13. Chapter Thirteen Zane
Chapter Thirteen: Zane
T he safe house in New York was dimly lit, shadows creeping into every corner. The air was heavy with tension, the kind that wrapped around you and refused to let go. The walls were bare except for a few peeling patches of paint, and the single lamp in the corner cast long, wavering shadows across the room.
Hassan stood near SJ, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched him with a mix of tenderness and anxiety. Dante lounged against the kitchen counter, his perpetual half-smirk in place. I stood in the center of the room, the focus of their attention, and laid out the plan.
We had managed to get out of that meeting…by some miracle. I had no idea how. Vito had just walked out—and now the clock was running out for us to get Skylar, Justice and Bash back.
I ignored the pain throbbing on my stomach. It was time to get down to business. No more waiting around.
“Flying is out of the question,” I said. “Airports have too many eyes, and Vito’s reach is too long. We can’t risk it.”
Hassan’s intense gaze shifted from SJ, who was playing with a toy car, to me. “So we’re just going to drive? All the way to Miami? With a two-year-old? That’s insane.”
“It’s the only way to stay under the radar,” I said. “We have more control on the ground. We can change routes, make stops. If something goes wrong, we’re not trapped at thirty thousand feet.”
Hassan opened his mouth to argue, but Dante cut him off. “Zane’s right. Driving gives us options. My network has already arranged for a vehicle and supplies. It’ll be easier than you think.”
I glanced at Dante, grateful for his support. He was a wildcard, but in moments like this, his pragmatism was invaluable.
Hassan ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “Easier than I think? Do you have any idea what it’s like to travel with a toddler? He’s not even mine and I’m losing my mind.”
“Look,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “I know it’s not ideal. But SJ is the linchpin here. Without him, we’re just running blind.”
Hassan’s eyes flashed with something I couldn’t quite read. Anger? Frustration? He uncrossed his arms and took a step toward me. “He’s a child, Zane. This isn’t just logistics. It’s his life.”
Dante’s voice took on a harder edge. “We’re all in this together, Hassan. You think I like this plan? It’s not about liking it—it’s about survival. I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Vito, but you can’t stay here. Not if you want to get his parents back.”
The room fell silent, the kind of silence that has weight to it, like a thick, oppressive fog. I could almost hear the gears in Hassan’s head turning, grinding against each other. He knew we were right, but knowing and accepting were two different things.
He looked back at SJ, who was now carefully stacking blocks from a bag Dante had packed. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost defeated. “Fine. We drive. But if he so much as gets a scratch…”
“He’ll be fine,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure. “We’ll all be fine.”
Hassan turned away, his body a tight coil of suppressed energy. I knew he was counting on more than just our plans and precautions. He was counting on the kind of luck that had been in short supply for all of us lately.
The safe house might have been dimly lit and unadorned, but the emotions swirling within it were anything but. As I watched Hassan walk over to SJ and gently ruffle his hair, I hoped that our makeshift family would hold together long enough to see this through.
Dante stood and stretched, his smirk returning. “Get some rest. We leave at dawn.”
With that, he left the room, leaving Hassan and me in a silence that was more uncomfortable than confrontational. I started to say something, thought better of it, and walked out.
***
In the gray morning light, the alley behind the safe house took on a desolate, almost post-apocalyptic feel. Piles of snow, turned to soot-laden slush, lined the brick walls of neighboring buildings. The cold bit through jackets and settled into bones, an unwelcome guest that refused to leave.
Dante stood with a casual authority, his hands deep in the pockets of his peacoat. In front of him, a blacked-out SUV sat idling, its exhaust creating a plume of white in the frigid air. Hassan held SJ, who was squirming and whining, his little hands trying to grab the toy car Hassan had tucked into his pocket. He rocked him back and forth, his face a mask of exhausted frustration.
Dante tossed the keys to Hassan, who caught them with one hand, the other still cradling the restless toddler. “It’s all set,” Dante said. “Routes, safe houses, contingencies. You’ll be off the grid the whole way.”
I walked around the SUV, checking the tires, the oil, the gas. My hands were numb, but my mind was sharp, ticking through a mental checklist. We couldn’t afford any surprises.
SJ’s cries echoed off the alley walls as Hassan tried to calm him. He retrieved a snack from one of the duffel bags Dante had provided, but SJ shoved it away with a determined “No!” before bursting into tears.
“We’ll make it,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. “The vehicle’s solid.”
Dante’s eyes flicked to me, then back to Hassan. “You know I’d come if I could. But someone needs to stay and protect Jade.”
Hassan managed to wrestle SJ into the car seat in the back of the SUV. The little boy kicked and screamed, but Hassan’s big hands moved with the care of a bomb technician. “We know,” Hassan said, slamming the rear door shut. “We’re grateful.”
Dante shrugged. “Gratitude’s not necessary. Just make sure you get there in one piece. I’ll be monitoring your progress. If Vito makes a move, I’ll handle it.”
I moved to the driver’s side and opened the door, letting the warm air from the cabin wash over me. “We appreciate it, Dante. Really.”
Dante nodded, his smirk fading into something more serious. “This isn’t just about you, you know. If Vito gets SJ, everything unravels. If Vito gets more power, before he dies…fuck, I don’t even want to think about it. All our operations will be unreveled.”
