Ossidiana

Ossidiana

Mbali Xabela

195.6k Words / Completed
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Introduction

"Sì, signore," mi incita.

La sua mano scivola giù fino al mio collo, tenendolo con delicatezza ma in modo minaccioso.

"Dillo," tuona. "O te lo tirerò fuori a forza."

Trascino fuori le parole. "Sì... signore."

*****

Hadassah Moor è una giovane investigatrice, dedicata a smascherare uomini d'affari corrotti e a esporre imprese nefaste. Ma la stella punta troppo in alto quando si mette contro Orian Moon, il CEO di Zenith, una megacorporazione da miliardi di euro.

Quando Hadassah deruba Gaza, un potente signore della droga, cercando prove che lo colleghino a Orian, finisce per rubare un registro pieno di segreti mortali che la catapultano in un mondo di pericoli. Hadassah diventa il bersaglio del cartello Blood and Bone a causa delle verità insondabili di cui è inconsapevolmente in possesso. E l'unica cosa che si frappone tra lei e un esercito di spietati criminali è lo stesso uomo che aveva cercato di distruggere.
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Mbali Xabela

Chapter 1

**Il CEO della Zenith Incorporated, Orian Moon, ha visto la sua ricchezza crescere di circa il 77% nello stesso trimestre da marzo a dicembre. Ha donato più di 900 milioni di dollari alla Zenith Foundation e 300 milioni di dollari a un progetto di gentrificazione in Sudafrica.

Il ritmo e l'entità delle sue donazioni sono sbalorditivi. Come filantropo attivo pubblicamente, ha donato più di quanto abbiano fatto cinque dei più grandi donatori del paese in tutta la loro vita, calcola Forbes.****

Lo schermo della TV diventa nero.

Mi giro di scatto. Mamma è in piedi nell'arco della porta con il braccio teso e il telecomando in mano. Lo abbassa al suo fianco con un'espressione severa sul viso.

“Hadie, tesoro.” Incrocia le braccia e mi fissa con uno sguardo di rimprovero. “Cosa stai facendo?”

“Stavo guardando,” dico piattamente.

“No, quello che dovresti fare è festeggiare.” Le sue mani si spostano sui fianchi, assumendo la sua tipica posa di rimprovero. “Hai appena risolto quel grande caso, scrivendo quell'articolo su quei farabutti che nascondevano soldi. I federali non riuscivano nemmeno a risolverlo, ma il mio tesoro sì. E ora eccoti qui.” Indica rapidamente la TV con un dito. “A caccia della prossima grande storia. Prenditi il tempo per festeggiare questa vittoria.”

I suoi occhi sono come pozze profonde di nocciola fusa, vorticosi di preoccupazione incessante. Si sposta per posare il telecomando sulla cassa di legno di acacia. La testa è foderata di articoli laminati che ho scritto. E gli scaffali contengono una serie di premi che ho vinto nel corso degli anni. Non per mia scelta.

Apro la bocca per rispondere. Ma poi la richiudo, zittita da un profumo che si diffonde nel soggiorno.

“È quello? Quell'odore... è quello che penso di sentire?”

Inspiro profondamente, assaporando l'aroma di formaggio della lasagna di mamma.

“Se stai sentendo l'odore della migliore lasagna fatta in casa del mondo...” Calum entra in vista, appoggiando la spalla contro il telaio dell'arco. “Hai ragione, principessa.”

Mia madre emette una risata acuta e squillante, battendo l'aria. “Oh smettila di scherzare, ragazzo.”

“Dico sul serio, mamma, M.” Si avvicina a lei, avvolgendola in un abbraccio con un braccio solo. “Quello che dovremmo fare è festeggiare quanto è delizioso quel piatto. Ho persino smesso di prendere i miei antidepressivi, perché ora mangio solo la tua lasagna.”

Lei ride di nuovo, la sua pelle marrone autunnale risplende. Non una singola ruga a rivelare la sua vera età.

Alzo gli occhi al cielo verso Calum. “Mentre tu flirti con mia madre.” Mi avvicino a loro, i tacchi che rimbombano sul pavimento in vinile. “Vado a cambiarmi.”

