Chapter 3 - ROADS COATED IN BLOODThe elevator descended in total silence, dropping deep beneath the foundations of the estate until it hit the bottom with a quiet thud.
The doors slid open, revealing a cavernous, concrete bunker lit by dim emergency LEDs. Parked in the center was a massive, matte-black Mercedes G-Wagon, its windows thick with bulletproof glass.
My hands shook so hard I could barely open the driver's door. I scrambled into the leather interior, tore open the glovebox, and found the key fob alongside a small black smartphone and a silver snub-nosed revolver.
I pushed the start button. The heavy V8 engine roared to life, its deep rumble echoing off the concrete walls.
Above me, distant explosions reverberated through the ceiling. The mansion was being torn apart. Carmine was up there, fighting an army of mercenaries alone—all because he had chosen to protect me instead of handing me over to the Morettis.
I have to go back, a voice inside me screamed. He told you to run, another voice countered. If you stay, his sacrifice was for nothing.
Tears blurring my vision, I threw the SUV into reverse, slammed on the gas, and backed up toward a heavy metal garage door at the end of the tunnel. I slammed the remote button attached to the visor. The hydraulic door groaned open, revealing a steep asphalt ramp leading up into the storm.
I floored the accelerator. The heavy vehicle shot up the ramp, bursting out into the heavy rain behind a dense thicket of pine trees at the edge of the DeLuca property.
I steered onto the muddy back road, my headlights cutting through the blinding downpour. Up on the hill, I could see the DeLuca mansion outlined against the dark sky. Plumes of black smoke were rising from the eastern wing, illuminated by flashes of gunfire and orange flames.
My chest cracked with grief. Carmine.
Suddenly, two blinding high beams flared to life in my rearview mirror.
A black pickup truck burst out from the woods behind me, its heavy iron grill charging fast. Before I could hit the brakes, the truck slammed hard into my rear bumper.
The impact jerked my neck back violently. The G-Wagon skidded across the slick asphalt, tires squealing against the wet road, but the heavy vehicle stabilized itself thanks to its specialized traction system.
I looked in the mirror. Sitting in the passenger seat of the pickup was a man with a scarred face, holding a high-powered rifle out the window.
It was Rocco.
He was alive. His neck was wrapped in thick white bandages, stained deep red with blood, but his eyes were wide, bloodshot, and filled with unhinged, murderous rage. Carmine hadn't killed him downstairs—he had left him for dead, and Rocco had survived long enough to seek vengeance.
“You can’t run, maid!” Rocco’s voice roared through a bullhorn from the truck. “Your boss is dead! And now you’re coming with us!”
Rocco raised his rifle and fired. A volley of bullets hammered into the back window of the G-Wagon. The glass cracked into a spiderweb pattern, but held strong under the bulletproof layer.
I pressed my foot down, forcing the speedometer up to eighty, ninety, one hundred miles per hour down the winding mountain road. The heavy rain reduced visibility to almost zero. Trees blurred past like shadowy monsters.
The pickup matched my speed, pulling up beside me on the narrow, two-lane road. Rocco rolled down his window further, leaning out with a heavy steel crowbar, swinging it violently against my driver-side mirror, shattering it into pieces.
"Pull over, Ivy!" he screamed over the roar of the wind and rain. "Or I'll push you off the cliff!"
To my left was a sheer drop-off into the roaring Snake River canyon, hundreds of feet below.
Panic threatened to consume me, but then I looked down at the passenger seat. The silver revolver lay resting on the leather, gleaming under the dashboard lights.
Carmine’s words echoed in my mind: “Men like that make choices, Ivy. Then they repeat them until someone stops them.”
I wasn't the weak, terrified girl cleaning floors anymore. I was Elena Vance’s daughter. I was the target of an international syndicate, and if I didn't fight back right now, I was going to end up at the bottom of the river.
I gripped the steering wheel tight with my left hand, picked up the silver revolver with my right, and rolled down the driver-side window just two inches.
The icy rain and rushing wind blasted into the cabin.
Rocco laughed, believing I was reaching out to surrender. "That's a good girl! Stop the—"
I didn't stop. I jerked the steering wheel hard to the left, intentionally slamming twenty thousand pounds of armored German engineering straight into the side of his pickup truck.
The metal groaned and screeched. The pickup wobbled wildly toward the edge of the cliff.
Before Rocco could recover, I pointed the revolver through the narrow window opening, aimed directly at his front driver-side tire, and pulled the trigger three times.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The tire exploded in a cloud of rubber and sparks. The pickup truck spun out of control, flipping twice over the guardrail, crashing down into the dark abyss of the canyon below.
A heavy, fiery explosion illuminated the valley floor moments later, followed by absolute silence.
I slammed on the brakes, the G-Wagon coming to a halt in the middle of the empty highway. I sat there, gasping for air, the smoking gun dropping from my numb fingers onto the floor mat.
I had survived.
Suddenly, the black smartphone on the dashboard began to buzz violently. An unknown number flashed on the screen.
I answered it with a trembling hand, pressing the speaker to my ear.
"Ivy?" a voice rasped through heavy static.
My heart nearly stopped. "Carmine?!"
"Listen to me carefully," Carmine whispered, his voice weak, interrupted by heavy coughing. "Don't go to Seattle... It's a trap... They know... they know about..."
"Carmine! Where are you?! Are you injured?"
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"The police... aren't coming..." Carmine groaned, the sound of metal scraping echoing in the background. "They're led by... your father's murderer... Ivy, look at the check... look under the... stamp..."
The line went dead with a sharp burst of static.
