Chapter 164 Fiorella
The world tilted violently as Rocco shoved me to the side. My arms scraped across the concrete floor, pain flaring sharply up my spine. The air was deafening with gunfire, the walls shaking as something, explosions, shook the warehouse from floor to ceiling. My chest burned from the impact of hitting the ground, and I tasted copper, sharp and metallic, on my tongue.
For a second, I couldn’t think. My head spun, vision blurry, the edges of my surroundings bleeding together in shadows and flickering lights. But instinct cut through the haze. I rolled onto my hands and knees, blinking, forcing my senses to work.
Rocco’s silhouette was a moving shadow across the chaos, weaving between the blasts, fists swinging, weapons clashing. Camillo was there, snarling, knife in hand, moving with terrifying precision. Nek laughed from somewhere behind a stack of crates, his voice cutting through the cacophony like glass on stone.
“Stay down, Fiorella!” Rocco shouted, a roar that made my chest tighten. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t just lie there and do nothing while he fought for our lives. Not now.
The warehouse floor shook under the chaos of gunfire and explosions. My chest burned as I forced myself to stay on my feet, trying to process the swirling shadows, the shouts, and the thunderous sound of bodies colliding. My mother was weak, body slumped with exhaustion.
My heart clenched. I hadn’t realized how dire her condition was until I saw her like this, fragile, still, struggling for breath, completely dependent. Panic rose, but I shoved it down. I had to think. I had to act.
I spotted a knife on the floor and reached for it.
I heard the door creak behind me, a shadow moving. Nek. His laugh was soft, taunting, close enough to make my stomach twist.
“Oh? Trying to escape already?” he purred. “How ambitious of you.”
I froze for a heartbeat, then acted. Knife in hand, I lunged, driving the blade into his leg with all the strength I had left. He screamed, staggering, and I didn’t pause.
I seized my mother’s hands, helping her to stand despite her weakness. She swayed but managed to take a step, leaning heavily on me. My heart raced. We had seconds. Nek’s men were already moving toward us, alerted by his scream.
“Move!” I hissed, gripping my mother’s arm and dragging her toward the side exit.
Gunfire cracked behind us. Sparks flew. Bullets ricocheted off crates. I barely had time to think as we stumbled forward. My legs burned, but I forced them to move. My mother was too weak to run, but she stayed with me, trusting me completely.
The corridor was narrow, lined with crates and abandoned machinery. I could hear the boots of Camillo’s men behind us, their heavy steps synchronized, stalking, hunting. I glanced back.
Nek’s voice cut through the darkness, taunting, omnipresent. “Run, run, little heiress! You’ll get to watch your precious Rocco die while your mother suffers!”
I forced my lungs to calm, to breathe silently. Panic was a luxury we couldn’t afford. My fingers curled around the knife , ready to strike. “We’re getting out,” I whispered to my mother. “No one dies here. Not tonight.”
A shadow moved suddenly from the crates ahead. One of Camillo’s men leapt out, blade glinting. I swung the pipe instinctively. It connected with his forearm with a sharp crack. He cursed and staggered back, but I didn’t pause. I grabbed my mother’s hand, yanking her forward, dragging her along as I scanned for another route.
Another explosion shook the room. Debris fell from above, dust filling my lungs. My vision blurred for a second. I stumbled, barely catching myself against the crates. My mother steadied me. “Fiorella! Focus!”
I swallowed, trying to calm my heartbeat. I could hear the muffled sounds of Rocco fighting, the grunts, the thud of bodies hitting concrete, the scrape of steel. Every second, he was closer. Every second, closer to us, but we weren’t safe yet.
A trap. Of course. I should have known. My lead had been too perfect. Too easy. Nek and Camillo were clever, sadistic, and patient. They’d known exactly where we’d go, exactly how we’d move.
And now we were in it, headfirst, exposed, almost prey.
I rounded a corner and froze. A tripwire, taut across the floor. My stomach dropped. I could see the barrel of a gun set up in the shadows, aimed at anyone trying to cross. I inhaled sharply. My mother’s eyes were wide behind me. “Careful.”
I forced myself to crawl on my hands and knees, inching forward, hand grazing the wire just enough to avoid triggering it. My pulse raced, every nerve screaming. Dust fell from the ceiling above, and I felt a bead of sweat drip down my temple.
Then came another sound, something behind me.
A shadow loomed over the crates. A man lunged, and I barely had time to swing the knife , hitting him in the shoulder. He screamed, staggering back, and I shoved forward, dragging my mother with me.
Finally, we reached a small room at the back of the corridor, metal walls enclosing us. It was dark, cramped, but it offered cover. I pressed my back to the wall, gasping. My mother leaned heavily against me.
“Fiorella…” she whispered, trembling, “you’re strong. You survived so much. But this… I’m scared for you.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing my voice to remain steady. “I’m not giving up. Not now. Not ever. We’ll get out.”
Nek’s men were closing in. I need a gun.
Another man attacked me, he had a gun aimed at my mother, I wrestled with him, knocking him off balance till I got the gun, then shot him and another in the shoulder as he tried to grab my mother. My muscles screamed in protest, exhaustion threatening to pull me down, but adrenaline carried me. I could not fail. Not now.
“Fiorella!” Leo’s voice cut through the smoke, relief shining even in the chaos. He emerged from behind a crate, gun drawn, covering our backs. “There! I’ve got you!”
I pointed at my mother, urgency ripping through me. “Take her! Get her out of here, Leo! Protect her!”
He hesitated. “Fiorella—”
“No! Go!” I shouted. “I’ll come back. But get her safe! Take her to the car, and don’t let a single scratch touch her!”
Leo nodded, glancing at my mother, then grabbed her carefully and started moving toward safety. I could see the tension in his body, the way he kept looking over his shoulder. My mother whispered a trembling “Thank you, amore mio,” and I swallowed the lump in my throat.
Focus. Survival first. Get through this. Reach him. Help him. Protect him.
Another wave of attackers approached. My arms were shaking, my grip slipping, but I fought, striking, jabbing, shooting anyone that stood in my way. I felt the sting of a grazing bullet in my shoulder, but I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t pause. Not until Rocco was safe.
And then.
A single shot rang out.
I froze, my blood running cold.
Rocco. Or someone else?