Chapter 54 Fiorella
The road was more quiet than usual. Too empty
I had traveled a different route to check the shipment, deviating from the regular routes just in case anyone had been tailing us. My men followed in a second vehicle, their presence reassuring. But something was off about the silence.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I glanced at the driver. "Stay alert."
The words were scarcely out of my mouth when it happened.
Behind us, tires screeched. A black SUV sped forward, slamming into the side of our car with brutal force. The impact jolted me against the door, my air stolen as metal groaned and glass shattered. My driver swore, fighting for control, but another impact threw us off onto the road.
"Fiorella, get down!" he yelled.
Gunfire was unleashed. Bullets screamed through the air, ripping through metal, shattering windows. I dropped low, racing heart pounding as I reached for my gun. My men were returning fire already, the ringing of gunfire sounding deafening in the tight confines within the vehicle.
The doors were flung open. Hands grabbed for me. I flailed, kicking, elbowing, a shot ringing out inches from my face as I squirmed away. A man grunted as my knee struck his stomach, but another caught me around the shoulders, shoving me towards one of the parked cars.
"Get her in the car!" someone yelled.
Not a chance in hell.
I pulled my arm free, turned around, and shot. One. Two. Three bullets. The man pulling me back stumbled backward, blood bursting across his chest. Another came at me, but a bullet came from behind—one of my guys. He dropped before he could reach me.
I turned to run, but another SUV slammed to a stop in front of me, blocking my way out. More men poured out. Too many.
A realization hit. This wasn't just a hit. It was an ambush, a very planned one.
And I was outnumbered.
I spun around, gun raised, breath rough and laboured as I assessed. My men stood firm, but the numbers were against us. More enemy soldiers were spreading out, hemming us in like wolves moving to strike down their prey.
The acrid odour of gunpowder floated in the air. My heart pounded like a war drum. Black SUVs blocked any viable path of escape, and relentless streams of gunfire kept us trapped.
"Boss, we've got to move!" My best man, Jack, yelled over the gunfire. There was a deep gash in his forehead oozing blood, but his eyes were filled with alertness, searching for an opening.
I knew he was correct. Staying still means death.
I pushed against the crumpled car for shelter, looking over the rim. Another man approached me, gun in hand, but I had a chance first, and my bullet struck its mark. He collapsed. But each one we killed was replaced by another.
And then I saw him.
A guy I knew right away—Elio Marchesi. Brother of Enzo. He leaned against one of the SUVs, arms crossed, observing. As if all this was some sort of amusement to him.
Anger coursed through my blood.
"Fiorella D'Angelo!" His voice boomed above the fray. "You can't keep running from this! Drop the gun, join us, and perhaps we don't have to kill your men!"
A cold, humourless laugh escaped my mouth. "If you want me, Marchesi, you'll have to do better than this."
I raised my gun again, aiming at him, but before I could shoot, a jolt of pain went through my arm.
A bullet.
The force spun me around, my hand slipping for a moment. Blood seeped down my sleeve. Jack pulled me behind the car.
"Boss, you're shot!"
"It's nothing." I gritted my teeth, gritting my teeth against the fire in my arm. I'd taken worse. This wasn't going to bring me down.
But we had to get out of there.
I scanned the battlefield. My men were retreating, some of them wounded, others dead. Marchesi's men were closing, their confidence building.
And then I saw a gap.
"Jack, the right alley. Get me there. We have to disperse and regroup."
"I'll cover for you. Get out of here!"
He didn't hesitate but did as I commanded, waving the rest of them down. We attacked, and he covered me, continuing to fire rapidly to maintain their attention. Pain in my arm was a distant roar, drowned out by adrenaline now.
More screams, more shots, and then—
Static.
Elio Marchesi's furious yelling trailed behind me. "You won't escape, Fiorella!"
I dared not slow down.
I knew this wasn't finished.
This was only the start.
I ran down the black alley, my own breathing rough and uneven. Blood trickled from the cut on my hurt arm, wetting the jacket, but I forced the pain to the back of my mind. There was no time for weakness.
Footsteps clattered behind me.
They were on my heels.
I ran down a alleyway between two abandoned buildings, backing myself up against the rough brick. My heart pounding in my chest, I fought to keep quiet.