La sua risata si spegne in bocca. “Faresti meglio, sembri ridicola con quel completo da ufficio.” La sua mano colpisce il braccio di Calum. “Sai che è entrata qui di corsa, senza nemmeno un saluto—niente, dritta alla TV, a guardare le ultime notizie sul suo prossimo obiettivo.”

Calum getta la testa all'indietro con una risata, sfoggiando un sorriso abbagliante. Due file di denti bianchi brillanti. “Lasciami indovinare... qualcosa sulla Zenith?”

La mia spalla urta la sua. “Qualunque cosa.” Mi giro a guardare mamma. “E a proposito, questo—” indico il mio completo nero aderente, con una giacca con cintura e colletto a revers, “—è moda.”

“Anche un vestito lo è,” dice alle mie spalle.

Il mio femminismo interiore urla dentro di me. Mi giro di scatto, aprendo le labbra.

Calum mi interrompe con un gesto esagerato della mano. “Sai che non dovresti rispondere a tua madre.” Mi scaccia via. “Continua a camminare.”

“Esatto.”

I due si danno il cinque.

Scuoto la testa verso entrambi. “Mettervi contro di me nel mio grande giorno, è proprio basso,” mormoro, marciando su per le scale.

Entro nella mia camera da letto, la seconda a sinistra, strappandomi l'elastico dai capelli—un'esplosione di riccioli fino alle spalle. Tolgo i tacchi, tenendoli per la punta delle dita mentre mi avvicino al tavolo da toeletta. Lascio cadere i tacchi. I miei occhi sono fissati sulla foto incorniciata di me e mio padre quando ero ancora una bambina. Quando lui era ancora vivo, e non solo esistente. Ma vivo. Gli anni sono stati duri per lui, prosciugando la vita dalla sua pelle e la lotta dalle sue ossa. Si è messo nella tomba cercando di provvedere a una famiglia quando non poteva nemmeno farlo per se stesso. È annegato solo per tenerci a galla.

Stringendo distrattamente il crocifisso appeso al mio collo. Lo lascio andare.

“Ne ho risolto un altro, papà.” Riesco a malapena a sentirmi dire. “Penso... penso che saresti stato orgoglioso.”


Mia madre, Calum e io siamo seduti intorno al tavolo da pranzo apparecchiato con un cestino di pane, un contorno di verdure e l'ospite d'onore. La lasagna. Il piatto è posto al centro, coperto da uno spesso strato di formaggio gouda bollente, guarnito con erbe fresche. Dopo che mamma ci serve porzioni generose, molto generose—quelle che mi assicureranno di fare esercizio domani. Estende le mani verso di noi. Ci teniamo tutti per mano. Calum intreccia le nostre dita. E mamma prega.

Calum mi lancia un'occhiata furtiva, muovendo le labbra, chiudi gli occhi.

Stringo gli occhi verso di lui. Perché i tuoi sono aperti?

"E Padre Dio!" esclama mamma, la sua voce che esplode al massimo volume. "Anche se veniamo alla tavola del Signore per banchettare in pace. Altri scelgono la violenza. Devo pentirmi, Padre Dio! Perdonami perché sto per picchiare mia figlia così forte che le farò perdere il colore della pelle. E darò una tale lezione al ragazzo bianco che inizierà a parlare in lingue se continuano a comportarsi come bambini."

Calum soffoca una risata, cercando di trattenere le altre che cercano di uscire. Fisso mia madre, entrambi i suoi occhi sono chiusi, eppure la donna vede tutto. Stregoneria.

"Amen," dice. Lascia le nostre mani, aprendo gli occhi per fissarmi. "Sei fortunata, è il tuo giorno." Lancia uno sguardo a Calum. "E che abbiamo compagnia."

Un sorrisetto mi sfugge. "Come se questo ti avesse mai fermato in passato," mormoro.

"Ragazza, giuro—"

"La lasagna si sta raffreddando," dice Calum, cercando di fare da paciere. "Niente litigi a tavola. Mangiamo."

