Chapter 8 - The Journey North
By midnight, the armored black SUV was speeding northward through the dark, winding mountain roads toward the Adirondacks.
Sitting in the backseat with Lily asleep against my shoulder, I watched the dense pine forests blur past in the moonlight. Vincenzo was driving, his eyes constantly darting between the winding road and the rearview mirror, while another armed operative sat in the front passenger seat scanning the treeline with thermal binoculars.
“We’re thirty minutes out from the safehouse,” Vincenzo muttered into his radio mic, his voice crackling with static. “Clear the perimeter upon arrival.”
I clutched my coat tighter around myself, my mind racing back to the Westchester estate, to Dominic standing alone in his study, and to the terrifying realization that I cared far more about a ruthless mafia boss than any ordinary employee ever should. Over the past six years, I had seen Dominic as a cold, untouchable tyrant. But watching him kneel before my daughter, watching the raw, agonizing terror in his eyes when his son’s life hung by a thread, had shattered every preconceived notion I ever had about him.
Suddenly, the front tires of the SUV shrieked against the asphalt.
The vehicle violently swerved to the right, crashing through a wooden guardrail and slamming hard into a snowbank. The airbags deployed with a deafening pop, filling the cabin with thick white smoke.
“Ambush!” Vincenzo roared, drawing his weapon in a fraction of a second and kicking open his door.
Gunfire erupted from the dark tree line. Bullets sparked violently against the armored chassis of the SUV, punching clean holes through the side panels.
“Get down!” the front passenger shouted, firing back through the shattered windshield with a submachine gun.
Panic seized my chest. I threw my body over Lily, shielding her small frame with my own as glass shattered inward like diamond dust.
“Vincenzo!” I screamed over the roar of gunfire. “We’re sitting ducks!”
“Stay in the footwell!” Vincenzo yelled back, firing rapid bursts into the dark woods before taking a round to his shoulder. He grunted, stumbling back against the door. “They knew our route! There’s a leak inside the security detail!”
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The realization hit me with sickening clarity: Petrov didn't just guess our movements. Someone in Dominic’s inner circle had sold our exact coordinates to the assassins.
Before I could even process the betrayal, the rear door of the SUV was ripped open by a gloved hand, and the cold barrel of a silencer pressed directly against my temple.
