A rat in a maze

Nerves stretched nearly to the breaking point, it was his name being spoken that snapped the tension into something... else. He'd frozen as Vittore did, his fur for a moment bristling in aggressive alarm, but that snapping of tension was like a bucket of cold water to his face, bringing him back to himself as he had not been for some time now. This was a danger he could see, could face, and it was almost a sobbing relief after all the running to be toe to toe with an enemy. Or rather, to be the enemy. He knew how the Cosca worked. He had broken Omertà; no survivor of the i Fratelli Rossi would ever again consider him as anything but Pentiti again. His life was fair game; he was the enemy. So when Vittore's words processed, Enrico was momentarily confused. Vittore should be attacking him, not asking him questions. It was somehow more chilling than an attack. Just the sight of Vittore, the reminder of all those who might be alive now if he had not brought them into the Cosca, if he had not betrayed them, it choked him. That the boy would not attack him on sight, that was... unthinkable. "Ha importanza, Vittore?" he murmured bitterly across the distance between them. "Era fatto. Non si può tornare indietro." His jaw twitched as a swiftly suppressed emotion flitted across his visage, a brief glimmer of his rage quickly controlled again. "Non per nessuno di noi."