Chapter 14 "Here!" A familiar voice cuts through the darkness as we burst from the tunnel. Marco's men materialize from the shadows like guardian angels, weapons ready, covering our six as they hustle us toward a waiting SUV with practiced efficiency. "Goddamn, Sofia," one of them breathes-Tommy, I think, one of Marco's newer recruits. "You look like you've been through hell." I probably have. My dress is torn and stained with blood-some mine, some Dante's, some from people whose names I don't even know. My hair has come loose from its careful styling, and I can taste smoke and gunpowder on my lips. But we're alive. We made it out. "The others," I gasp as they help me get Dante into the backseat, my hands slick with his blood. "The other girls-did they⁠-" "Mario's got them," Tommy assures me, but there's something in his voice that makes my stomach clench. "Most of them, anyway." Most of them. Not all. Someone didn't make it out. Someone else died tonight besides Maisie. The driver-Vincent Torrino, one of Marco's most trusted lieutenants and a man who's been protecting our family since before I was born-peels out before the doors are fully closed. His weathered hands are steady on the wheel despite the chaos, forty years of experience keeping us alive. Behind us, gunfire erupts as Marco's team engages our pursuers. Muzzle flashes strobe in the darkness like deadly fireworks, and I can hear the distinctive rattle of automatic weapons mixing with the deeper boom of shotguns. "Tell me what's going on," Dante demands through gritted teeth, pressing harder on his wound. Blood seeps between his fingers. "Perimeter breach on three sides," Vincent reports, his voice carrying the calm professionalism that's kept him alive this long. "They were waiting for us, boss. Somehow knew all our exit routes, our contingencies, even our backup plans." The words send ice through my veins. Our security protocols aren't just good-they're legendary. Marco and Dad have spent years building layers upon layers of protection, safe houses and escape routes that even family members don't know about. For someone to compromise all of them... "Inside job," Dante mutters, his face pale. "Has to be." A phone buzzes nearby-Marco's emergency tone. I fumble for it with shaking hands, reading the message that confirms our worst fears: Safe house network compromised. Do NOT go to primary locations. They're waiting. "How?" I start to ask, but Dante's already pulling out a burner phone, dialing one-handed while keeping pressure on his wound. "Mario? Get Elena and Stella out. Now." His face darkens at whatever response he gets. "How many teams do you have available? No, all of them. I don't care about the cost." Elena and Stella. Mario's partner and daughter, the ones we fought so hard to save from Anthony Calabrese. Now they're targets again because of us, because we dared to fight back. A pause as Mario responds, then Dante's voice turns deadly cold. "We'll find another way. Just get them safe. And Mario? When this is over, we're having a conversation about security protocols." He ends the call just as another vehicle rams us from behind. The impact throws me against the door, my seatbelt cutting into my chest as Vincent fights to maintain control. "Hold on!" Vincent shouts, taking a sharp turn that sends us sliding across the leather seats. I grab Dante's good arm to steady him as two black SUVs emerge from a side street like hunting wolves. Professional drivers, professional vehicles. This isn't some random pursuit-this is organized, coordinated. "They're herding us," Dante realizes, his face paling despite the blood loss. "Trying to force us toward a specific location. Probably an ambush point." "The warehouse district," Vincent confirms grimly. "Only place they can corner us without civilian casualties." More headlights appear ahead, spreading across the road like a net. A roadblock, just like Dante predicted. "Alternative route," Vincent says, and there's something almost feral in his smile. I remember suddenly that before he worked for Marco, Vincent drove getaway cars for bank robbers in Detroit. Well shit. Old skills, apparently, never fade. He yanks the wheel hard, sending us crashing through a chain-link fence in an explosion of metal and sparks. We bounce and jolt across what feels like a golf course, expensive landscaping flying past our windows as Vincent threads between sand traps and water hazards. The pursuit vehicles follow, their headlights casting crazy shadows as they navigate the terrain. They're gaining ground-SUVs handle off-road better than our sedan. "Any other tricks?" I ask Vincent, checking the side mirrors. Three vehicles now, maybe four. More than we can handle in a straight fight. "Few," he says, concentration evident in every line of his body. "But they're gonna know we're coming after this." My phone lights up again with an incoming call, but instead of a text, it's a series of photos from Marco. Each image is like a knife to the chest: our lake house burning, flames reaching into the night sky. The beach property surrounded by armed men in tactical gear. The safe house in Queens with broken windows and blood on the front steps. Every single backup location we have is either burning or under siege. "They knew everything," I whisper, scrolling through image after image of destruction. "All our contingencies, all our backup plans." "Someone leaked our entire security protocol." Dante's voice is tight with pain and fury. "Someone with access to the highest levels. Someone we trusted." A bullet shatters our back window, sending safety glass cascading into the backseat. Vincent swears creatively in three languages, swerving onto a service road that runs between abandoned warehouses. "Vincent," I say, suddenly remembering why this feels familiar. "You grew up in this area, didn't you?" "Every street, every alley," he confirms. "Home field advantage." He takes us through a series of turns that would make a GPS unit cry, navigating by memory through neighborhoods that have seen better decades. Behind us, the pursuit vehicles struggle to keep up, their drivers relying on technology rather than local knowledge. "Sir," Vincent says to Dante, "Protocol says to get Miss Renaldi to the emergency safe house in⁠-" "No." Dante's grip on my hand tightens, and I can feel the tremor in his fingers that he's trying to hide. "They're watching all the family properties. Waiting