Ci tuffiamo tutti nel cibo. Prendo un boccone, gemendo ad ogni morso. Lasagna in stile italiano. L'equilibrio tra gli strati di formaggio e la salsa Bolognese fatta in casa è perfetto. Le mie papille gustative si deliziano con la salsiccia affettata e la carne macinata, creando un sapore ricco e stratificato con la salsa cremosa che si scioglie sulla mia lingua.

Calum si asciuga una lacrima finta dall'occhio. "Dovrei scrivere questa ricetta nei libri di storia, così le generazioni future conosceranno la sua leggenda."

Gli sorrido. Le luci sopra di noi illuminano i suoi capelli biondo nordico, pettinati con una riga in mezzo. Molto simile a un giovane Leonardo DiCaprio. Mi guarda, ipnotizzato da quel blu celestiale. Lo fisso, rapita dal vasto contenitore di ricordi felici racchiusi nelle gemme dell'oceano. Un ricordo vivente della mia infanzia, la nostra storia preservata in quegli occhi.

"Allora, mi racconterai dei delinquenti che hai incastrato?"

"Non io—noi," correggo. "Non potrei fare quello che faccio senza Cal, qui." Gli arriccio il naso. "Non è vero, nerd?"

"Vero." La sua voce è sicura. "Sono i suoi occhi e orecchie, il suo Gandalf, che la porta in posti dove la maggior parte delle persone non può andare. Aiuto. Ma la sua determinazione, i suoi successi." Mi offre uno sguardo lungo e affettuoso. "Sono tutti tuoi, principessa."

Sorrido al mio piatto. Per distogliere l'attenzione, dico, "Il colpo che abbiamo fatto era un'operazione internazionale di traffico di armi. Ha portato al sequestro di quasi centomila armi da fuoco e centosessantasette esplosivi."

Calum deglutisce, annuendo. "Operazione ombra pallida. I trafficanti guadagnavano milioni sul mercato nero, forniti da bande criminali."

"Avevano fucili AR-15, granate e armi di grado militare," aggiungo. "Abbastanza per iniziare una guerra."

L'espressione di mamma passa dalla fascinazione alla preoccupazione. Una ruga di preoccupazione si incide sulla sua fronte. "Con la tua condizione, odio davvero che tu sappia queste cose."

"Condizione?" Calum ridacchia. "È più come un superpotere. È per questo che è brava in quello che fa."

Lei agita una mano in modo sprezzante. "Sai cosa intendo. Perché dopo non può mai dimenticare quelle cose. Ma basta così." Punta la forchetta verso di me, poi verso Calum. "Quando mi darete dei bellissimi nipotini misti?"

Mi soffoco—Calum tossisce nel pugno, battendosi il petto.

Dopo cena, Calum mi aiuta con i piatti. E dopo lo accompagno fuori come al solito, passeggiando nell'ingresso piastrellato in travertino della mia casa a schiera, ancorato da tavole orizzontali su misura che amplificano la lunghezza della stanza. Il soffitto a punta conferisce altezza e drammaticità, e una serie di forme quadrate—le finestre, i vetri della porta d'ingresso e la porta interna pannellata forniscono un ritmo maestoso. Calum si ferma nel mezzo della porta, e si inclina di lato per appoggiare la spalla contro il telaio. I suoi occhi mi fissano come se fossi un libro che solo lui può capire.

"Non farlo."

Alzo le spalle innocentemente. "Non so di cosa stai parlando."

"Stai andando dietro alla Zenith," dice esasperato, "Il che è stupido perché nulla risale a loro, nulla che possa essere provato. Abbiamo provato e fallito. Più volte."

Lo raggiungo, tirandolo in un abbraccio, "Notte, nerd." Le braccia avvolte intorno al suo collo.

Il suo braccio si avvolge intorno alla mia vita. "Tua madre ha ragione su questo. Lascialo andare."

Mi allontano, sorridendogli. "Non si tratta di se prenderò la Zenith. Si tratta di quando. Se all'inizio non ci riesci..."

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