The Sacred Vault

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It was a cold, crisp mid-November evening, but Giancarlo Mistretta’s mind was already on Christmas as he guided his tanker along the winding road through the Casentinesi forest. His apartment would play host to the celebrations this year; twenty-three people to cater for, maybe twenty-four if his sister’s newest baby arrived earlier than expected . . .

He pushed his plans aside as a tight turn appeared in the headlights. Slowing the truck to a near crawl, he checked his watch. Slightly ahead of schedule - there was still one more gas station to supply before he could return to the depot, but he would be back home in Florence before seven. Then maybe he and Leany could advance their plan for a baby of their own . . .

He guided the tanker round the corner - then braked. A charcoal-grey BMW was slewed across the road, one wheel in the ditch. A woman in a dark suit waved for him to stop.

Giancarlo suppressed a sigh. The BMW was blocking his way. So much for getting home early. Still, he wouldn’t be setting much of an example for any future little Giancarlos if he didn’t help a lady in distress.

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