Sixty six
Sixty six
Delia’s hands trembled, her chest heaving as she stared at Frank. The shell casing on the floor, the blood smears—everything screamed danger. “Frank… what the hell is going on?” she demanded, her voice breaking, a mix of fear and fury. “Why is my life like this? Why me?!”
He moved toward her with that calm, lethal precision that never failed to make her pulse spike. He reached out, resting a firm hand on her shoulder. “Delia,” he said, low and controlled, “you can’t stay here. It’s not safe anymore. Not for you, not for the baby.”
She shook her head violently. “I’m not leaving! I’m staying! You said you’d protect me. That’s what you promised!”
His jaw tightened, a shadow of frustration crossing his features. “I promised your parents I’d look after you. And I am. But staying here? That’s a death sentence. I’ve seen them move. The Giancarlo family doesn’t forgive, and they won’t stop until they get what they want. You’re too exposed here.”
Tears streamed down her face, and her voice cracked. “I’m scared, Frank. I don’t want to leave… I—”
“You don’t have a choice,” he said, gripping her shoulders firmly, his intensity pinning her in place. “We’re leaving. Now.”
Her heart hammered. She wanted to argue, to scream, but the urgency in his eyes, the steel behind his words, left her no room. Slowly, shakily, she nodded, allowing him to guide her toward the door.
Outside, the morning air hit them, sharp and biting. Frank scanned the street quickly, every muscle coiled like a spring. “Move fast,” he ordered, and she followed, barely conscious of her own trembling steps.
They reached the car parked just a block away, Frank pulling the door open and ushering her inside. Just as she was sliding into the seat, a sudden sharp crack split the air. A bullet slammed into the car frame, just inches from where she was sitting.
Delia screamed, throwing her hands to her head, her body pressed instinctively against Frank. “What—what—” she stammered, panic ripping through her.
Frank dove over her, his body shielding hers instinctively. “Get down!” he barked, sliding the door shut with a violent snap. Another shot ricocheted off the asphalt. He pressed a hand over her ear, his other hand already reaching for the gun at his hip.
“They’ve found us sooner than I thought,” he muttered, teeth clenched, eyes scanning for movement. “The Giancarlo family… they’re faster than I anticipated. Stay low. Hold on.”
Delia’s chest heaved, tears blurring her vision as the adrenaline coursed through her veins. “Frank… I’m—”
“Quiet!” he snapped, voice low but deadly. His hands were steady, precise, as he opened fire toward the shadows at the street’s edge. The sharp cracks of gunfire echoed through the morning air, mingling with Delia’s terrified whimpers.
The car’s engine roared as he started it, peeling out onto the street, swerving slightly to avoid another volley of bullets. “Buckle up. We’re not safe yet,” he said, his voice calm now, but every motion radiated control and lethal purpose.
Delia clutched the seat, trembling, her mind spinning. She didn’t know if she should scream or cry or beg. All she knew was Frank’s presence—his protection, his certainty—was the only thing keeping her alive right now.
And as the city blurred past the window, the sound of sirens in the distance mingling with the echo of gunfire, Delia realized the terrifying truth: nothing would ever be the same again.
The car roared through the streets, tires gripping asphalt slick with morning dew. Delia hunched forward, arms wrapped around her belly, every muscle coiled with tension. Her heart raced—not just from fear, but from the dizzying reality of what Frank had just said.
“They’re after Thomas,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “And now me too.”
Frank’s jaw tightened, eyes locked on the road ahead. “Not you personally. But you’re tied to him. That makes you a target.” His voice was calm, precise, but Delia could feel the weight behind every word. The car shifted slightly as he took a sharp corner, and she gripped the edge of the seat, forcing herself to stay upright.
“Where are we going?” Her voice was small, fragile against the roar of the engine and the distant echo of the city waking.
“To Thomas.” Frank’s reply was clipped.
Delia’s stomach churned. Thomas. Her ex-husband, the man she had once loved, the man now trapped in a world of chaos and deadly games she barely understood. The thought of him alone, vulnerable, made her chest tighten. “Is he… is he okay?”
Frank didn’t answer immediately, his eyes flicking to her in the rearview mirror. “He’s alive. That’s what matters right now. Everything else… we’ll handle.”
The car turned onto a quieter street, the buildings older here, shadows stretching long across the asphalt. Delia felt a flicker of hope—this wasn’t the Giancarlo family territory, not yet. Maybe they had a chance.
“Frank…” Her voice was hesitant, almost timid now. “Why… why are you helping me? Why are you doing all this?”
Frank’s eyes didn’t waver from the road. “Because I promised your parents I would. And because no one else can right now. You trust me, whether you like it or not. That has to be enough.”
Delia’s throat tightened. Trust. Such a simple word, but in this world, it felt heavy, almost impossible. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, to cry and shake him and make him explain everything—but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not yet. She just nodded, letting him guide her.
The car slowed as they approached a nondescript building, the kind that could hide almost anything behind its plain exterior. Frank parked in a narrow alley, the sound of the city muted here, the world seeming to shrink down to the two of them and the building ahead.
“Stay in the car,” he ordered softly, but with that same commanding undertone that left no room for argument. “I’ll go first.”
Delia’s hands shook as she unbuckled her seatbelt. She wanted to argue, to insist on staying close, but instinct told her that following his instructions would keep her alive. Slowly, she slid out, pressing herself against the car, the chill of the morning biting through her thin sweater.
Frank moved ahead, each step measured, every sense alert. The building’s door opened without a sound as he slipped inside, leaving Delia frozen in place. Seconds stretched into eternity, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios.
Then, a familiar voice echoed faintly from within. “Delia?”
Her breath hitched. Thomas.