Which means my time is running out.
The car hits a pothole, and I have to bite my lip to keep from making a sound. We'll be back at the safehouse soon, and I'll have to figure out how to get out of this car without being seen. How to pretend I was never here, never heard whatever it was that made Dante punch the steering wheel and cry in the silence afterward.
But as we drive through the darkness, one thing becomes crystal clear: whatever they decided in that meeting, I'm not going to accept it quietly.
I refuse to be handed over like a peace offering. I refuse to let a room full of men decide my fate without a fight.
And if Dante won't help me, if he's going to choose his loyalty to Vito over everything else, then I'll have to save myself.
Even if it means I'm completely on my own.
CHAPTER 22
Dante
The city traffic is a nightmare,made worse by the rain that started as a light drizzle and is now coming down in sheets. Every red light feels like an eternity, every slow-moving car another obstacle between me and getting back to the safehouse. Between me and Sofia.
My hands are still shaking from the confrontation with Vito. Fifteen years. Fifteen fucking years of loyalty, of doing whatever was asked of me without question, and it comes down to this—being ordered to deliver an innocent girl to what amounts to her trial.
Some things are worth dying for.
The thought keeps echoing in my head as I navigate through the congested streets. Is Sofia worth throwing away everything I've built? Is she worth betraying the only family I've ever known?
The answer should be no. The logical answer, the one that keeps me alive and maintains everything I've worked for, is no.
But every time I think about her in that basement, looking up at me with those green eyes, asking for the right to know what's happening to her own life, the answer feels like yes.
Traffic finally starts to thin as I reach the outskirts of the city, but the rain only gets worse. What started as heavy drops is now a torrential downpour that has the windshield wipers working overtime and still barely keeping up.
I should probably pull over, wait for it to pass. But the thought of staying still, of having more time to think about the choice I'm facing, makes my chest tight with anxiety. I need to keep moving. I need to get back to Sofia and figure out how to tell her what's coming.
The country roads are even worse. No streetlights, no other cars to follow, just me and the storm and the weight of what I have to do tomorrow night. The headlights barely penetrate the wall of rain, and I have to slow to a crawl just to stay on the road.
That's when I see it—a flash of brown and white in the headlights, eyes reflecting the light like mirrors.
A deer, frozen in the middle of the road.
I jerk the wheel hard to the left, tires screaming against the wet asphalt. For a moment, the car seems to float, weightless, before gravity takes hold and sends me sliding sideways down the embankment.
The world becomes a chaos of spinning metal and shattering glass. The car rolls once, twice, before slamming into something solid with a sickening crunch that seems to echo inside my skull.
Pain explodes through my head, sharp and blinding. I can taste blood, metallic and warm, and when I try to move, my body doesn't respond the way it should. My vision is blurry, everything doubled and spinning.
I'm slumped over the steering wheel, the deployed airbag deflating around me. The windshield is spider-webbed with cracks, and steam rises from what's left of the hood. The smell of coolant and something that might be gas fills the air.
I need to get out. Need to assess the damage. Need to call for help.
My phone. Where's my phone?
I reach for it with clumsy, uncooperative fingers, but when I find it, the screen is cracked and black. Dead.
Fuck.
I try to sit up, but the movement sends another wave of agony through my skull. My left shoulder is on fire, and when I look down, I can see blood dripping onto my shirt from somewhere above my eyebrow.
How bad is it? How bad am I hurt?
The questions float through my mind like they're coming from somewhere far away. Everything feels distant, muffled, like I'm underwater.
