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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ava

The heater died somewhere between Illinois and Iowa, turning my ancient car into a mobile ice box.

Tony hasn't stopped complaining for the last hundred miles, but I barely hear him over the endless calculations running through my head. Distance covered. Gas remaining. Hours until someone realizes we've crossed state lines.

"I'm starving," Tony whines, cutting through my thoughts. "And I can't feel my toes. Can we please stop? Just for a few minutes?"

I glance at him, really look at him for the first time in hours. His face is pale, lips slightly blue from the cold. Guilt twists in my stomach. I'm supposed to be protecting him, not freezing him to death in a getaway car.

"Fine," I concede, spotting a sign for an upcoming truck stop. "Quick dinner. Then we keep moving."

The diner appears through the twilight haze. It’s one of those timeless roadside places that could exist anywhere in America. Lucy's is the name of the place, according to the neon sign that flickers weakly.

My instincts start humming the moment we pull into the parking lot. There’s nothing obvious to make me worry, but there are little things that make the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The way that black SUV is parked at an angle that is perfect for watching the entrance. How the trucker by the door seems too well-dressed for a long-haul driver.

But Tony's already out of the car, drawn by the promise of warmth and food. And maybe I'm just being paranoid. Running makes you see threats everywhere.

The bell chimes as we enter, and every eye in the place seems to land on us for too long before turning away. The waitress' smile is plastic-perfect as she leads us to a booth by the window.

"Just passing through?" she asks, setting down menus that have seen better days.

"Long drive," I say vaguely, positioning myself to see both exits. "Need to warm up."

Tony orders half the menu, but my stomach churns at the thought of food. Morning sickness or instinct, I'm not sure anymore. Everything feels wrong, the angles of the room, the way that man at the counter keeps adjusting his jacket, how the trucker from outside has positioned himself between us and the door.

"I need to pee," Tony announces, sliding out of the booth. "Order me those cheese fries too if she comes back."

I grab his wrist. "Wait?—"

But he's already heading for the bathroom, shoulders set in that teenage swagger that screams I'm-not-listening.

And the tall, skinny man at the counter stands up to follow him.

Every alarm in my head starts screaming. The tall man's movements are too deliberate, too practiced. Not a random trucker or road-weary traveler. A hunter.

And we're the prey.

My phone is in my hand before I consciously decide to move.

I text Tony, watching the bathroom door like it might give me answers.

We need to leave NOW. Get out here.

No response.

Another man enters the diner, the bell chiming cheerfully as he slides onto a stool at the counter. His eyes meet mine in the mirror behind the bar. They are cold, assessing. Professional.

My heart pounds against my ribs as I count the seconds. One minute since Tony left. Two minutes. The bathroom door remains closed.

"Can I get the food to go?" I ask the waitress as she passes. My voice comes out steady. Thank God for years of training.

She nods, but there's something off about her smile now. Like she knows something I don't.

Three minutes. Four.

The man at the counter hasn't touched his coffee, hasn't even pretended to look at a menu. He just keeps watching me in that mirror, patient as a snake.

I text Tony again.

GET OUT HERE. EMERGENCY.

Still nothing.

Five minutes.

My fingers drum against the table, a tell I've never quite managed to eliminate. The sound draws the counter man's attention. His hand shifts slightly, and I catch the glint of metal beneath his jacket.

Gun.

Everything in me screams to run, to grab Tony and get out. But I can't move without knowing where he is, can't leave without?—

The bathroom door opens, but it's just the tall man. No Tony.

And he's smiling.

That's when I know with bone-deep certainty—we've been made. They've got my brother. And I'm about to be cornered like a rat in a trap.

Unless I move. Now.

The waitress appears with Styrofoam containers, and I use the moment of distraction to slide from the booth. "Just remembered we left something in the car," I say brightly, already moving toward the door. "Be right back!"

I'm not sure they buy it, but it doesn't matter. All I need is a head start.

The bell chimes behind me as I burst into the parking lot, cold air hitting my lungs like knives. Behind me, I hear shouts, footsteps, the beginning of pursuit.

I dive into the driver's seat, hands shaking as I jam the key into the ignition.

Please start, please start, please ? —

The engine roars to life as figures burst through the diner door. My heart hammers so hard all I can hear is the thundering of blood in my ears and the desperate prayer that We'll make it circling in my mind.

I throw the car into reverse, tires screaming against wet asphalt. The men's mouths are moving, shouting something I can't hear over my panic. Their faces twist with rage as I accelerate backward, my hands shaking so badly I nearly lose control.

A gun appears—black metal gleaming. Training kicks in and I swerve erratically, making myself a harder target to hit. The sharp movement sends my stomach rolling, morning sickness mixing with terror.

More men pour from the diner's entrance. Four, five, six of them. Too many. Too professional. And Tony's still inside.

Tony.

My baby brother.

The thought nearly breaks me. It nearly makes me stop, turn around, try something stupid and desperate.

