The streets grew narrower the farther we moved from the main square. The old Sicilian stone rising on either side of us like a corridor closing in. The air was thick with confusion. Tourists clustered in uncertain pockets, local murmuring sharply to one another, sirens wailing somewhere too close for comfort.
Police officers lined the edges of the buildings, their presence theatrical rather than protective. They weren't scanning rooftops. And they definitely weren't securing civilians.
No, they were watching out for Arturo.
Perhaps, also for me.
My grandfather's money had bought their loyalty decades ago. Corruption, once seeded, tended to bloom for generations.
I adjusted the black mask over my nose, steadying my breathing as I kept my eyes trained on the back of Alex's head. He moved with intent, his men fanning subtly around him, forming a loose perimeter that would look like coincidence to anyone who didn't know better.
We were close. Close enough that I could feel the hunt tightening.
Something cold pressed into my abdomen.
I stopped immediately.
The precise, unyielding pressure of sharpened steel, pushing through the fabric of my loose shirt, pressing against my bulletproof vest underneath.
I lowered my gaze slowly only to find a knife, positioned to kill.
The crowd wove around us, unaware.
When I lifted my eyes, I already know who I would find.
Camilla stood inches from me, half-concealed by the steady flow of pedestrians. Her arm was angled carefully, the knife hidden from casual view, its tip still pressed firmly against my abdomen. There was no tremor in her grip. No hesitation in her stance.
She had come prepared.
"Found you," she said quietly, her voice more cutting than the blade between us.
The pressure against my stomach increased just enough to leave no room for misunderstanding.
I held her gaze.
"So," I asked, switching to Italian, my tone measured, "whose side are you on now? My grandfather's...or your father's?"
Her eyes darkened.
"Certainly not yours," she answered in Italian, each word deliberate.
Something in my chest tightened. Not from fear, but from the finality in her voice.
My lips curved faintly, though there was no humor in it. I turned fully toward her, ignoring the knife, forcing her to either retreat or actually draw blood.
"So what now?" I asked.
Her jaw flexed.
"I'm taking you with me."
"Then you should've brought more than a knife," I retorted.
Her eyes flickered, just once, but that was enough.
I moved first.
I stepped into her space instead of away from it, trapping her knife arm between our bodies before she could adjust. My hand shot down, clamping around her wrist while my other elbow drove sharply into the side of her forearm. Pain forced her grip to loosen just enough.
She reacted fast.
She twisted, trying to drag the blade upward toward my ribs but the vest held firm. I pivoted, turning my hips and pulling her arm across my centerline. The motion unbalanced her. I used it.
My knee drove into her thigh.
Her fingers finally slipped.
The knife clattering against the stone.
For a split second, we were chest to chest, breathing the same air, the crowd still oblivious around us.
"I don't want to hurt you," I murmured.
"Liar," she breathed back.
I shoved her backward and ducked low, disappearing into the surge of bodies just as shouts erupted down the street.
A gunshot cracked in the distance.
Then another.
Civilians screamed and dropped their hands over their heads. Bodies flattening against the pavement in blind instinct.
All of them, except us.
We remained standing.
Then came the sharp screech of tires up ahead.
I turned, seeing the black car cut violently around the corner at the far end of the street. Arturo was getting away.
Alex and his men were already in pursuit. Their weapons drawn as they disappeared into the next alley. So I ran after them.
Footsteps pounded behind me almost immediately.
I didn't need to look back to know who it was.
Camilla.
Sergio's voice echoed in my head, the promise I made him last night. That I would try my best to keep her safe.
"She's escaping!" someone shouted.
And that was when it settled in.
Fuck. This was a trap.
I pushed harder, weaving through bodies pressed against the pavement and abandoned bags scattered across the stone. My lungs burned as the roar of engines grew louder ahead, tire screeching against ancient cobblestones.
Behind me, Camilla's footsteps never faltered.
If anything, they grew louder.
