Escape

Escape
Dante's POV

"Give me the wheel!" I shoved our driver aside and grabbed the steering wheel.

The car swerved wildly as I took control. Behind us, two black SUVs filled with Kozlov soldiers were gaining fast. Bullets pinged off our back window like angry hornets.

"Hold on!" I slammed my foot on the gas pedal.

The engine roared and we shot forward through the Brooklyn streets. I took a hard left, tires screaming against the pavement. Nico and Isabella tumbled against each other in the back seat.

"Marco, where are you?" I shouted into my earpiece.

"Two blocks behind you," Marco's voice crackled back. "I've got three cars on my tail. Luca's pinned down near the apartment building."

We were scattered. Separated. Exactly what the Kozlovs wanted.

I checked my mirror. The two SUVs were still coming, weaving through traffic like they owned the road. A man leaned out the passenger window of the first car, aiming a rifle.

"Down!" I yelled.

The back window exploded. Glass showered everywhere. Isabella screamed. Nico covered her with his body again, even though blood was still pouring from his shoulder.

I yanked the wheel right and cut through an alley so narrow the mirrors scraped against the brick walls. The first SUV tried to follow but was too wide. It crashed into a dumpster with a satisfying crunch of metal.

One down.

The second SUV went around, trying to cut us off on the next street. I saw them coming and made a split-second decision.

Instead of running, I drove straight toward them.

"Dante, what are you doing?" Nico shouted.

"Trust me!"

The SUV came at us head-on. Fifty feet. Thirty feet. Twenty feet.

At the last possible second, I jerked the wheel and squeezed between the SUV and a parked delivery truck. Metal screamed as we scraped through the gap. The SUV couldn't react in time. It slammed into the truck at full speed.

Two down.

"Where's the nearest safe house?" I demanded.

"Queens," Nico said, checking his phone with bloody fingers. "Fifteen minutes if you keep driving like this."

"I plan to."

I pushed the car to its limits, racing through red lights and weaving through intersections. My heart pounded against my ribs. Every second felt like an hour.

In the back seat, Isabella was crying softly. I wanted to comfort her, but I couldn't take my hands off the wheel or my eyes off the road.

"Nico," I said. "What was on that paper? I saw your face when you looked at your phone. Something happened."

Silence from the back seat.

"Nico!"

"Not now," he said tightly. "Focus on driving."

That told me everything I needed to know. Whatever he'd learned, it was bad. Really bad.

We made it to Queens without any more attacks. The safe house was a rundown apartment building that looked like it should be condemned. But looks were deceiving. Inside, it was a fortress.

I pulled into the underground garage and killed the engine. For a moment, we all just sat there, breathing hard, trying to process what had just happened.

Then Isabella's voice broke the silence.

"Is everyone okay?"

I turned around to look at her. Her face was pale, streaked with tears and dust. Glass fragments sparkled in her hair. But her eyes were clear, focused.

Stronger than she had any right to be.

"We're alive," I said. "That's what matters."

Nico opened his door and stumbled out. His shoulder wound looked worse in the harsh garage lights. Isabella immediately went to help him.

"We need to get inside," I said. "Get that shoulder treated."

We made our way up to the third floor apartment. Inside, I found the medical supplies and handed them to Isabella.

"You know first aid?"

"I was studying to be a doctor, remember?" She managed a weak smile. "Before all this."

While she worked on Nico's shoulder, I tried to reach my brothers. Luca's phone went straight to voicemail. Marco answered on the fifth ring.

"I'm okay," Marco said before I could ask. "Lost the tail in Midtown. Heading to you now. Any word from Luca?"

"Nothing."

"That's not like him."

"I know."

I hung up and paced the small apartment. Everything had fallen apart so fast. Our father captured. Our family secrets exposed. Isabella nearly killed.

And whatever Nico had seen on his phone that made him look at her like she was a ghost.

"Nico," I said finally. "Tell me."

He looked up from where Isabella was bandaging his shoulder. His dark eyes held something I'd never seen before. Fear.

"Not in front of her," he said quietly.

"Not in front of me what?" Isabella demanded. "I'm tired of people keeping secrets. Whatever it is, I deserve to know."

Nico and I exchanged glances. He gave a tiny nod.

"When the Kozlovs grabbed our father, they found something on him," I explained. "A list. The names of the five children who were killed twenty-five years ago."

Isabella's face went pale. "Okay. What does that have to do with me?"

I couldn't say it. The words stuck in my throat like broken glass.

Nico spoke instead. "There was a sixth name on the list. A child who was supposed to die but didn't. A child who was hidden away and raised as someone else."

"I don't understand," Isabella whispered.

"Your name was on the list," I said finally. "Isabella Cross. You were supposed to be the sixth sacrifice. But Vincent Cross saved you. He hid you. He raised you as his own daughter."

Isabella stared at us. "That's impossible. I am his daughter. I have photos, memories—"

"Vincent Cross wasn't your real father," Nico interrupted. "He was one of the men who was supposed to kill you. Instead, he saved you and spent the last twenty-five years protecting you from the truth."

"No." Isabella shook her head violently. "No, that can't be right."

"There's more," I said, hating myself for what I had to tell her next. "The list said where you came from. Who your real parents were."

"I don't want to know."

"Isabella—"

"I don't want to know!"

My phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.

Hello, Dante. We have your father and your brother Luca. If you want them back alive, bring Isabella to the warehouse by dawn. And bring the truth about who she really is. Her real father will want to meet her before she dies.

My blood turned to ice.

Another message came through with a photo attachment.

Luca and my father, bound and bloody, kneeling on a concrete floor.

And standing behind them, smiling at the camera, was a man I recognized from old photographs.

Don Kozlov. The head of the family that had been trying to destroy us for years.

The final message made my heart stop completely.

"Did you figure it out yet? Isabella is my daughter. The child that was stolen from me twenty-five years ago. And now I want her back."