But the child growing inside me changes everything. I can't save Tony if I'm dead. Can't protect either of them by martyring myself.

The exit is ahead—freedom, escape, safety. My tires hit the highway entrance and I slam my foot to the floor, the engine protesting. In my rearview mirror, I see them sprinting toward their vehicles. See the gun raised again.

"I'll come back," I promise, voice cracking as tears blur my vision. "I'll find you. I'll fix this."

The words taste like ash and desperation. Because we both know there's only one way to fix this. Only one person is powerful enough to take on the Fioris.

If he doesn't kill me himself first.

The highway stretches ahead, endless. Behind me, cars follow.

I drive faster, hands on the wheel, mind racing with plans and prayers and promises I don't know if I can keep.

* * *

I drive for twenty minutes before my hands stop shaking enough to pull over. The shoulder of the highway feels exposed, but I need to think. Need to plan. Need to figure out how the hell they found us so fast.

More importantly, I need to reach Tony.

My finger hovers over his contact, fear making my stomach roll. I swallow hard before I hit dial.

One ring. Two.

"Hello, Ava."

The voice that answers isn't Tony's. It's older, cultured, with that particular Fiori family accent that haunted my childhood.

"Where's my brother?"

"Safe. For now." A pause, perfectly calculated to maximize my terror. "Though his continued well-being depends entirely on your cooperation."

I press my forehead against the steering wheel, trying to breathe through the panic threatening to choke me. "Let me talk to him."

"I'm afraid Tony's a bit...indisposed at the moment."

The implication makes bile rise in my throat. "If you hurt him?—"

"That depends entirely on you, piccola ." The old nickname feels like acid on my skin. "Return to the diner. Tell us everything you know about Rega's operation. Then you and your brother can leave—no harm, no foul."

Lies. All lies. The Fioris don't let people walk away. Ever.

But Tony...

"How do I know he's alive?" My voice cracks despite my best efforts.

There's movement on the other end, then Tony's voice, slurred but unmistakable: "Ava? Don't...don't come back. They want to…"

The sound of flesh hitting flesh makes me flinch.

"One hour," the Fiori voice returns, smooth as silk. "Or we start sending pieces of him back to Chicago. I wonder how Stefano would react to that? Finding out his pregnant girlfriend got her brother killed?"

How do they know?

The call ends before I can respond.

I sit there, staring at my dark phone screen, as snow begins to fall outside. Tiny flakes catching in the headlights of passing cars, each one a reminder of how far we are from home. From safety.

From Stefano.

"Think," I order myself, pressing my hands flat against my thighs to stop their shaking. "Think like a professional."

But all I can think about is Tony's voice, the sound of him being hurt, the absolute certainty that the Fioris will kill us both if I go back there.

Unless...

My fingers move to my other phone, my personal one. Stefano's number is still there, though I've never used it. Never needed to.

Until now.

One call could change everything. Save us or destroy us.

But what choice do I have?

The snow falls harder, turning the world outside into a blur of white. Somewhere out there, my brother is counting on me to save him.

Thicker flakes are falling now, creating a cocoon of white around my car. I've been staring at Stefano's number for what feels like hours, though my phone tells me only minutes have passed, each one precious. Each one bringing Tony closer to whatever the Fioris have planned.

My hand drifts to my stomach. It’s a habit now, this unconscious need to protect. "What do you think, little one? Should we trust your father to save us?

The question hangs in the frigid air of my car. Because that's the real fear, isn't it? Not that Stefano won't help, but that he will, and, afterward, he’ll make me pay for my betrayal.

I close my eyes, remembering how he looked just hours ago. The way he'd pulled me close in his sleep, whispered "love you" like a secret. The tenderness in his touch, even as he expressed his need to possess me.

But I also remember other stories. What happened to the last family that betrayed him. The whispers about why they call him Monster.

My phone shows forty-seven minutes until the Fioris' deadline. Forty-seven minutes to decide who I trust more: the devil I know, or the devil I might love.

"They'll kill him anyway," I say aloud, needing to hear the truth. "If I go back there, they'll kill us both. And the baby."

The sound of an engine makes me shrink lower in my seat, but it's just a passing truck, its headlights briefly illuminating the snow-covered landscape. I’m exposed out here. Vulnerable.

Just like Tony.

My brother, who only got dragged into this because of my choices. My brother, who was finally starting to put his life together before I yanked him away from everything.

My brother, who the Fioris will torture and kill just to prove they can.

"Fuck."

The curse comes out like a prayer as I hit dial before I can second-guess myself again. Each ring feels like an eternity, each second of silence another moment Tony suffers.

What will I say? How do you tell someone you're carrying their child while admitting you were sent to destroy them?

How do you ask for help from the man whose heart you just broke?

The line connects.

And suddenly all my carefully planned words disappear at the sound of his voice, hard and cold and nothing like the man who held me hours ago.

"Ava."

It’s just my name, but it contains multitudes. Anger. Hurt. And something darker that makes my skin prickle with awareness.

Time to face the music.