Chapter 13 - Flight Through the Night
The convoy of four armored SUVs tore through the outskirts of Chicago, speeding north along the rain-slicked highway toward the secluded Moretti retreat in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin.
Teresa sat in the back of the second vehicle, wrapped in a cashmere blanket, exhausted but resolute. I sat between her and Luca, whose hand had remained firmly locked around mine from the moment we left the Drake.
"Julian is desperate," Luca said, speaking into a secure comms line linked to his lieutenants. "He knows once the sun rises, the council will sanction his elimination. That’s why he tried the poison. He has no army left—only rogue mercenaries and cutthroats."
"Luca, look behind us," I said, glancing out the heavily tinted rear window.
Through the mist and the darkness of the desolate interstate, four pairs of high beams suddenly flared to life, accelerating rapidly toward our bumper.
"Contact rear!" Marco shouted from the passenger seat. "Two blacked-out trucks! They’re closing fast!"
"Accelerate," Luca ordered calmly, reaching beneath his seat and pulling out a heavy tactical automatic weapon. "Do not engage until we pass the state line. I don't want local law enforcement drawn into the crossfire."
The lead pursuing truck slammed directly into the rear of our chase vehicle. The metallic crunch reverberated through the night air. Sparks showered the asphalt as the vehicles wrestled for control at ninety miles per hour.
Teresa didn't scream. She closed her eyes and began to recite a quiet prayer in Sicilian, her fingers tightening around her rosary.
"Emily, get on the floorboards," Luca commanded, his voice tight.
"I’m staying right beside her," I said firmly, grabbing Teresa’s hand with my left and holding onto the leather headrest with my right. "Just do what you need to do!"
Luca gave me a single, fierce nod of respect. He lowered the armored side glass an inch, leveled his weapon through the reinforced firing port, and waited for the pursuing truck to pull alongside.
The enemy truck drew level, its side door sliding open to reveal two gunmen wielding submachine guns.
Before they could squeeze their triggers, Luca fired.
Three precise, deafening bursts shattered the truck’s front tires and driver's window. The vehicle lurched violently, caught the gravel shoulder, flipped violently three times in a shower of twisted metal and flames, and crashed into the concrete embankment.
The second pursuing truck swerved to avoid the wreckage, skidding wildly across the wet lanes before spinning out into a ditch.
Silence reclaimed the interior of our vehicle, save for the hum of the engine and the heavy sound of Luca’s breathing.
Luca rolled up the reinforced glass, set the weapon down, and pulled me back up onto the seat. He inspected my face, his eyes searching every inch. "Are you hurt?"
"No," I whispered, adrenaline coursing through my veins. "I’m fine."
Teresa opened her eyes, letting out a soft sigh. "Good shooting, sweetheart. Now, please tell me the lake house has coffee."
May you like
Luca let out a short, incredulous laugh, the tension breaking like thin glass. "It has whatever you want, Ma. We’re twenty minutes out."
***