I cut sharply to the left, slipping into a narrower side passage in the hopes of losing her in the maze of ancient stone corridors. I didn't even bother chasing the car anymore. Alex and his men would handle Arturo.
Right now, I needed to lose the tail determined to put a blade in my back.
The alley constricted quickly, the walls closing in as sunlight thinned overhead into a narrow strip between weathered buildings. The roar of engines echoing somewhere far ahead, distorted by the stone and distance.
Too far now.
Still, I pushed forward—
And collided with solid force.
Camilla slammed into me from behind, her weight driving us both into the wall. My shoulder struck stone hard enough to send a sharp pulse down my arm.
Before I could recover, she hooked her arm around my throat and dragged me backward, pulling me deeper into the shadow of the alley.
"Not so tough now, are you?" she hissed near my ear.
I drove my heel down onto her foot.
She grunted but didn't let go.
I twisted, dropping my weight suddenly and slipping sideways just enough to break the choke. My elbow snapped back into her ribs. Once. Twice.
She staggered, but recovered fast. Faster than most.
Of course she did. We were trained by the same man, after all. Her father.
She lunged.
This time, there was no blade. Just fists.
We crashed into each other, striking and blocking in tight quarters where there was already barely any room to breathe. My back hit the opposite wall. She swung and I ducked, catching her wrist and redirected the blow into the stone behind me. Skin split against brick.
She didn't even cry out. She was used to the pain.
Her knee drove into my abdomen, forcing the air from my lungs despite the vest. I shoved her off and pivoted, sweeping her legs out from under her. She hit the ground hard.
I didn't hesitate.
I straddled her, pinning her wrists to the pavement, pressing my forearm against her throat just enough to remind her I could end it if I wanted to.
But I made a promise to a certain someone.
"You betrayed us," she spat.
"My family betrayed me first," I shot back.
Camilla lay beneath me, pinned hard against the stone, my forearm pressing against her throat. Her muscles strained violently under my weight, breath sawing in and out of her chest, but there was no fear in her eyes, only defiance. It dragged me back years ago, when her father forced us to spar in the courtyard, leaving the ring bruised and bloodied.
"I don't want to hurt you," I breathed, my voice raw.
I had the upper hand now. One decisive strike and this would be over.
"Fuck you," she snarled, her lip splitting under her teeth.
My grip tightened.
Then something cold pressed against the back of my head.
The unmistakable, unyielding mouth of a gun barrel against my skull, right at the base where bone thins and life ends quickly. I've had it pointed at me enough times to know the feeling without looking.
"Don't," a voice warned behind me.
I lifted my eyes slowly to find one of my grandfather's men with his expression carved from stone. I recognized him immediately. He had been the one overseeing the training rotations months ago. The one who had given me the opportunity to teach Sergio a lesson.
Now his weapon was leveled at my head.
This wasn't Arturo's trap.
No, this was my grandfather's.
The realization split through my focus like a blade. And in that single second, I felt Camilla's body coil beneath me.
She exploded upward with violent force, twisting her hips and bucking hard enough to dislodge my balance. My forearm slipped from her throat, my weight shifting just enough.
That was all she needed.
Something slammed into the side of my head with brutal precision. Whether it was her fist or a stone, I couldn't tell. Lightning tearing through my vision from the sheer impact alone.
My body staggered sideways, and this time, there was no one to catch me now as the alley tilted. Walls folding in and out of themselves. I landed on the ground, crashing against the stone.
Through the ringing in my ears, I could feel her move again.
Her hand tangled in my hair, fisting it tight against my scalp as she wrenched my head back, then drove it forward.
My skull collided with the wall in a sickening crack that reverberated through bone and teeth.
Light splintered.
My limbs refused to respond.
The last thing I saw before darkness consumed me was Camilla, standing over me. Her face devoid of triumph, of mercy, stripped down to something colder than hatred.
Then everything went black.