Tina sat shotgun, her hands balled into fists in her lap, nails digging into her palms. Dante drove with both hands clamped on the wheel, his eyes locked ahead, like he could will the plane to wait for them. In the backseat, Mia dozed, her little head lolling against the car seat, her bunny tucked under her chin. Tina stole a glance at her daughter, her chest tightening. We're almost there, baby. Almost free. But the ai
"Dante," she said, her voice barely cutting through the engine's growl. "That car back there. It's been with us since the turnpike."
He flicked his eyes to the rearview mirror, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "You sure?"
"Yeah. Black sedan, tinted windows. It's not speeding up or slowing down—just sticking to us."
Dante didn't answer right away. He signaled left, casual as anything, then yanked the wheel right onto a side road. The sedan followed, smooth and deliberate, its headlights slicing through the early morning haze. Tina's stomach dropped.
"Son of a bitch," Dante muttered. He punched the gas, and the car jolted forward, engine screaming. Tina braced herself, one hand slamming against the dashboard, the other reaching back toward Mia.
"Mommy?" Mia's voice piped up, sleepy and confused.
"It's okay, sweetie," Tina said, forcing the words out past the lump in her throat. "Just a little race. Hold on tight."
But it wasn't okay. The sedan roared closer, eating up the distance, and then—oh God—a gray SUV swung out from a cross street, cutting into their lane. Dante swerved hard, tires screeching, the world tilting as they narrowly missed a lamppost. Tina's heart slammed against her ribs, loud enough she swore they could hear it in the next county.
"They're boxing us in!" she yelled, twisting to watch the SUV nudge their bumper. Metal crunched, a sickening sound that made her flinch.
"I got this," Dante gritted out, though sweat beaded on his forehead. He jerked the wheel again, aiming for a gap between two parked cars, but the sedan anticipated, darting ahead to block them. Another jolt from behind—the SUV ramming them—and Dante slammed the brakes. The car fishtailed, skidding to a stop inches from the sedan's grille.
Before Tina could catch her breath, doors flew open around them. Men in dark jackets spilled out, guns gleaming in the dawn light. "Out! Now!" one barked, his voice like a gunshot itself.
Tina fumbled with Mia's buckle, her fingers shaking so bad she could barely get it undone. She yanked her daughter into her arms, Mia's whimpers muffled against her shoulder. Dante raised his hands slow, deliberate, his eyes burning with a fury Tina knew too well.
"We're getting out," he said, voice steady despite the chaos. "Don't touch them."
A big guy with a shaved head and a scar like a lightning bolt across his face grabbed Tina's arm, hauling her toward the SUV. "Move it," he snarled, his grip a vise. She stumbled, clutching Mia tighter, her sneakers scraping the pavement.
"Get your damn hands off her!" Dante shouted, lunging forward, but another thug slammed a fist into his gut, doubling him over. Tina bit back a scream, her eyes locked on Dante as he straightened, spitting blood but still glaring like he could kill them with a look.
They shoved her and Mia into the SUV's backseat, Dante crammed in beside them. The doors slammed, locking with a thud that felt final, like a coffin lid closing. The engine growled to life, and they peeled out, leaving their car abandoned on the roadside like a broken promise.
The ride was a blur of blacked-out windows and silence, broken only by Mia's soft sniffles. Tina held her close, stroking her hair, whispering nonsense about how it'd be okay, even though her own pulse was a jackhammer in her ears. Dante sat rigid, his hands flexing like he was itching to punch something—or someone. The guards up front didn't talk, didn't even glance back, their faces blank as stone.
After what felt like hours but might've been minutes, the SUV rolled to a stop. Rough hands dragged them out into a gravel lot, the crunch underfoot loud in the stillness. A hulking warehouse loomed ahead, its windows shattered, rust streaking the walls like old blood. Inside, it smelled of oil and damp concrete, the kind of place where screams wouldn't carry far.
"Sit," Scarface ordered, pointing to a couple of rickety chairs against a wall. Tina sank down, with Mia on her lap, while Dante stayed on his feet, pacing like a caged animal.
