Chapter 5 - The Soil of Sicily
The Mediterranean heat hit us like an open furnace when the transport plane touched down at a private military strip outside Trapani. The air smelled of wild oregano, dry dust, and the sharp brine of the sea.
Within twenty minutes, our convoy of three armored Alfa Romeos was tearing down the coastal highway toward the rugged cliffs of Monreale. Elena was secured inside the center vehicle, surrounded by portable medical monitors and two armed doctors.
The landscape was beautiful but deadly—steep limestone hills covered in ancient olive trees, with old stone watchtowers overlooking the blue water below. It was the perfect terrain for a guerrilla war.
"We have a problem, Luca," Marco said from the front passenger seat, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. "We’ve got two unmarked helicopters tracking our vector from the north ridge. They aren't Italian military. They’re private birds."
"Lorenzo knows we’re here," Vittorio said from beside me, his old face hardening into a mask of pure steel. "He controls the radar systems at the Palermo port. He’s moving his pieces to intercept us before we reach the chapel."
"Let them come," I said, checking the bolt on my tactical rifle. "Marco, activate the counter-measures. Tell the Capaci boys to trigger the roadblock at the intersection."
Two miles ahead, a massive commercial logging truck suddenly turned across the narrow two-lane highway, completely blocking the path for any vehicles trailing behind us. At the same second, three hidden Morelli operators stepped out from the olive groves, holding shoulder-fired anti-aircraft missiles.
A loud, thundering whoosh echoed through the valley as the first missile streaked into the sky, leaving a trail of white smoke before slamming directly into the lead helicopter. The bird exploded into a massive ball of orange flame, spiraling violently down into the rocky ravine below.
The second helicopter instantly veered north, dropping flares as it retreated over the ridge.
"Roadblock secure, boss," Marco reported, his voice steady over the radio. "But the road to the Monreale chapel is completely cut off by landmines. We have to move the rest of the way on foot through the ancient aqueducts."
I looked back at the medical bay of the armored vehicle. Elena’s eyes were slowly fluttering open, the sedative drip finally wearing off as the pressure changes of the mountain air affected her system.
She looked around the armored interior, her gaze confused, terrified, until her eyes finally locked onto mine.
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"Luca...?" she whispered, her voice dry and cracked. "Where... where are we? What happened to the hospital?"
I moved to her side, gently cradling her head with one hand while keeping my weapon ready with the other. "You're safe, Elena. You're with me. But we’re a long way from New York. We’re in Sicily. And I’m about to show the men who hurt you why they should have stayed in the dark."
