41

41
ARIA

The glass didn't break. A second bullet ran through the air—and this time it shattered the side mirror into pieces. I covered my ears with my hands, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest.
Sandro had both hands on the steering wheel as he accelerated. I screamed when he swerved into the other lane, catching me off guard as my body tensed in the seat. He quickly regained control.
To say I was terrified—would be biggest fucking downplay. But Sandro on the other hand, appeared to be as calm as ever. He had clearly been through something like that before while I couldn't comprehend that someone was trying to kill us.
I had never been more grateful for bulletproof windows.
"Sandro—what the fuck?" I said, my voice shaking uncontrollably. That was all I could say in that moment.
"Stay down, you hear me?" Sandro said, sparing me a quick glance as we sped past dark trees. There was no one around besides us and the car attempting to run us off the road.
"Yeah, I hear you," I said, holding onto the sides of the seat as if my life depended on it. It probably did. Don't panic. Don't panic. I could feel my chest tightening, just as another bullet hit the bumper of the car.
Tires were squealing and the smell of burning rubber hit me. We were going unbelievably, and dangerously fast. I was low in my seat, and I peeked through the gap to see that the van had no lights. I looked away, lowering myself further as my chest heaved from the panic arising.
"Bellissima," Sandro said, catching my attention. My head whipped to gaze at him and he had his jaw clenched until he spoke again.
"Are you okay?" he asked, and I looked at him incredulously. Was I okay? I was far from it, but I swallowed hard before answering.
"Yes."
"Good. Because you have to drive."
My face contorted into pure shock. Drive? I couldn't tell if he was joking or not. He must have been joking.
"That's insane, Sandro," I yelled, the wind and engine noise nearly drowning out my voice. I grit my teeth when another bullet lodged itself into the unbreakable glass. What the fuck is happening? Suddenly, Sandro slowed down—the speed decreasing significantly. My eyes were wide and my chest felt tighter than it was a minute ago.
"Drive or shoot?" he asked, and I let out a shaky breathy.
"Sandro, I-"
"Drive or shoot?" he asked again, emphasising the question and I knew I had no other choice.
"Fuck!" I hissed, keeping my head down as I snapped the seatbelt off me before manoeuvring onto his lap. He was underneath me, his chest flushed against my back and I felt his hands go to my hips.
"Steady. Take control of the acceleration baby, you're doing so good," he said and if I wasn't as focused as I was, I would have glared at him. Fuck.
I calmed down as I listened to his words, telling myself that Sandro wouldn't let anything happen to me. Even when the van started tailgated us. Who the fuck were those people? I kept my questions for later, knowing that I needed to follow Sandro's instructions. I replaced my foot with his and I felt him tap my thigh to let me know that he was going to move.
"You got this," he told me, but it didn't feel that way.
My hands were trembling as Sandro lifted me off him, sliding out from underneath me and slumping into the passenger seat. He did it with a surprising ease.
I didn't remember the road being that long and dark, but it was suddenly formidable in every sense of the word. I sunk low in the seat, holding on the steering wheel as I looked at the rear view mirror – seeing the tinted van just inches away. They weren't shooting anymore, just following us.
At least that's what I thought until a man stuck his upper half through the window and pointed a big gun into our direction. He started firing.
Sandro chuckled humourlessly, shaking his head. "I'm going to kill every single one of them."
My life was flashing before my eyes, and Sandro just seemed annoyed at the disturbance.
"Pay attention to the road," he said, reaching into the glove compartment to pull out a tiny object. It was round, clasped into his hand and I did a quick double take.
"You said you were going to shoot," I said, and the wind hit us even harder when he rolled down the window.
"I changed my mind," he said, biting onto the pin and pulling it out of the grenade. What the—Sandro held it between his fingers, not letting of the ticking time bomb. Oh my God. We were actually going to die. Why the fuck was he still holding it?
I could imagine our deaths—caused by an explosion from inside the car and the aftermath would leave us unrecognisable. It was a scary fucking thought. It was a few seconds later when Sandro stuck his hand onto the window, dropping the grenade directly onto the ground and we sped past it. Another second later, just as the van drove over it—it exploded.
Woah.
If he was going to do that, then why the fuck was I driving?
"Stop the car, amore mio," he said, speaking to me in such a gentle tone despite what was happening. I listened to him, slowing down before coming to a complete stop.
The van was flung onto its roof, engulfed by bright flames and black petrol smoke. I gulped, still holding onto the steering wheel in a tight grip. My heart was pounding—and my entire body was shaking, until Sandro held my face and made me look at him.
"Good job," he said, cupping my cheeks as he inspected me. Good job? Now wasn't the time to activate my praise kink.
"Let go," he whispered, sliding his fingers over mine and my hold on the steering wheel loosened. My shoulder relaxed, and I took continuous deep breaths.
"Stay here, okay?" he muttered, taking his gun and exiting the car.
"Sandro, what if they're still—" I stopped midsentence when he continued to ignore me.
I clenched my jaw in an attempt to stop myself from yelling out to him. I had to remind myself that Sandro was highly trained— in more ways than one. It was evident in the way he handled himself, so I sat down in the seat and watched him walk to the burning van in the rear view mirror.
He had his gun at his side, holding it as he approached the van. Sandro stuffed the gun into the back of his pants and reached through the window of the van, dragging out a man dressed in all black.
He bent down, asking him something that I couldn't hear and when the barely conscious man shook his head—Sandro reached for his gun one more time. He raised it, cocking it once and that's when he planted a bullet directly into the man's skull, utterly unfazed.
I gasped, the now dead body falling slack onto the ground.
"Shit," I mumbled, unable to pry my eyes away from the gruesome sight. Another body started crawling out of van and Sandro must have heard the movement because he straightened up, making his way over to the man attempting to get away.
When he raised his gun, he paused—as if he was remembering the face. It was too dark for me to see.
Sandro put his gun away.
He grabbed the man by the collar of his jacket, lifting him to slam his body against the side of the car. This time, I heard his voice loud and clear.
"You just can't leave us alone, can you?" Sandro asked, and I heard a small whimper in response.
I turned away, facing forward. I didn't know who he was talking to, but it sounded as if the both of us were involved. If Sandro hadn't told me to stay seated, I would've been out there. I ran a hand over my face, having to physically stop myself from opening the door. I was curious but in this case scenario—curiosity would ultimately lead to something unwanted.
My heart rate finally returned to a normal pace, but my hands were still slightly shaking. Just then, another van pulled up—and I fully thought that was it. We going to be shot full of holes. But the door slid open and Carlo, Elijah and a few unfamiliar faces came to view.
I breathed out a sigh of relief. Sandro must have alerted them as soon as it happened. I felt bad about Carlo's birthday party being interrupted by whatever the fuck that was, but I was also undeniably happy to see them.
"Keep this one alive. I want to talk to him," Sandro said, shoving the man into the arms of Elijah. He had his head down—his face still hidden by the eerie shadows casted from the trees.
"Alessandro made you drive?" Carlo asked, leaning his forearm against the roof of the car as he looked down at me. He didn't look mad – not in the least.
"He did," I breathed, nodding my head.
He chucked, "I can't believe him."
"I know, right? The little fucker—" I whispered but in that moment, I loved Sandro a little more.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm fine—just a little shaky," I replied, and it must have been the adrenaline still pumping through my veins.
Carlo stepped back, and I caught Elijah dragging the unknown man by the back of his neck. He shoved him into the van, and the light on the inside lit up his wincing and bloodied face. My jaw dropped, instantly recognising him. How the fuck—