"How long we waiting?" he snapped, glaring at the guards posted by the doors.
"Till the boss shows," one said, smirking like it was a game.
Tina's gut twisted. Enzo. She could feel him already, his presence slithering closer, a snake coiled and ready to strike.
But the minutes stretched, each one heavier than the last. Dante stopped pacing, leaning close to whisper, "We need a plan. Before he gets here."
"Like what?" Tina hissed back, her voice trembling. "They've got guns, Dante. We've got nothing."
He didn't answer, just kept scanning the room, his jaw working like he was chewing on steel. The guards watched, lazy but alert, their fingers resting on triggers.
Then—footsteps. Sharp, steady, cutting through the drip-drip of a leaky pipe somewhere in the shadows. The door swung open, and there he was. Enzo. Suit crisp, hair slicked back, looking every bit the kingpin he thought he was. But his eyes—those cold, dead eyes—locked on Tina, and she felt the air sucked out of the room.
"Tina," he said, smooth as poison. "You've made a hell of a mess."
She stood, shoving Mia behind her. "Let us go, Enzo. You don't have to do this."
He laughed, low and ugly. "Oh, but I do. You think I'd let you run off with my daughter? Spill my secrets to the cops, the feds, my enemies? Your stubbornness brought us here, sweetheart."
"My stubbornness?" Her voice cracked, anger boiling up. "You're the one who turned our life into a cage! I just wanted Mia safe—away from you and your damn empire!"
Enzo stepped closer, his shadow swallowing the light. "Mia's mine. You don't get to take her. I've built everything—blood, sweat, bullets—and you're not tearing it down because you can't handle a little heat."
"A little heat?" Tina spat, tears stinging her eyes. "You hit me, Enzo. Cheated on me. Made me scared to even breathe. That's not love—that's a prison."
His face tightened, a flicker of something—guilt, maybe?—crossing it before it hardened again. "I gave you a life, Tina. Luxury, power. Most women would've kissed the ground I walked on. But you? You're too damn proud."
"Proud?" She laughed, a broken sound. "I'm fighting for my kid, you bastard."
"And losing," he said, cold as ice. He nodded to a guard, who grabbed Mia from behind Tina, ripping her away. Mia screamed, a high, piercing sound that cut straight through Tina's heart.
"No! Give her back!" Tina lunged, but Scarface caught her, pinning her arms. She thrashed, helpless, as they hauled Mia toward Enzo's sleek car waiting outside.
That's when Dante moved. Fast, reckless, he dove for the nearest guard's gun, twisting it free in one fluid motion. Shouts erupted, chaos exploding around them. He got a shot off—missed—before Scarface tackled him. They grappled, a tangle of fists and fury, until a deafening bang froze everything.
Dante crumpled, blood pooling beneath him, dark and fast. His chest heaved once, twice, then stilled, his eyes locked on Tina's, wide with shock and fading light.
"No!" she screamed, the sound raw, tearing out of her. She dropped to her knees beside him, hands pressing uselessly against the wound. "Dante, don't—please—"
Enzo loomed over them, gun in hand, his voice flat. "Your hero's dead, Tina. Look what you made me do."
She glared up at him, tears streaming, snot mixing with the salt on her lips. "I hate you. I'll kill you for this."
He crouched, close enough she could smell his cologne—sickly sweet, like rot under polish. "I loved you, you know. Still do, maybe. But I'm a man, Tina. I've got needs, ambitions. You were never gonna be enough."
He stood, raising the gun. Time slowed, the world narrowing to that black barrel staring her down. She braced herself, thinking of Mia, of Dante's last breath, of the freedom they'd almost had.
The shot cracked through the air. Pain seared her shoulder, a jagged bolt that knocked her back.
Behind her, the loading dock yawned open, the river below churning, dark and alive. Enzo's face blurred—regret, triumph, something she couldn't read. "Goodbye, Tina, I win." he said, soft, almost tender and she fell.