Chapter 13
T he Maserati Quattroporte roars to life the second I turn the ignition, its engine pulling with barely restrained power.
My left hand grips the wheel while my right holds the Beretta, eyes scanning the mirrors for any movement.
The car's leather interior still smells new—a fucking waste if we have to abandon it after tonight.
Not that we fucking care about a car or its cost.
"Hold on," I command, not looking at Melania as I slam the car into reverse.
Her breathing comes in short, panicked bursts beside me. I can practically taste her fear in the confined space—the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers clutch the laptop like it's a lifeline. Good. Fear keeps people sharp, keeps them alive.
I whip the car around, tires screaming against asphalt as we face the opposite direction from where our unwelcome visitors are approaching. The perimeter sensors were triggered at the east entrance—which means we head west, fast.
"Who is it?" Melania asks, her voice surprisingly steady despite her shallow breathing.
"Doesn't fucking matter right now," I respond, tucking the gun back into my waistband to grip the gear shift. "Could be your father's men. Could be Raymond's. Could be the fucking pizza delivery guy making a wrong turn. We're not sticking around to find out."
The Maserati leaps forward as I floor the accelerator, pinning us both against our seats. The safehouse disappears in the rearview, swallowed by darkness. The road ahead stretches empty, but that won't last long.
My eyes flick to the mirror again. Two sets of headlights appear behind us—a car and a motorcycle, moving fast. Too fast to be coincidence.
"We have company," I mutter, pushing the Maserati harder. The engine's purr deepens to a roar. "Two vehicles on our tail."
Melania twists in her seat to look behind us.
"Don't move," I snap, reaching across to push her back into position. "Keep your head down and your seatbelt secure."
The motorcycle gains ground, its single headlight growing larger in the mirror. With better acceleration and more maneuverability than our car, it'll reach us first. The other car isn't far behind.
" Merda ," I growl, swerving around a curve in the road. The Maserati hugs the pavement, its handling impeccable even at this speed. I push it harder, feeling the car respond beneath my hands like a living thing.
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.
I slide behind the wheel. My wounded arm screams in protest as I grip the steering wheel, blood soaking through my sleeve and dripping onto my jeans. No options. We need to go. Now.
The engine sputters once, twice before roaring back to life. Metal groans as I force the damaged car into gear, tires spinning before finding purchase on the blood-slicked pavement.
"Oh my God," Melania whispers beside me, her voice thin and reedy.
"Oh my God, oh my God." Her entire body trembles, fine tremors that shake the laptop in her white-knuckled grip. "You're bleeding. There's blood everywhere."
"Breathe," I tell her, not taking my eyes off the road as I push the almost-wrecked Maserati to its limits. The car pulls slightly to the right—alignment fucked from the impact—but it's still drivable. "Deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth."
"They were going to kill us," she says, her voice cracking. "Not capture. Kill."
"Yes." No point lying to her. "They don't want you back. They want you silenced."
Her breathing comes in shallow gasps, the beginning of panic. I need her operational, not hysterical.
"Melania." I say her name sharply, cutting through her spiral. "Focus. Are you hurt?"
She shakes her head, still trembling. "N-no. Just... oh God."
"Good. Now breathe and get it together. We're not dead yet."
The Maserati tears down the empty road, putting distance between us and the wreckage behind. Blood continues to seep from my arm but the wound is superficial—a graze, nothing more. It can wait.
I glance at Melania. Her face is ghost-white in the dashboard lights, but her breathing has steadied somewhat. She's in shock but holding it together now. Tough little thing.
"They found us," she whispers.
The Maserati's engine hums as we race through the night.
Ten minutes pass in suffocating silence. The only sounds are Alessio's controlled breathing.
"Did they find us through the USB?" Alessio finally asks, his voice tight with pain.
My stomach drops as realization washes over me. "Yes," I whisper, the word barely audible. "I underestimated Raymond."
Alessio's jaw tightens as he takes a sharp turn, the car's damaged alignment making the steering wheel fight against his grip.
"I never thought he’d use government resources to hack me back," I continue, the words tumbling out faster now. "I thought he wouldn't risk someone seeing what he hides on that drive. But then again..." My voice cracks. "He could just kill anyone who saw it."
I twist my mother's ring frantically, spinning it around my finger until the skin underneath turns raw.
"I was stupid," I say, self-loathing burning in my chest. "So fucking stupid. I should have been more careful. I should have known he'd have backdoor access. I should have?—"
"Blaming someone now won't help," Alessio cuts me off, his voice firm but not unkind. "Not you, not me, not even that bastard Raymond."
He glances at me, dark eyes flashing in the dashboard lights. "What we need to focus on is what we're going to do from now on."
I take a deep breath, forcing my brain to shift from panic to planning. He's right. Self-recrimination won't save us from the next attack.
"I need to rebuild our digital security from scratch," I say, my mind already scrambling through encryption protocols. "Different hardware, different approach."
Alessio nods, wincing slightly as he adjusts his grip on the wheel. "And the USB?"
"I'll need to create an air-gapped system. Completely isolated." I clutch the laptop tighter. "And we need to hide again."
"Already on it," Alessio says, checking the rearview mirror for the hundredth time. "But first we need to ditch this car."
Alessio reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone. With one hand still on the wheel, he punches in a number, then puts it on speaker.
"Damiano," he says the moment the call connects. "We've been compromised. Had to take out four men."
"Location?" Damiano's voice fills the car, deep and commanding.
"Moving south on Interstate 95. We need a replacement vehicle."
I watch Alessio's face, the way his eyes constantly scan the road ahead and behind us, never stopping. Blood has soaked through his sleeve where the bullet grazed him, a dark stain spreading across the fabric.
"There's a motel off exit 14," Damiano says. "The Blue Pine. I'm sending Matteo to meet you there. Leave the car behind the building and stay hidden until he arrives."
"Understood," Alessio says.
"We need laptops," I interject suddenly, leaning toward the phone. "At least three of them. Different makes, nothing traceable."
There's a pause on the line.
"Hello, Melania." Damiano's voice drops an octave, dangerous and smooth.
A chill runs down my spine at his tone.
"You'll have what you requested," he continues. "Matteo will take the Maserati. You'll take his car to the secondary location."
"The warehouse?" Alessio asks.
"Yes. Call when you're secure."
The line goes dead. Alessio pockets the phone and takes the next exit, following signs for the Blue Pine Motel.
"We need to treat your wound," I say, eyeing the blood on his arm.
"First we hide," he responds, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Then we deal with this."
The weight of guilt presses down on my chest.
"I'm sorry," I blurt out. "This is my fault. I should have been more careful with the USB."
Alessio's eyes remain fixed on the road, his thumb briefly tracing his bottom lip before he responds. "There's no need to apologize, Melania."
"But—"
"No," he cuts me off firmly. "Fill that beautiful mind of yours with ways to keep us secure from now on. That's what matters."
Beautiful mind. The unexpected compliment catches me off guard. Not beautiful face or body—my mind. Something warm unfurls in my chest and I twist my mother's ring, suddenly flustered.
I turn to study his profile in the dim light from the dashboard. The strong line of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes as he scans the road, the way his hands grip the wheel with controlled power. Something about him pulls at me, a magnetic force I can't explain and don't want to acknowledge.
After James' betrayal in London I convinced myself I was better off alone than letting any man get close enough to hurt me. Well…
Alessio turns his head, and our eyes lock. The air between us crackles with tension.
"What?" he asks.
I break eye contact first. "Nothing. I was just thinking, that's all."
I turn to face the road ahead, forcing my mind back to the problem at hand.