Then came the attack.
That memory still felt fresh.
Still violent.
Still capable of stealing my breath.
They weren’t taking chances again.
Dario exited the SUV first.
He stepped out slowly, scanning left and right before moving to my door. His eyes tracked rooftops, parked cars, distant treelines—always calculating threats before they materialized.
Ethan came around to my other side.
The door opened.
Cold air rushed in.
Dario reached for me first.
Ethan followed.
They helped me out carefully—one arm under mine from each side, lifting me like I weighed nothing and everything at the same time.
My legs trembled the moment my feet touched the asphalt.
Pain shot through my thighs where the wounds from the warehouse still hadn’t healed.
Every step dragged.
Every movement pulled at raw tissue.
I bit down on my lip to keep from making a sound.
Luca walked ahead of us, clearing the path with a sharp gesture to the security detail.
Men shifted instantly.
Weapons adjusted.
Eyes moved.
Marco, Nico, and Vito formed behind us, locking into position like a mobile fortress.
They didn’t look relaxed.
They looked ready to kill anyone who even breathed wrong.
The metal stairs leading up to the jet felt taller than they actually were.
They loomed like a challenge.
Dario took most of my weight as we approached them.
“Almost there,” he murmured near my ear. “Just a few more steps.”
His voice was soft.
