Marco DeLuca had made his choice. He'd chosen his criminal empire over his daughter's life, chosen power over love. He'd murdered my mother and tried to murder me.
Now he'd face consequences.
Evidence. Ammunition. Justice.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
Alessio's hand found mine again. "Somewhere safe. Somewhere he'll never find you."
"And then?"
His smile was cold, predatory. "Then we make him pay for everything."
I squeezed his fingers, felt answering pressure. Outside, the night rushed past. Behind us, my father's estate burned with gunfire and chaos. Ahead, uncertainty waited.
But I wasn't afraid anymore.
I was ready for war.
CHAPTER 11
Alessio
Irecognized the turn before the headlights found it. Same dirt road cutting through dense forest. same two-mile crawl through trees so thick they swallowed the sky. The cabin where I'd made Valentina three promises in the dark.
Different night. Same desperation.
I killed the headlights for the last quarter mile and let muscle memory guide us in. The Bugatti was absurd out here—a quarter-million-dollar machine bouncing over ruts and gravel—but we were past caring about paint jobs.
Valentina hadn't spoken since we'd left the highway. She sat rigid, staring through the windshield at nothing. The shaking from the roadside had stopped, replaced by something worse—stillness. The kind that came after the body burned through its last reserve of adrenaline and had nothing left.
I parked behind the cabin and killed the engine. Silence rushed in, thick and suffocating.
"We're here," I said, placing my hand on her shoulder.
"The cabin," she said. "From before."
"Yeah."
She nodded slowly, as if the information needed time to settle. Then she opened her door and stepped out without waiting for me.
The cabin was cold, dark, and undisturbed. Same crooked porch, same rough-hewn door. I hit the generator switch on the side of the cabin and heard it rumble to life—Domenico had serviced it since we'd been here last. Inside, the overhead light flickered on, harsh after hours of darkness. I dimmed it and lit the oil lamp on the table instead. Easier on the eyes. Easier on both of us. The single room looked the same—woodstove, couch with the folded blanket, the narrow bed against the far wall.
Domenico had it restocked since our last stay: cases of water, canned goods, dried pasta, coffee, and a fresh first aid kit. Enough for several days.
Valentina stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself. She looked smaller than I'd ever seen her.
"Sit down," I said. "I'll get the stove going."
She sank onto the couch without argument. That worried me more than the shaking had.
I loaded the woodstove with kindling and got a fire started. The cabin warmed slowly. I filled a glass of water and brought it to her.
"Drink."
She took it. Sipped. Set it down with a careful precision that told me she was concentrating on not falling apart.
"Talk to me," I said, settling beside her.
