Chapter 196

Chapter 196
LEVI

“What the actual fuck…” I spat, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.
“Your father is doing this, Levi!” Isabella’s voice cracked with panic. “I told you—he would never let us be together as long as he’s alive!”
Her words hit me like shrapnel—sharp, burning, impossible to ignore. I shot her a look, pulse pounding so hard it rattled in my ears. My chest felt like a drum under siege, adrenaline flooding my veins until my thoughts blurred at the edges. Every syllable from her mouth only fed the fire roaring in my head.
“My father might be a lot of things, Isabella,” I said, my jaw locked so tight it hurt, “but he’s not a murderer.” My voice came out low, almost a growl. “You said you saw Franco today—doesn’t that tell you something? If my father wanted to stop our wedding, he’s got cleaner ways to do it than putting a bullet in my damn skull—or yours, for that matter.”
BANG.
Another gunshot tore through the night. The bullet missed, but the sound of metal screaming against metal echoed behind us.
“Drive faster, please!” she screamed, folding into the seat, fingers white on the dash as if the plastic could keep the world from collapsing. I could taste her fear—metallic, close—and that taste turned hot under my tongue, made me angrier.
Pride and panic fought inside me. I wasn’t a mafia kingpin; I knew that. I wasn’t some fearless legend either. But I also wasn’t the kind of man who fled with his tail between his legs. And yet here I was, the accelerator down, heart hammering, because running felt like the only sane thing to do when bullets were carving the night. It was a ridiculous, ugly calculus: stay and try to fight men with guns with the woman I loved in the car, or run and live to try another day. The choice didn’t make me braver—it only made me human, though furious at myself for being afraid.
“Seatbelt. Now.”
She fumbled with the buckle, her fingers trembling too hard to find the latch. I reached over, threading it through for her, our hands brushing—ice-cold and shaking.
“Eyes on the road, Levi!” she yelled. “You’re going to get us killed!”
“I was trying to help you!”
“You wouldn’t have to if your father wasn’t a fucking murderer!”
“Watch your mouth,” I growled, pressing harder on the gas.
Another bullet pinged off the trunk, the sound sharp as a hammer strike. Isabella screamed again, folding herself low, hair spilling over her face.
“Stay down!” I barked, throwing one arm around her to shield her head. The car swerved; tires shrieked against wet asphalt. My vision blurred with rage and fear.
My mind spun, every thought colliding into the next. The plan—our escape—was coming apart at the seams. We should’ve been halfway to the airstrip by now, not dodging bullets on Rockaway Boulevard.
What if there were others already headed to the hangar? My pilot, my crew—Caroline, Matt—God, what if they were already dead? Isabella would never forgive me if anything happened to her siblings.
And Isabella… If anything happened to her—
No. I refused to finish that thought.
I clenched my jaw, teeth grinding so hard I tasted blood. This wasn’t my father. He didn’t send men with guns. He didn’t orchestrate ambushes. He was ruthless, sure—cold, calculating, cruel when it suited him—but not a killer. And he’d never put my life in danger.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t his doing. This was someone else’s game—someone who wanted me, or her, dead. Or both of us.
Isabella lifted her head just enough to peek through the window. “They’re closing in,” she whispered, her breath trembling. “Call your father. Tell him to call them off!”
“I told you, he has nothing to do with this!” I snapped. “You think he’d order a hit on his own son because I want to marry you? He doesn’t even know about the plan—I made sure he didn’t!”
“Maybe he’s just trying to scare us off to stop us from getting to the airport! Trying to scare you back in line! Make him stop before it goes too far—”
“These men aren’t trying to scare us, Isabella—they’re trying to kill us! Maybe it’s business—something with the new deal I’m working on—”
“It’s not business!” she screamed, tears streaking down her cheeks. “Why can’t you see it? Your father’s a fucking psychopath!”
My hand slammed against the steering wheel. “I said watch your mouth!”
The car jerked violently as I hit a side road, tires spitting gravel. The truck behind us followed, headlights flaring like white fire in the mirrors. Another shot rang out—this time the rear window exploded, showering us in glittering shards.
Isabella cried out. I reached over instinctively, pulling her head down as glass rained across the seats. My phone started buzzing on the console. I snatched it up, still driving one-handed.
Dad.