Page 48 of Lash

"Same," Scarlett says. "But I am not really an American. I don't know what I am. I spent my career killing for America, but do I identify as an American? I don't know. Part of me still feels like I don't belong anywhere."

Solomon wraps his arms around her, pulling her against his chest—she goes stiff for a moment, frowning, and then softens. "You belong here, my love."

She allows the embrace for a moment and then pushes him away. "Work brain, Sol. Can't do sappy right now."

He just laughs. "Too bad, sweet tits."

She glares at him. "Call me that again and I'll cut your balls off while you sleep."

He just laughs all the harder and kisses the top of her head. She pretends to fight him off, but I can see her trying not to smile.

Lorenzo has polished off his food while this exchange has been going on. He takes a sip of his coffee, grimacing. "Cold." Hetakes it up to the barista, converses in Italian, waits, and receives a fresh espresso in a paper cup. “Okay, let's go. I know where we are going, so I will drive."

Solomon eyes him. "Sure you're good?"

Lorenzo gives him a flat stare. "Yes. I am sure."

Solomon holds up both hands, palms out. "Hey, man, I'm just asking."

“We are all professionals. You know your limitations. Trust me to know mine."

Solomon nods. "I do, Lorenzo. I wasn’t questioning you. I've been shot. The shock can catch up with you at weird times."

Lorenzo sighs, rubbing his jaw. "True, you are correct. I am just fearful for Inez. I need to get to her. I just found her again after many years and I am not going to lose her again."

Solomon grips Lorenzo's shoulder. “We'll get her back, man. she saved my life—all our lives. I owe her. we all do."

Scarlett nods her agreement. “She and I got pretty close back there. Us badass survivor bitches gotta stick together."

Lash claps a hand on Lorenzo's other shoulder. "Inez is important to everyone. But you must remember who she is. It is my feeling that Mercado will come to regret his decision."

Lorenzo nods, snorting a laugh. "That is true. She was content to leave things alone, but Rafael…he does not forget. He is vicious, it is true, and he will do his own killing, but he is not like us. He kills from a position of safety and power. When faced with gunfire, he flees and leaves the fighting to his men. He is a coward and bully. My Sophia will gut him like a fish."

Lash frowns. "Who is Sophia?"

Scarlett answers. "Inez. It's her real name—or her birth name."

Lash's frown deepens. "Sophia. Hmmm." The frown clears, and he shrugs. “It suits her, I suppose. She is still Inez to me, though."

"She will always be Sophia to me," Lorenzo says. He snags the keys from the table, and we head out to the car.

It stinks of cigarettes and engine oil. The exterior is red—or once was, at least, age and weather having faded the paint to a dull, chipped rust color. The interior is plasticky fake black leather, squeaky and uncomfortable. When Lorenzo cranks the motor, it coughs and wheezes like an old man, shudders, and then catches with a belch of blue-gray exhaust.

Solomon laughs, thumping a fist on the roof. “You sure this old beast will make it all the way to fucking Germany?”

Lorenzo laughs. "No, my friend, I am not. But it was the best I could do under the circumstances."

Solomon shakes his head, sliding into the front passenger seat. "May have to get out and push it up the mountain."

Scarlett grimaces as the engine sputters while idling. "Assuming we make it that far. I'm not criticizing, Lorenzo."

He chuckles. "Believe me, I know. I don't like it either. I managed to get a toolkit included, and I am pretty handy with engines, but without spare parts…"

"We will make do, whatever comes," Lash says. "Let us go. Time is wasting."

I take the middle seat, with Lash on my right and Scarlett on the left, and Lorenzo drives us through Ancona north and west on the E55.

For an hour or so, it's a quiet, easy, and peaceful drive.