It was a month since he’d seen Sam. Now, he was dead.
Vincenzo Rossi felt nothing.
He shouldn’t have gone there but things had spiralled out of control and into a situation he’d had no intention of being involved with. He’d stupidly thought Sam would be willing to do something about it all.
All Sam had been interested in was how things would look for him and his campaign to become MP.
Vincenzo had gathered as much information as he could about what had happened to the group since leaving university. Visited them all one by one.
They had no idea what they had left behind. The lives they had destroyed.
One in particular. Someone who couldn’t be saved.
He shouldn’t be involved in any of this, he thought now. If he could turn the clock back, he would return to that day two years earlier, when she’d first come to him, and stop himself promising anything.
Now, it was all too late. That first meeting had changed all their lives.
No, if he could, he would go back to an earlier date. Nine years ago. That first meeting they’d had in the pub. He should have stood up as the voice of reason. He was the older member of the group, the one they might have listened to.
Instead, he’d let them carry on. Stood on the sidelines as they grew in number and power. He could have done more back then.
Now, things had gone too far.
He tried her number again, but voicemail kicked in immediately. He hoped it had come to an end. That he could breathe easier and that he didn’t have to worry that his sister and a bunch of her copper mates were about to boot his door in and arrest him.
What did they have on him? What evidence could have been left behind?
He couldn’t be sure.
Vincenzo put the cigarette in his mouth, a small tremble in his hands as he flicked the lighter and inhaled the first glorious drag.
He knew everything was going to crumble soon. That his world would change forever. His future would be altered and malformed. All the work he had put in to make his life better would ultimately be for nothing.
He would end up in a cell, he thought. Maybe even next to his old friend Tim Johnson. That would be karma right there.
He should have said no. He should never have helped her.
How could he have let her do it all on her own?
Sam was dead. Others were too. And it was his fault. He was to blame for the whole thing.
There was no way around it. It was his responsibility.
They all deserved it. Every last one of those eight men in that club deserved exactly what was happening to them.
‘Why do you feel guilty then?’ Vincenzo whispered to himself, the smoke filling the car around him. He slid the window down a touch, allowing it to drift out into the night.
There had to be a better way than this, he thought.
A way out.