Page 38

I grip the wheel tighter as movement flashes in my peripheral vision. The motorcycle approaches from the right side, gaining on us with alarming speed. Fuck. The sleek black bike weaves through the narrow space between us and the guardrail, its rider hunched low over the handlebars.
"Alessio—" Melania starts, her voice tight with panic.
"I see it," I cut her off, my eyes darting between the road ahead and the rearview.
The motorcycle pulls alongside us and I catch the glint of metal as the passenger raises his arm. A gun—pointed directly at Melania's head through the window. These fuckers aren't here to bring her back alive.
"Get down!" I shout, cranking the wheel sharply to the right.
The Maserati slams into the motorcycle with a sickening crunch of metal on metal. The bike skids sideways, its riders thrown. A gunshot cracks through the air as the weapon discharges. The bullet punches through the rear door with a metallic thud.
Melania screams, her hands flying up to cover her.
"Lower your fucking head!" I growl, pushing her down with one hand while steering with the other. "Stay down!"
The motorcycle tumbles away behind us but my momentary satisfaction evaporates as headlights flood the interior of our car. The second vehicle—a sleek black Audi—closes the distance I created, its engine howling as it gains on us. Another fast car. Professional pursuit team, not amateur muscle.
The Audi's almost on our bumper now, close enough that I can make out the silhouette of the driver. "Fucking bastards."
The engine of the Maserati roars as I push it harder.
The Audi slams into our bumper with bone-jarring force. Metal screams against metal as our car fishtails wildly. I fight the wheel, muscles straining, but physics wins. The Maserati spins like a fucking top, tires shrieking against asphalt.
"Alessio!" Melania screams, her voice cutting through the chaos.
The world blurs into streaks of light and shadow as we spin. One rotation. Two. Three. My teeth clench so hard my jaw might snap. The laptop slides from Melania's grip, crashing against the dashboard.
When we finally stop, the car sits sideways across the road. The Audi hasn't fared better—it's spun out thirty yards ahead, its front end crumpled against the guardrail.
"Stay down," I snarl. "Don't fucking move."
I don't wait for her response. Time is measured in heartbeats now. In the space of three I've thrown open my door and rolled out onto the pavement, gun raised.
The Audi's driver staggers from his vehicle, disoriented but reaching for something at his waist. I don't give him the chance. Three shots punch, finding their target with precision aim. The driver jerks backward, then collapses in a heap beside his open door.
"Alessio, on the left!" Melania's voice tears through the night.
I spin just as a flash of movement catches my eye—the passenger from the Audi, on the ground but alive, gun raised. The muzzle flashes once, twice. I dive for cover behind our car, feeling a searing heat tear across my left bicep.
"Cazzo!" The burn spreads like liquid fire through my arm but I push the pain down, lock it away. No time for that shit now.
I grab my backup piece from the ankle holster with my right hand. Now armed with two guns, I rise just enough to return fire over the hood of the Maserati. The passenger ducks behind the Audi's trunk.
We exchange shots, the crack of gunfire echoing off the surrounding trees. I advance in quick bursts, moving closer to our car, keeping my body low. Blood soaks my sleeve, hot and sticky, but the arm still functions. That's all that matters.
A bullet pings off the pavement near my foot. Another shatters the Maserati's side mirror.
I duck behind the Maserati's fender, breathing hard, both guns ready. The shooter behind the Audi keeps firing but his shots grow more erratic—desperate. Then, suddenly, silence falls like a settling bomb.
My muscles coil tight as I wait for the next shot. Nothing comes. Just the wind whistling through the shattered glass and the distant wail of sirens.
"Fuck," I mutter, counting seconds in my head. Ten pass with no movement.
I risk a glance around the bumper. The shooter lies motionless beside the Audi, half-hidden in shadow. Blood pools black on the asphalt beneath him.
No time to confirm. The sirens grow louder.
I holster one gun and keep the other ready as I sprint back to the driver's side, yanking the door open. Melania's curled in her seat, the laptop clutched against her chest, eyes wide with terror.