But I know better now.
The Lombardis will never stop hunting me. I’m carrying Marco’s child. And no matter how much I thought I could outrun this life, the truth is clear—I don’t want to.
I nod. "Okay."
Something flickers in his eyes. Not relief, not victory—something else. Something unreadable.
He nods once before turning to Lorenzo, the driver. "Get her back to the estate." His voice is all command now, sharp and certain. "I want updates every fifteen minutes."
"Yes, boss."
I feel Marco’s gaze on me again, searching, like he’s memorizing me before he goes. Then he exhales, steps back, and turns away, disappearing into the dark.
I sit there, watching as he vanishes into the trees. The wind picks up, rustling the leaves, whispering something I can’t quite hear. Once he’s gone, we make for the estate.
The SUV rumbles to life, its headlights slicing through the thick darkness of the forest. I sink into the backseat, wrapping the blanket tighter around my shoulders as the men settle into their positions—two in the front, two flanking me on either side. I know what Marco would say if I protested.
This is for your safety. For the baby’s safety.
And, overnight, I’d have to say I feel the same way.
The vehicle rolls forward, the tires crunching over earth and scattered twigs as we wind down the dirt road. The forest looms around us, dense and restless, as if it knows the night isn’t finished with us yet. My hands tighten around the flask, the tea inside still warm, though the heat doesn’t quite reach the cold settling deep in my bones.
None of us speak.
Adriano drives with agility, his eyes flicking to the mirrors every few seconds. Another one of Marco’s men sits in the passenger seat, scanning the road ahead, his fingers resting near the gun strapped to his chest. The other two men sit rigid beside me, their bodies tense, ready.
Ready for what?
I close my eyes for a second, trying to slow my breathing. The car is warm, the air inside thick with the faint scent of leather and gunpowder, but my nerves won’t settle. Every mile we put between ourselves and that forest should bring relief. It doesn’t.
Not with Marco still out there.
My eyes flick to the window, watching the trees blur past, their branches clawing at the night sky.
Will he come home to me?
The question lingers in my mind, unspoken but consuming.
He went after Mancini, and I know what that means. Marco doesn’t leave loose ends. He doesn’t let betrayal go unpunished. But this isn’t just about Mancini anymore—it’s about everything that comes next.
What will we do after this?
I exhale slowly, pressing a hand against my stomach, feeling the faintest flutter beneath my fingertips. Marco’s world is violent, dangerous, but right now, it’s the safest place I can be. And when this is all over—when the blood has dried, and the debts have been paid—where do we go from there?
I don’t have the answer to that just yet.
30
MARCO
The drive stretches on, a black ribbon unspooling through the skeletal fingers of the forest.
Silence isn't merely absent of sound; it's a tangible thing, a heavy blanket woven from the damp earth and the looming trees. It presses against the windshield, a physical force, and seems to seep into the car, filling the space around me, a cold, clammy hand on my skin.
The rain stopped hours ago, but the roads remain slick, reflecting my headlights in distorted, shimmering pools. They're not roads, really, more like suggestions, faint trails carved through the dense undergrowth.
My headlights, twin spears of pale light, struggle to pierce the oppressive darkness, each turn revealing only another wall of trees, their branches like gnarled, grasping claws. The deeper I drive, the more the feeling grows that I'm not just drivingtothe cabin, butintosomething else entirely.
