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The streets stretch out before us, the city becomes a blur as we race against time, against betrayal, against the possibility of losing everything we’ve built.
“Got them,” Leone snarls, his voice slicing through the night.
“Orders?” I ask, though I already know the answer. There’s only one way this can end.
“Find my wife.” The possessive growl in his tone sends a shiver down my spine.
“Understood.” I slam my foot onto the accelerator, the engine roaring beneath us—the thrill of the hunt courses through my veins, sharp and intoxicating.
Fallon, I think. You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed.
Leone is already barking orders into his phone as I reach the highway. The roar of the engine, a blur of streetlights— My heart hammers in my chest, and with each passing second, we draw closer to them.
“Rocco,” Leone barks into his phone, his voice a deadly calm that belies the fury roiling beneath. “Get to her house. Emma’s tracker is stationary; she’s still there. And bring me that bastard father of hers.”
I grip the steering wheel tighter, the leather groaning under my fingers. The night air is thick with tension, the streets an open stage for this dark ballet.
The line crackles as Rocco responds, obedience clear even through the static. “On it, boss.”
Leone hangs up, his gaze is fixed on the phone screen, tracking Fallon’s movements like a hawk. “We’re ten minutes out. Not a fucking second more.”
My foot presses harder against the accelerator, coaxing every last ounce of speed from the machine beneath us. Time is slipping through our fingers, and every heartbeat pounds a relentless rhythm—catch them.
Suddenly, Leone’s phone erupts with a ringtone that slices through the Bluetooth. Vittorio. His name flashes across the Bluetooth, and Leone answers with a swipe.
“Talk to me,” he demands, ice coating each syllable.
“Spoke to Stevens,” comes Vittorio’s voice, tight and urgent. “Stevens says they’re heading for the airstrip. He’s stalling the pilot and warning him not to take off. Apparently, he owed Marcus a favor he didn’t realize it was kidnapping Fallon.”
“Fuck!” The curse explodes from Leone, raw and primal.
“Step on it,” he orders, though I’m already driving like hell itself is chasing us.
“There’s a hangar west of the city.”
“Good.” Leone abruptly ends the call and grabs the radio to alert our men following us. We are roughly ten minutes behind them from the map on the dash’s screen.
“I’ve sent coordinates. They’re headed there,” Leone tells our men. “I want every road blocked off. Track the signal,” Leone commands.
“Headed west, just like Stevens said,” I confirm, forcing the car to its limits.
“Drive faster,” Leone urges. “If she has run, I swear I’ll make her regret the day she was born.”
THIRTY-NINE
FALLON
The world outside the car window blurs, a streaky mess of darkness pierced by sharp beams of light from the cars trailing us. Marcus notices them too, curses and floors it.
“Marcus!” I shriek, knowing that it will be Leone and his men.
“I know I see them. We aren’t far out now,” Marcus answers. My heart races in tandem with the engine’s roar as Marcus presses harder on the gas pedal. His jaw is set, determination etched into every line of his face.
“Almost there,” he mutters, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. “Pilot’s prepping for a quick takeoff.”
We swerve onto the tarmac, tires screeching in protest against the asphalt. The private jet looms ahead, a beacon of hope against a backdrop of chaos. As we skid to a halt, Marcus doesn’t wait for the car to fully stop. Instead, we come to an abrupt halt as he jams the brakes, and he’s out and rushing to my side of the car. He rips the door open.
“Go, go!” Marcus yells at me, I scramble after him, my legs unsteady from both fear and urgency as Marcus runs ahead, yelling for the pilot to take off. I rush up the steps as cars suddenly tear onto the tarmac. Marcus rushes to the front of the plane, yelling for the pilot to take off.
