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Another car barrels onto the tarmac, cutting off our path to freedom. It skids to a halt, its silhouette ominous against the runway lights.
“Run them over if you have to!” Marcus shouts back to the pilot, but his command is swallowed by the roar of another engine dying. A terrifying silence falls over the chaos, and my blood runs cold.
“Marcus!” I scream, dashing toward the front of the plane where he has a gun aimed at the pilot’s head.
“Fly the damn plane!”
“Shoot me, it’ll be kinder than whatever he does to me!” The pilot’s voice cracks, desperation laced thickly in his plea. My breath hitches, my heart slamming against my ribs as I stare at the man who unknowingly ferried me into hell. He doesn’t understand that death is a mercy Leone never grants easily, and if he doesn’t take off, we are all as good as dead.
“Start the fucking plane!” Marcus roars at him but the man just stands there. Marcus presses the gun to his head. The man doesn’t flinch.
“If you think I’d cross a Pressutti you are mistaken. Hopefully, he takes mercy on me and doesn’t kill the rest of my family.” The pilot states, hitting a button on the wall and suddenly, the door of the plane swings open, and my heart stops.
Leone steps inside with a cool menace that chills the air itself. “I warned you,” he says, his voice dark and threatening.
I back up, nearly stumbling over my feet, my mind racing for options that aren’t there. I glimpse Marcus out of the corner of my eye, his hand tightening around the gun he’s now pointing at Leone.
“Marcus, don’t!” My voice is barely a whisper, but it’s enough to make him hesitate.
Leone chuckles—a sound more terrifying than any shout could be. It’s then that the pilot moves back into the cockpit like a shadow, fluid and silent, returning and pressing the cold barrel of a gun against the back of Marcus’s head.
“Drop your gun,” the pilot orders, his voice edged with a terror equal to my own.
Marcus complies, his jaw set hard, the muscles working beneath his stubble as he grinds his teeth in anger and resignation.
“I didn’t know she was your wife,” the pilot says to Leone, desperation infusing every word. “He told me he was doing a drop-off, I swear.”
My heart pounds like a drum, fear, and desperation clawing at my throat as I watch Leone approach Marcus. “My father has spoken to Dr. Stevens,” Leone says with deceptive calm as he moves toward Marcus.
“You’ll be free to go.” Then, quick as a viper, he strikes, punching Marcus in the stomach. He crumples like paper, and the sharp crack is sickening when Leone’s knee meets his face. Marcus is out cold on the floor.
“Marcus!” I scream, my voice breaking and Leone turns to face me. My legs want to buckle, but I force myself to run, to flee to the back of the plane. But before I can escape this flying prison, Milo’s arms are around me, pulling me back with terrifying strength. I thrash in his hold, fighting with every fiber of my being.
“Let me go!” The words are raw, torn from my lips as I struggle against Milo’s iron grip.
Leone watches us with a cold smile, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. He steps closer, and I can feel his breath on my skin as he brushes my cheek with a gentleness that belies the monster within. “You just gambled his life and your father’s away,” he whispers venomously.
“Please, Leone...” I begin to beg, my voice trembling as I realize how powerless I am in his grasp.
Before I can say another word, Leone’s lips crash onto mine, swallowing my pleas in a bruising kiss that leaves me breathless and disoriented. It’s a punishing reminder of my place in his world—a possession, a plaything. I hate the way my body betrays me, responding to his touch despite the terror flooding my veins.
The plane door opens again, and someone hands Leone something—I can’t see what it is through the tears blurring my vision. All I know is the sense of impending doom that settles over me like a death shroud.
“Please, don’t hurt them,” I manage between choked sobs.
“It’s too late,” he murmurs, and the world tilts on its axis as I feel a sharp pinch against my neck.
“Wha—” My voice is slurred, cut off by the sudden lightheadedness that overwhelms me. Milo’s arms loosen, and I stagger forward, clutching at my neck. A wet sensation trickles down where the needle pierced my skin.
My gaze falls to Leone’s hand, the needle glinting ominously in the cabin light. He holds it between his fingers like one might admire a fine cigar, appraising its use with a detached curiosity that chills me to the bone.
“Leone... what have you—” I can barely get the words out. The plane swims around me, seats and windows blurring into a smeared canvas of terror. My legs buckle, and the floor seems to rise to meet me.
“Shhh, Fallon, it will all be over soon,” Leone coos, stepping closer as my knees hit the carpeted floor of the plane. His eyes are dark pools, void of empathy, enjoying the spectacle of my body succumbing to whatever cocktail he’s injected into my bloodstream.
I try to push myself away, my hands scraping against the plush fibers, but my strength is fading fast. Leone’s face is the last thing I see before my vision tunnels to darkness.
My eyelids are heavy, drooping once, twice—then everything goes black.
