31. Victoria
VICTORIA
Lorenzo’s eyes start to drift shut.
It’s subtle at first. A slow blink that lasts too long. Then his breathing changes—shallower, uneven, like his body is slipping away from him even though he’s still sitting there.
“Lorenzo…” I whisper.
His head tilts forward.
For a second, I think he’s fighting it.
Then it stops.
His head drops against the headrest.
The hand that had been on Elsie’s cheek falls to the centre console. His fingers go slack, leaving a smear of blood across the plastic.
“Lorenzo!” My voice breaks.
I reach for him instantly.
My fingers press hard against the hollow under his jaw, searching for his pulse. For a moment, there’s nothing but heat, his blood still warm on my skin.
Then I feel it.
A pulse.
Slow. Weak. But there.
“He’s alive,” I breathe, more to myself than anyone else. “But he’s fading. He’s losing too much blood.”
“We’ve got to move,” I say quickly, wiping my hands on my jeans even though it does nothing. “We can’t stay here.”
The engine is still running, vibrating beneath us like a countdown I can’t ignore.
Olivia leans forward from the back seat, gripping my shoulder so tightly it hurts.
“Where are we going, Victoria?” Her voice shakes. “Where do we go now?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer.
She pushes past me, throws her door open, and steps out into the damp forest air.
“Olivia—” I start, but she’s already moving.
I twist around instead.
“Mrs. Abena. How bad is it? Are you okay?”
She shifts slightly in the back seat, still holding her arm. Blood soaks into her sleeve, but her voice stays steady.
“It is fine, Vick,” she says quietly. “Only a scratch. The bullet missed the bone.”
I open the glove compartment with shaking hands.
There’s barely anything left inside. Just a small first-aid kit missing most of its supplies. A single roll of white bandage sits at the bottom.
I grab it and pass it back to her.
Then I turn to Elsie.
She’s still so small. Still holding on like the world hasn’t fully settled into what just happened.
I reach out and touch her forehead.
She flinches slightly.
“You’re safe, sweetheart,” I say softly. “I promise. Aunty is here.”
The word aunty feels wrong as it leaves my mouth.
A lie by habit. A truth I don’t fully understand anymore.
Mrs. Abena looks at me, her gaze heavy, like she already knows more than she should. She doesn’t question it. She simply pulls Elsie into her arms and holds her tight, whispering something low and steady into her hair.
I step out of the car.
The ground is cold and damp beneath my shoes.
Olivia is waiting a few feet away between two thick trees. Her posture is rigid, like she’s barely holding herself together.
The moment I reach her, she grabs my arms.
“Fuck, Victoria,” she hisses. “Do you even understand what you’re involved in?”
I stay quiet.
“That man,” she continues, shaking her head, “he’s not just some dangerous guy. He’s a Mafia Don. Not street-level. Not local. He controls Chicago.”
“Olivia—calm down.”
“No,” she snaps. “You calm down.”
She starts pacing in tight, restless circles.
“You don’t get it,” she says quickly. “I knew his name before this. Everyone did. He runs everything—money, streets, syndicates. People don’t cross him and survive it.”
“Stop talking like this.”
“I’m telling you the truth!”
Her voice rises again, and I step closer.
“Lower your voice.”
“Vick, he’s going to?—”
“You are not listening to me,” I cut in, grabbing her wrist to stop her pacing. “I will tell you everything. Every single detail. But right now, we need to get out of these woods before night comes down, and we’re trapped out here in the dark.”
Olivia stares at me, chest rising and falling too fast. “To where? Where do we even go?”
Before I can answer, something in her expression hardens.
“We kill him.”
I blink at her. “What?”
“We kill him now. While he’s unconscious.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I’m serious, Vick.”
“Keep your fucking voice down.”
“If he wakes up, he’ll take Elsie. He’ll take you.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Think about it.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because if we kill a man like Lorenzo, his people will hunt us to the ends of the earth.”
“Not if they think he died in the ambush.”
I stare at her in disbelief.
“You’re out of your mind.”