Time passed by.
"Where did she go to?" snapped one voice, sharp with exasperation.
"She was bleeding. She hasn’t gone far," another said.
I held my gun more tightly. If they found me now, it was kill or be killed.
A pair of boots stopped just outside the passageway.
I was holding my breath.
"Space out!" Elio Marchesi's voice echoed down the alley. “ I want her found. Now."
Shit.
I could hear them fanning out, spreading out, their footsteps fading in all directions. I waited, willing myself to count the seconds.
When I was sure they were far enough away, I moved.
I stepped into the darkness, my footsteps light even as agony pulsed in my arm. A car was parked several blocks away, hidden in an underground garage behind a crumbling warehouse. If I could get there—
A rough noise to my left.
I turned, gun drawn.
Nothing. An empty alley.
Paranoia gnawed at the edges of my mind, but I pushed on.
I made it to the warehouse without another incident, slipping through a creaky metal door. The space was empty, cold, with the smell of dust and oil. A car was in the corner, untouched.
I did not hesitate.
Sneaking into the driver's seat, I put in the key. The engine roared to life, a welcome relief.
Then I felt it.
The definite sense of being watched.
I glanced into the rearview, and my breathing stopped.
There was movement from the shadows.
Someone had gotten in.
My hand was flying to grab the gun before the back door flew open. A hard hand covered my wrist and wrenched the gun out of my grip before I'd even reacted.
My instinct acted quickly.
I snapped an elbow backward, trying for the rib area, but whoever it was had dodged me, shoved me hard against the seat instead.
"Easy, Fiorella."
The low voice shocked me.
Rocco.
I drew a rough breath, my body still tensed for fighting. "What the devil are you doing here?"
His eyes flashed to my injured arm, his jaw twisting. "I could ask you the same thing. What did you do?"
I shook him off, gripping the steering wheel to steady myself. "Marchesi happened."
His face went black in a split second.
"Get out of here," he said and I stepped out so he could drive.
I didn't complain.
When he pulled away from the parking lot, fists clenched around the steering wheel, I knew one thing for certain—
This wasn't finished.
I wonder what he was doing here.
The silence in the car was heavy, strained, thick with unsaid words. His grip on the steering wheel did not loosen, eyes fixed on the road ahead, my mind remained in a daze from all that had happened.
Rocco was looking at me. I could feel it—the weight of his gaze like a perpetual pressing against my skin.
"How bad is it?" he finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"I've had worse," I growled, eyes still straight ahead.
"You were ambushed." A statement.
I nodded once. "They knew where I was going to be. They set me up. "Someone must have tipped them."
The discovery hung like a stone in my chest. This was no ambush out of the blue. One of them, someone who was on the inside, had betrayed me.
Rocco's face clenched. "And who do you think it is?”
I swallowed hard. I did not wish to speak it out loud, but what else could I deduce? Vittorio had been undermining me from the beginning, working against me, cutting deals with my enemies. And now this?
“Who else would it be?" I spat.
Rocco didn't argue. He didn't attempt to placate me or tell me I was acting stupid. He simply ran a hand through his hair and took a sharp breath.
"Bastard," he said.
I shot him a glance. His face was neutral, but his eyes burned with something fiery.
"What are you thinking?" I asked.
His fingers curled against his knee. "That he won't leave you alone until you're out of the picture."
I looked in the rearview mirror, pressing down harder on the accelerator. "Then I'll just have to make sure to get rid of him first."
The words were bitter as steel, metallic and cold. A month ago, betraying my own kin would have been unthinkable. Now it seemed almost inevitable.
“Elio Marchesi is after me, I don’t know how to escape all of this alive.”
"You will,” he said, his tone firm. "You have me."
Something in my chest constricted at those words.
I snuck another glance at him, and for a moment, the fierceness in his eyes made breathing hard.
He meant it.
I pulled away from the road, my fingers easing. "I know," I said, softer than I intended.
It was a small thing, but the moment hung there, something unsaid slipping in the silence.
But whatever it was, I didn't have time to think about.
Because as he turned the last corner toward my estate, my stomach dropped.
The gates were open.
And the front of my house—
Was burning.