for us to run to ground like rabbits." As if confirming his words, another text from Marco appears: Multiple hostile teams positioned at all known locations. Organized hit. They WANT you to run to safety. DO NOT return to family. The message is clear-we're on our own. No family backup, no safe houses, no cavalry coming to save us. Just us, a wounded enforcer, and whatever skills we can muster. "What about the yacht?" I suggest, grasping for options. "We could reach international waters, contact friendly governments⁠-" "First place they'll look," Dante cuts me off, though not unkindly. "Viktor's been planning this for too long. He'll have contingencies for everything we can think of and half the things we can't." "Then what?" Frustration bleeds into my voice. "We can't just keep running forever." "We need to disappear," Dante says firmly. "Completely off-grid. No electronic footprints, no paper trails, no contact with anyone they might be monitoring." Vincent takes another sharp turn, finally losing our tail in a maze of warehouse districts that stretch for miles. Industrial lighting casts harsh shadows between buildings, creating a maze of potential hiding spots. He pulls into a dark loading bay between two massive distribution centers, cuts the engine, and suddenly the silence is deafening. No more gunfire, no more pursuit vehicles, no more immediate threats. Just the sound of our own breathing and the distant hum of the city that never sleeps. "This is as far as I go," Vincent says quietly, and there's genuine regret in his voice. "They're looking for this vehicle, and they'll be monitoring all known associates now. Anyone who's worked with your family for more than a few months is compromised." He reaches under his seat and pulls out a set of keys attached to a simple keychain. "Blue sedan, two blocks east. Parked behind the Chinese restaurant. Clean papers in the glove box, registered to a shell company that doesn't exist on paper. Tank's full, spare tire's good. Should get you wherever you need to go." "Vincent-" I start, but he shakes his head. "Been an honor, Miss Sofia. Your parents would be proud of how you handled yourself tonight." He looks at Dante. "Both of you. Now get out of here before they triangulate our position." We switch vehicles in silence, the night air cold against my skin after the warmth of the SUV. Every shadow could hide an enemy, every distant sound could be pursuit closing in. Dante's jaw is tight with pain as I help him into the passenger seat of the sedan, his movements careful and measured. The sedan is everything Vincent promised-nondescript, forgettable, the kind of car that could disappear in any parking lot in America. Perfect for becoming invisible. "I know somewhere," Dante says as I adjust the mirrors and familiarize myself with the controls. "A contact even Marco doesn't know about. Someone who can help us go dark." "How dark?" I ask, pulling onto the highway. The city spreads out around us, millions of lights representing millions of people who have no idea that their world just shifted on its axis. "Ghost dark. New identities, clean papers, money that can't be traced." He leans back against the headrest, exhaustion finally showing in the lines around his eyes. "It'll mean leaving everything behind. Everyone." The weight of that hits me like a physical blow. Leave Marco? Leave Mom and Dad? Leave the only life I've ever known? But then I think of Maisie's blood pooling on the ground. Of the other girls-did Jessica make it out? Is Ava safe? What about Natalie, Zoe, Kira?-and I know there's no choice. "And then?" I ask, though I already know the answer. "Then we hunt them down. All of them. Viktor, the traitor, everyone who helped them." His voice carries a promise of violence that should scare me but doesn't. "We make them pay for every life they took, every girl they sold, every family they destroyed." I remember Maisie's empty eyes. Our burning safe houses. Elena and Stella having to run again because someone decided our family needed to be punished. "They'll expect us to keep running," I say, pressing harder on the accelerator. The speedometer climbs past eighty, past ninety. "To hide until the heat dies down." "Yes." His hand finds mine on the gear shift, warm and solid and real. "Which is exactly why we're going to make them regret ever touching our family." Red and blue lights flash in my rearview mirror, growing larger. Police. Or people pretending to be police, which in our world amounts to the same threat. "How far to your contact?" I ask, calculating speed versus distance, wondering if we can outrun them without drawing more attention. "Five hours. If we can lose our tail." I check our weapons-Dante's pistol, my liberated shotgun, a backup piece Vincent left in the glove compartment. Our fuel gauge shows three-quarters full. The growing light on the horizon tells me dawn is still hours away, giving us the cover of darkness. No going back now. No safe houses, no family backup, no cavalry coming to save us. Just us against whatever Viktor can throw at us. "Then let's disappear," I say, taking the next exit at full speed, tires squealing as we merge into late-night traffic. "And make them pay for everything they've done." Behind us, the police lights grow smaller in the distance. We're ghosts now, invisible, untraceable. And ghosts, I'm learning, can be very dangerous when they want revenge. The phone buzzes one last time-a message from Marco: Other girls safe. Jessica shaken but unharmed. Ava wounded but fighting. Natalie catatonic. Zoe in medical care. Kira disappeared during extraction-still searching. Stay alive, little sister. We'll find our way back to each other. Relief floods through me so intensely I nearly swerve off the road. They made it. Most of them made it. Jessica's young face flashes in my mind, her tears during the auction. Ava's fierce resolve. Even broken Natalie, who deserves a chance to heal. Kira is still missing, but she's smart, resourceful. If anyone can survive on their own, it's the diplomat's daughter. "Good news?" Dante asks, noting my expression. "The best," I tell him. For the first time since this nightmare began, I actually mean it. "Now let's go get the bastards who tried to destroy us." The highway looms ahead, empty and full of possibility. Behind us, our old lives burn in the rearview mirror. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...