“I’m thinking clearly.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You’re not thinking clearly at all. You’re scared.”
Olivia stops dead.
She stares at me for one beat too long, and I know exactly what she sees.
Then she says, “You brought him here. You brought him around your daughter.”
The words land harder than I expect.
“I didn’t bring him here,” I say quietly.
“Then what is he, Vick?”
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out at first.
Because the answer sits in my chest already.
Olivia watches me carefully now, her anger shifting into something sharper.
Then her expression changes.
It softens just slightly, like a realization she doesn’t want to have.
“Wait…” she says slowly. “Don’t tell me what I’m thinking is right.”
I look away.
“Vick.”
“Don’t,” I warn.
Her eyes narrow.
“Oh my God.”
“Olivia, stop.”
“You’ve fallen for him.”
“I haven’t.”
But my voice isn’t strong enough.
And she hears it.
A short, disbelieving laugh escapes her.
“No way.”
“Olivia—”
“Then why are you protecting him?”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
Her voice sharpens again.
“What happened with Francesco wasn’t enough for you?”
Pain slices through my chest immediately.
“Don’t say his name.”
“Then explain it,” she demands. “Why him?”
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Because I don’t have a clean answer.
I just have him.
And that is worse.
Olivia goes still.
Her eyes lock on mine.
Then widen slightly.
“Oh my God.”
“Stop,” I say quickly.
“It’s true.”
“Olivia.”
“You care about him.”
My stomach drops.
I look away again.
That is all she needs.
A bitter laugh leaves her.
“No fucking way.”
“Stop saying that.”
But it’s too late.
The truth is already out there, sitting between us like something I can’t take back.
I whisper it before I can stop myself.
“He’s the father of my child.”
Silence.
It stretches.
Heavy. Unmoving.
Then—
A sharp crunch behind us.
A footstep on dry twigs.
“If either of you fucking moves, I’ll blow your fucking heads off.”
The voice is close.
Rough. Slavic.
I turn slowly.
A man steps out from behind the trees, a black pistol aimed straight at my chest.
My breath catches.
“Olivia—” I start.
She screams.
The man steps forward.
His finger tightens.
Then—
A gunshot cracks from behind us.
Not his.
From the car.
The shot is clean.
Instant.
The man’s head snaps back.
He drops without a sound.
My heart slams against my ribs as I whip around.
Lorenzo.
He’s at the driver’s side door.
Still half inside the car. Still barely standing.
His skin is pale. His hand is pressed hard against his neck, blood soaking through his fingers. But the Beretta in his other hand is steady.
Smoke still curls from the barrel.
For a second, no one moves.
Olivia looks like she might faint.
I can’t tell if I should run to him or step back.
He doesn’t look at either of us.
Not me.
Not her.
He walks straight to the body and kicks the fallen gun away.
Then crouches.
He grabs the man’s shirt and rips it open with a brutal tug. Buttons snap and scatter into the dirt.
His eyes scan the man’s neck.
There’s a tattoo there.
Small. Dark.
Lorenzo stares at it.
Something flickers across his face.
Recognition.
Then it’s gone.
He picks up the dead man’s weapon, checks the chamber once, and slides his own Beretta into his jacket without a word.
He stands.
Still not looking at us.
“Get in the car,” he says flatly. “We move.”
I don’t argue.
I move.
Olivia scrambles into the back seat.
I reach for the passenger’s side.
“Drive,” Lorenzo says suddenly.
I freeze for half a second.
Then I switch sides.
I climb into the driver’s seat.
Olivia slams the back door shut behind her.
Lorenzo drops into the passenger seat beside me.
Heavy and silent.
Bleeding.
Before I can even shift the gear, his head turns slightly.
Not toward me.
Toward the back seat.
Toward Elsie.
“Mia figlia,” he says under his breath.
His voice is low. Rough. Italian.
“Tutto bene. Sei al sicuro.”
My daughter. It’s okay. You’re safe.
I don’t respond.
I just press my foot down.
The tyres spin once on the wet ground?—
Then grip.
And we drive out of the trees.