29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mariella
T he sound of shattering glass and screaming bystanders chills me to the bone.
My pulse thrashes in my ears as I whip my head toward Mateo. He’s already pulled his gun from his jacket, his expression deadly calm, eyes darting, scanning the scene like a predator hunting its prey.
“Stay low,” he yells over the chaos.
No problem there. I’m practically frozen in place, pressed hard against a car. Slinking into the gutter, I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to swallow down the huge lump of fear. The sound of gunfire rattles through me, my body trembling with each sharp crack.
The sound of bullets ricocheting off metal fills the air as Mateo fires back over the hood of the car, his curses sharp when he runs out of ammunition. My stomach twists at the sound. Has he got more?
He reloads quickly, his movements practiced, but the tension in his jaw is unmistakable.
Suddenly, he thrusts his phone into my shaking hands.
“Call Romeo for backup.” His voice is firm, but not harsh. It’s the voice of someone who’s been through this many times before.
My fingers fumble with the phone. Bullets are still flying and my heart is lodged somewhere in my throat, making me feel lightheaded.
Breathe, Mari, breathe. Now is not the time to lose it.
I try to keep my hands steady as I swipe the screen. My breath is shaky, my mind racing.
Mateo’s presence beside me is oddly reassuring, even in this chaos. He’s focused, a coiled spring ready to act. Somehow, knowing he’s here makes me a little less terrified.
Romeo picks up on the third ring, and before I can even get a word out, the rapid fire of gunshots crackling down the line tells him everything he needs to know.
“I’m on my way,” is all he says.
God, I hope ‘I’ means more than just him, that he’s bringing backup. Because judging by the intensity of the shots still raining down, we’re going to need it.
I clutch the phone tightly, glancing at Mateo as he stays crouched, gun ready, muscles tense.
He holds out his hand, and I pass him his phone. He slips it back into his jacket as his eyes find mine.
“We’re outnumbered,” he says close to my ear.
How did he determine that? Has he counted the shooters? Or is it from the number of bullets still whizzing around us?
“We need to get out of here,” he continues, his eyes darting between the gaps in the cars, assessing the situation. “We need to get to my car.”
I glance past him at his Ferrari, parked two cars down. My heart slams against my ribs.
How?
My pulse is deafening in my ears as I picture us trying to dodge the bullets.
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.
Mateo doesn’t give me time to spiral further. He waits for a break in the gunfire, a slight pause, then grabs my arm.
“Stay low and follow me,” he commands.
The moment we move, it’s as if the shooters sense it. Gunfire erupts again, louder, closer, like they’re trying to mow us down before we can even get halfway. My body locks up, but Mateo pulls me along, practically dragging me as we duck behind the first car.
Glass shatters behind us, bullets ricocheting off metal. My pulse is so loud I can barely hear anything else. But I focus on Mateo, on keeping up with him. He moves quickly, keeping us low, using every possible second we’ve got.
Just as we reach the second car, a bullet hits the ground too close, spraying concrete shards that sting my legs. I flinch, my breath hitching, but Mateo tightens his grip on me, pulling me closer.
“Keep moving!” he yells, his voice sharp.
We’re nearly at the Ferrari when a bullet zips past my ear with a high-pitched whine. Instinctively, I duck lower, a strangled gasp escaping me.
My heart stops beating.
That was way too close!
The cold rush of fear surges through me, and I fight the urge to freeze. Mateo pulls me forward, his calmness the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
We push on, racing the sound of gunfire, my chest heaving with every step, until finally we skid to a stop behind his Ferrari, adrenaline flooding every cell of my body.
I’m shaking all over. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be sick later, if we make it out alive.
“The car is bulletproof. I’ll open the door, and you’ll get behind the wheel and floor it. You won’t need a key. Just press the start button. I’ll hop in the back and take out a few of these bastards. They’re likely going to follow us.”
“What?” I screech.
“You can do it.”
“No! No, I can’t.”
“Mariella, you can. We’re sitting ducks if we stay here.”
“You don’t understand. I can’t!”
“Mariella, you–”
“I don’t know how to drive!”