Chapter 4 - The Getaway
The rear alleyway behind the restaurant was narrow, damp, and dimly lit by flickering yellow security lamps.
Rain had begun to fall in thin, cold sheets, glittering against the wet asphalt. A massive, bulletproof black SUV sat idling at the mouth of the alley, its exhaust curling into the night air.
Just as Dante pushed Alina into the leather interior of the rear seat, a harsh metallic burst echoed from the front of the restaurant.
Automatic gunfire shattered the heavy glass storefront.
Alina let out a terrified scream, instinctively ducking down between the seats. Dante slid into the vehicle right beside her, keeping his heavy frame planted firmly between her and the window, holding baby Leo safely against his chest.
"GO!" Dante barked to his driver.
The heavy SUV accelerated violently, its tires screeching against the wet pavement as it burst out of the alley onto the main avenue. Behind them, two dark sedans swerved out of the restaurant parking lot, their high beams flashing as they pursued the armored vehicle through the city streets.
Inside the SUV, Alina was shaking violently, her hands clutched around her apron. "This is crazy! This is insane! They're shooting at us!"
"Cover her," Dante ordered Marco, who was sitting in the front passenger seat leaning out the window with an automatic rifle.
Dante looked down at Alina, his broad, tattooed hand reaching down to grasp her cold, trembling shoulder. "Stay low on the floor. Leo, shh... you're safe, little man."
Surprisingly, Leo wasn't crying. Clutched against his father's broad chest, the baby reached out his small hand from beneath Dante’s arm, grabbing onto Alina’s thumb once again.
Alina felt the tiny, warm grip on her finger. Despite the roaring engine, the blinding headlights behind them, and the terrifying gunfire echoing down the avenue, a strange, overwhelming sense of clarity washed over her.
She looked up at Dante’s scarred face. He wasn't looking at her with malice or control—he was looking at her with fierce, absolute protectiveness. The exact same look her mother used to give her whenever storm clouds rolled over their tiny home.
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"Hold on!" the driver yelled as he slammed on the brakes, turning the heavy SUV sharply into a private underground concrete tunnel entrance.
The heavy iron blast doors of the Rosselli estate compound slammed shut behind them, cutting off the city noise in total, impenetrable silence.
