A pause.
Then, almost casually—
“You should check on Violet while you’re there. She’s in the same hospital. Doctors say she’s just gone into labor.”
The words hit me, strange and out of place.
Since when did Ciro care this much about Violet?
He’d mentioned her twice in the last twenty minutes.
I almost asked, but the thought slipped past me like smoke.
There was no room for it—not while Elena and my son fought for life, not knowing if my own actions would doom them.
I turned away without another word.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
Then I accelerated—striding, almost running.
I reached the nearest car—a black Lamborghini Aventador—and tore the door open.
Dropped into the driver’s seat without thinking.
My hands moved automatically—key, ignition, control.
The engine roared to life beneath me with a deep, violent snarl.
I reversed hard.
Tires screamed against the gravel.
The back end swung out sharply, spraying stones into the air like gunfire.
I corrected, slammed into drive, and shot forward.
The gates barely cleared before I floored it.
The road into Lombardy stretched ahead in long, blurred lines—sodium-orange lights streaking across black asphalt like fire bleeding into darkness.
I pushed the car faster.
Two hundred kilometers per hour.
Then more.
The engine screamed in protest.
I didn’t care.
Traffic appeared in flashes—headlights, taillights, movement.
I weaved through it with inches to spare.
Horn blared. Brakes screeched.
I didn’t look back.
