Through the bridge tunnel. Along the riverside. Around the corner. Soon, Alex locked on to the two SUVs ahead.
The vehicles were speeding. No guessing needed—everyone knew Santino had booked a therapist. But that unmistakable smell of urine hinted at just how miserable his crew must have been in the car.
Watching them race ahead, Alex smirked.
"Find a chance—hit them head-on!" he ordered.
But before the command could fully land, two trucks turned at a traffic light, barreling straight toward Alex's SUVs. Simultaneously, a five-second death alert triggered in his mind.
His mental image: the two trucks slammed the gas and flipped over his SUVs with immense force. But the image froze before the crash.
"Brake!" Alex commanded. Heather, the Sisterhood driver, slammed on the brakes. Two loud thuds echoed as the SUVs scraped the guardrails.
"Reverse! Go around them!" Alex barked. His goal was clear: Santino had to die. No delays unless absolutely forced to fight.
Heather's driving was precise. A reverse drift sent the SUVs skimming past the trucks. But just then, some wobbling bounty hunters on the side took shots.
Rat-a-tat-tat! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bullets cracked the glass, spider-webbing the windshields. The light ballistic glass held, and the convoy pressed forward, continuing the pursuit of Santino.
At the next traffic light, less than fifty meters from their targets, trouble arrived again: two heavy cargo trucks barreled straight at them. On the sidewalks, four or five bounty hunters drew pistols, aiming at Alex's SUVs.
This time, Alex didn't wait for the death alert. He drew his pistol, rolled down the window, and aimed at the cab of one of the trucks—entering full combat mode.
No need for premonitions: the outcome was obvious.
Heather immediately slammed the car into reverse, flooring it backward. The other SUV mirrored the maneuver.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
During the reversal, Alex fired. Bullets pierced the windshield and into the cab. Blood sprayed, staining the glass crimson. The truck's horn blared as it collided violently with the roadside, sending the bounty hunters hurtling into a stone wall.
Anna fired at the other truck, aiming for its tires since the cab was out of reach. Bang! Bang! Bang!
The enormous tires shredded, the speeding truck flipped, hitting the curb and demolishing the store fronts in its path. Crisis neutralized.
Heather shifted back into drive, pressing forward to continue the chase of Santino's SUVs. After a few dozen meters, the SUVs turned into an alley—the location of the therapist's clinic.
Alex had Heather stop at the alley entrance. Only two minor bounty hunter ambushes occurred along the route, indicating Santino had already coordinated with Daniel for the setup.
Just as the Sisterhood prepared to exit, Alex's phone pinged. He halted them, checked the message:
[Santino has arrived at the clinic. Alley length: 500 meters. Three intersections; leftmost path is fastest. Note: 60 elite killers from the Camorra and Hallstatt positioned in the alley.]
"Drive forward a few meters, then exit."
Pocketing his phone, Alex made his decision. Even with minor ballistic protection, in a tight alley, a grenade, Molotov, or spikes could disable their tires—trapping them inside.
Alex led four Sisterhood members, Anna another four, and they approached the alley entrance. He scanned the rapidly approaching SUVs. Alex led the charge into the alley.
Instantly, combat information floated in his mind:
[9mm round: danger 50% | trajectory: chest | avoid: shift left 10cm]
[9mm round: danger 33% | trajectory: right leg | avoid: bend right shin]
[9mm round: danger 71% | trajectory: neck | avoid: move head 10cm]
Peak human reflexes activated. Alex planted his right foot, sidestepped left. Bullets zipped past his ear, perfectly avoided. The alley had become a deadly chessboard—and Alex was three moves ahead.
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