give those two a blow job.”
“This isn’t funny! I’m being serious!”
The black SUV caught up with us then and stopped right behind us. Two of our bodyguards stepped out. Watching them, Olga said, “Now we’re really screwed.” The two groups approached each other and shook hands. It looked more like a meeting between colleagues than a police inspection. They talked for a moment, and then the officer walked back to me and handed me the papers.
“Scusa,” he muttered, and saluted briefly.
Olga shot me a surprised glance.
“He even apologized… Weird.”
The patrol car left, and one of the security guards walked over to me and leaned down, sticking his head through the window.
“If you’d like to test the car like that, we can go to the racing track. We’re authorized by don Massimo to take it away from you when you try to lose us again. So. Either you drive slower, or you go with us,” he said impassively.
I frowned but nodded. “I’m sorry.”
The rest of the way passed without incident. We took our time. The spa was luxurious and opulent. It offered a wide range of treatments and rituals, including options for pregnant women, so I could partake without worrying about the fetus.
We spent almost five hours there. Hearing that, a man would have thought us crazy, but a woman knows how long it takes to really take care of herself. Scrubs, massages, facials, pedicures, manicures, and getting your hair done. Thinking about Saturday’s ceremony, I picked colors similar to that of my wedding dress. I needed to be 100 percent ready for the occasion. I trusted the hairstylist and told him to touch up my roots only. The man’s name was Marco, and he was as gay as it got. He dealt with the dye perfectly, so I decided to shorten my hair a bit, too. Smelling like heaven and totally relaxed, we took our seats on the terrace while a waiter served us dinner.
“You’re not eating enough, Laura. This is your first meal today. You shouldn’t do that.”
“Oh, give me a break. I constantly want to throw up. I wonder if you’d have an appetite if you felt like that. Besides, I’m already nervous with the wedding in just a couple of days.”
“Got doubts? Remember: you don’t have to do this. A kid doesn’t automatically mean you have to get married, you know? And a marriage doesn’t have to be forever.”
“I love Massimo and I want to marry him. And I want to tell him we’re going to have a child. I’m tired of keeping this a secret,” I said.
After an appetizer, soup, the main course, and the dessert, I could barely breathe. We waddled back to the car and managed to get inside.
“I’m nauseous again. This time from overeating,” I said, turning the engine on.
I saw the lights of the black SUV in the rearview mirror and started driving, punching in the address Domenico had marked as Home in the GPS. The traffic was practically nonexistent by that time, and the highway was empty. I pressed the cruise control button and leaned my head on my arm, which was propped on the window. The automatic gearbox had this advantage (or disadvantage, depending on where you stand on such things) that you didn’t know what do to with your hands while driving. Well, one of them, at least. Olga was scrolling through her phone, completely ignoring me, and I felt sleepy.
Driving along the slopes of Mount Etna, I watched the majestic mountain and the stream of lava running down its summit. The view was incredible and terrifying at the same time. My eyes on the spectacle, I didn’t notice the black SUV gaining on us. I turned to glance in the mirror, but in this moment the car lurched, hitting us from behind.
“What the hell are they doing?” I screamed. The car bumped into the Porsche again, trying to push us off the road. I stepped on the accelerator in an effort to lose them, tossing my bag to Olga and calling out, “Find my phone and call Domenico!” With shaking hands, panicked, Olga rummaged through my bag, finally fishing out my cell phone. The dark SUV wasn’t backing down. Thank God the engine in the Porsche had more power. I had a chance to lose them.
“Just dial the number! The phone is connected to the car speakers.”
Olga did as she was told, and I listened to the ringing, praying for Domenico to pick up.
“What are you doing there so late?” Finally my future brother-in-law’s voice reverberated through the car.
“Domenico! They’re chasing us!” I cried.
“What’s happening, Laura? Who’s chasing you? Where are you?”
“Our bodyguards went crazy! They’re trying to push us off the road! What do I do?”
“It’s not them. They called me five minutes ago, saying that they’re still waiting at the spa.”
I felt a chilling wave of terror wash over me. I couldn’t panic. Not now. But I had no idea what to do.
“Don’t hang up,” Domenico said.
I heard him shouting something in Italian before getting back to me. “The security team is on its way. I’ll have your location in a moment. Don’t be afraid. They’ll catch up with you in a minute. How fast are you going?”
Shaking with fear, I glanced at the speedometer.
“Nearly 130 miles per hour,” I stammered, suddenly terrified with how fast I was driving.
“Listen to me, I don’t know what car is chasing you, but if you thought it was one of ours, it’s probably a Range Rover. It can’t go as fast as the Porsche, so if you’re up to it, you can lose them.”
I stepped on the accelerator and felt my car gaining speed, seeing the lights of the SUV shrinking in the rearview mirror.
“In about nine miles there’s going to be an exit leading to Messina. Take it. My people are already on their way. The security team is around twenty miles behind you. After you take the ramp off, the road is going to be blocked by a tollbooth, so you have to slow down. But remember: if you can’t lose them until then, do not roll down the windows or step out of the car. The car is bulletproof so you’re safe as long as you’re inside.”