Chapter 4
On the Run
“We need a car,” Aldo panted, his breath ragged as he scanned their surroundings. The streets were eerily quiet, the usual hum of morning activity overshadowed by the distant sounds of gunfire from the villa. Their pursuers wouldn’t be far behind.
Matteo’s sharp eyes locked onto a silver sedan parked outside a small bakery, its engine still warm from recent use. A man in his fifties, dressed in a faded button-up and slacks, was stepping out, a fresh loaf of bread cradled in his hands. His face held the peaceful look of someone caught in their morning routine, unaware of the storm about to hit him.
Without hesitation, Matteo rushed forward, shoving the man aside with a force that sent him stumbling against the bakery’s brick wall. The loaf tumbled onto the pavement, rolling slightly before stopping near the curb. Aldo was already at the driver’s side, yanking the door open with practiced ease.
“Mi dispiace,” Matteo muttered as he grabbed the car keys from the man’s hand, his voice devoid of any real sympathy, before jumping into the car and tossing the keys to Aldo.
The engine coughed in protest before roaring to life.
A second of silence. Then...
Angry shouts erupted behind them. The car owner, regaining his wits, cursed and stumbled forward, but his protests were drowned out by the low, menacing growl of two black SUVs turning the corner. Their engines rumbled like caged beasts, headlights glaring as they locked onto their prey.
“Go!” Matteo barked, already reaching for his gun.
Aldo didn’t need to be told twice. He slammed the gas pedal to the floor, the tires screeching as they peeled out of the parking space, leaving a trail of burnt rubber. The sedan rocketed forward, barely squeezing between a parked truck and a moving delivery van. Behind them, the SUVs accelerated in pursuit, their blacked-out windows concealing the killers inside.
The narrow streets of Palermo blurred into a chaotic maze as Matteo gripped the dashboard, his knuckles white. The stolen sedan roared beneath them, its tires skidding on the uneven cobblestone roads. Aldo pushed it to its limits, weaving through early morning traffic with reckless precision. Pedestrians shouted and dived out of the way, their cries of protest mixing with the wail of distant sirens.
Beside him, Matteo leaned out the window, his movements swift and practiced. His pistol barked sharply, the bullets tearing through the morning air. A round struck the front grille of the lead SUV, sending sparks flying, but it didn’t slow down. The men inside were persistent, undeterred by a few bullets.
The sharp crack of gunfire echoed through the streets, and in response, shutters slammed closed, shopkeepers retreating into the safety of their businesses. A woman shrieked and dropped a basket of produce as the sedan whipped past her, oranges rolling into the road, crushed beneath screeching tires.
“Left!” Matteo barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.
Aldo yanked the wheel hard, the sedan jerking violently as it veered down a narrower alleyway. The tires skidded, barely maintaining traction on the slick cobblestones. The ancient streets of Palermo were not built for high-speed chases, and every turn threatened disaster. The car fishtailed, nearly clipping a fruit stand. Wooden crates splintered, sending apples and pears bouncing across the pavement.
“They’re gaining!” Matteo shouted, ducking back inside as bullets pinged off the car’s frame, shattering the rear window. Glass rained down onto the backseat, glittering like deadly confetti.
“I’m going as fast as I can!” Aldo snapped; his jaw clenched. His grip on the wheel tightened as he maneuvered the sedan through a congested intersection, narrowly missing an oncoming tram. The car’s engine whined in protest as he forced it beyond its limits, the speedometer needle trembling near the red.
The SUVs were relentless, their drivers unfazed by the danger of the chase. Whoever these attackers were, they were well-funded, well-trained, and unwilling to let their targets escape. Matteo’s mind raced as he tried to piece together who could have orchestrated this.
A rival family? A power play by an unknown enemy? Or something far worse?
The chase led them out of the city and into the Sicilian countryside, where the roads narrowed and twisted like serpents through rolling hills and olive groves. The sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows over the rugged landscape. Heat shimmered off the pavement, distorting the horizon as Aldo gripped the wheel, his knuckles white. The sedan’s tires screeched around each sharp bend, kicking up dust and loose gravel.
“We can’t keep this up forever,” Matteo said, his voice calm but edged with urgency. He ejected the empty magazine from his gun, his movements swift and precise, before loading a fresh one. His fingers, despite the tension, were steady.
“Got any bright ideas?” Aldo shot back, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. The SUVs were relentless, engines roaring as they closed the gap.
Before Matteo could respond, a sudden gunshot rang out. A bullet tore through the back windshield, shattering it instantly. Glass rained down in a sharp, glimmering cascade. Aldo cursed and yanked the wheel hard to the right, narrowly avoiding a deep pothole. The sedan jolted violently, tires slipping for a fraction of a second before gripping the road again.
Then it happened.
A sharp curve loomed ahead, too fast, too tight. The moment stretched, surreal and sluggish. Matteo’s hand shot out, gripping the dashboard as Aldo wrenched the wheel in a desperate attempt to hold control.
Too late.
The tires lost their hold, screeching as the car skidded sideways. The world tilted as the sedan slammed into the embankment and flipped. Time fractured into disjointed flashes; sky, ground, sky, ground, before the deafening crunch of metal and glass swallowed everything.
Then, silence.
Matteo’s head throbbed, the world around him spinning in a sickening blur. A sharp pain burned along his ribs, and the acrid stench of gasoline filled his lungs. Distantly, he heard the faint, ominous hiss of the engine. He blinked, forcing his vision to steady, fumbling with his seatbelt. His fingers were sluggish, uncoordinated.
“Aldo,” he croaked, his throat raw. “You alive?”
A low groan answered him. “Barely,” Aldo muttered, his voice thick with pain. A rustling sound followed as he shifted, then the creak of metal as he kicked open the door and crawled out.
Matteo followed, dragging himself from the wreckage. His body screamed in protest, but he forced himself to stand. The sedan was ruined, a twisted heap of metal and shattered glass, smoke curling from the hood. In the distance, the deep rumble of approaching engines sent a fresh bolt of urgency through him.
“We need to move,” Aldo snapped, wiping blood from a cut above his eyebrow. His suit was torn, coated in dust, but his eyes remained sharp, alert.
Matteo nodded, pushing aside the pain. They were stranded in the middle of nowhere, no phone, no car, no backup. But they were still breathing, and for now, that was enough.
They took off running, their footsteps crunching against the dry Sicilian earth. The golden fields of wheat and the gnarled branches of ancient olive trees stretched endlessly around them, offering little cover. The sun bore down relentlessly, the air thick with dust and the scent of warm earth.
Behind them, the growl of engines grew louder.
“This way,” Aldo said, veering off the dirt path and into a dense grove of trees. The moment they crossed the threshold of shade, the temperature seemed to drop, but the ground was uneven, the terrain rough beneath their pounding footsteps. Branches snagged at their clothes as they pushed forward, moving as fast as their battered bodies allowed.
After half an hour, as they crested a hill, Aldo suddenly halted, throwing out a hand. Matteo stopped beside him, chest heaving. His gaze followed Aldo’s, scanning the horizon.
Nestled in a valley below was a small, abandoned farmhouse. It was old, its stone walls weathered and worn by time. It was isolated, quiet, exactly what they needed.
“We’ll regroup there,” Aldo said, his voice low but certain. “Figure out our next move.”
Matteo exhaled sharply, wiping sweat from his brow. “And then what?”
Aldo’s lips curled into a faint smirk, though there was no humor in it. “Then we find out who’s behind this, and make them regret it.”
Their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them. They were still enemies, bound by grudges and a violent history. But for now, they were something else, too; reluctant allies.