Hassan walked over to Dante, the two men standing eye to eye. Hassan paused, looking at Dante with a mix of worry and determination. “We’ll keep him safe,” he said, his voice firm.
For a moment, it looked like Dante might say something more, something deeper. Instead, he clapped a hand on Hassan’s shoulder. “Good luck.”
Hassan turned and walked back to the SUV, opening the passenger door and retrieving one of the duffel bags. He started to head back into the building, then stopped and looked at Dante. “He’s going to be okay, right?”
Dante didn’t hesitate. “Jade’s a survivor. Now go. You’ve got a long drive ahead.”
Hassan disappeared into the building, leaving me alone with Dante. I closed the driver’s door and leaned against the SUV, crossing my arms to conserve what little body heat I had left.
Dante didn’t move, didn’t speak. He stood in the cold, staring at the SUV, his face unreadable but his eyes holding the kind of intensity that came from years of making hard decisions.
***
I gripped the steering wheel of the SUV so hard my knuckles turned white, my palms slick against the leather. The morning rush hour had transformed the streets of New York City into a chaotic maze, and every honk, swerve, and impatient driver added another layer of tension to my already frayed nerves. My eyes darted from the road to the rearview mirror, then to the side mirrors, scanning with the precision of a hawk hunting for danger.
In the backseat, Hassan wrestled with SJ, who squirmed and whined like a tiny tornado that refused to be contained. “I want Juju!” he wailed, his small face scrunched up, his fists pounding against the car seat straps. The sound hit me like nails scraping against metal—grating and relentless.
Hassan’s voice was strained, his usual composure cracking under the dual stress of our situation and playing reluctant caregiver. “Juju will be back soon,” he said, lying through his teeth. He held up a stuffed animal—a well-loved bear with one eye missing—but SJ smacked it out of his hand with surprising force for someone so small. “Just—please—sit still for a minute.”
I caught a glimpse of Hassan’s exhausted face in the mirror. “Any luck?” I asked, my tone clipped, as I swerved to avoid a taxi that had stopped suddenly.
“He’s a hurricane,” Hassan muttered, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. Then louder, he added, “No. He’s just scared.”
“We’re all scared,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road as the SUV crept closer to the outskirts of the city. The tall buildings gave way to squat, tired suburbs, and the traffic began to thin. “He needs to understand what’s at stake.”
Hassan’s sharp glare met mine in the mirror. “He’s two, Zane. He doesn’t even know what ‘stake’ means.”
I sighed but said nothing. He was right, of course, but logic was the only thing keeping me steady. Emotions were a luxury I couldn’t afford, not with Vito’s men hunting us, not with the gunshot wound I was still healing from, not with Justice and Skylar kidnapped by Vito’s men. I couldn’t even think about it. My mind was locked in overdrive, calculating every possible variable, every threat. Anything else was a distraction.
“Where’s Juju?” SJ’s small, fragile voice cut through the silence in the SUV like a knife. “Are we going to see Uncle Bash?”
Hassan hesitated before answering, his voice softening in a way I rarely heard. “We’re going to try, Sebastian.” He shot me a glance, his expression asking for guidance, but I gave a quick shake of my head. Not yet. “We’ll all be together soon,” he added, though his words carried no conviction.
As we merged onto a rural highway, the city becoming a distant silhouette behind us, I felt my shoulders loosen slightly. Not much, but enough to notice. Even so, my eyes stayed locked on the mirrors, scanning for anything out of place.
“He’s hungry,” Hassan said after a while. I didn’t respond. “Zane.”
“We need to clear a few more miles before we stop,” I said. “Just in case. I think there are peanuts somewhere?”
Hassan groaned and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes for a moment. SJ’s tantrum had finally burned itself out, leaving him sniffling and tired in the backseat. The silence in the car was thick, filled with the unspoken fears that none of us wanted to voice.
Hassan opened his eyes and turned his head toward me. “Is this your way of saying, ‘I told you so?’”
I shrugged, keeping my eyes on the road. “It’s my way of saying we’ll make it. Like we always do.”
He didn’t respond, but I could feel his attention shift back to SJ. A moment later, he began to hum a soft lullaby, the kind of tune you’d hear in the background of a memory you didn’t know you still had. The sound cut through the tension in the SUV like a balm. I glanced in the mirror again and saw SJ’s eyelids fluttering, his thumb now tucked into his mouth as he clutched the stuffed bear Hassan had managed to retrieve.
For the first time since we left the safe house, I let my grip on the wheel relax. Only slightly, but enough to feel the difference. In moments like this, when the road stretched out ahead of us and the immediate threats faded to the background, I could almost imagine we were just a normal family on a road trip. Almost.
The truth was, we were barely holding it together—cobbled together by circumstance and necessity. Hassan and I played our roles, balancing the immediate needs with the long-term goals. SJ was the glue holding us all together, even if he didn’t know it. He was the reason we couldn’t afford to fail.
As his breathing evened out, Hassan looked out the window, his voice quiet, almost a whisper. “I hope he’s dreaming of something better than this.”
I didn’t answer. I hoped so too. But I knew that no matter what SJ dreamed of, reality would be waiting for us at the end of the road. And with it, the fight for his future—and ours—would begin all over again.