ELENA’S POV
The other car drew closer, its metal body snarling like a predator’s teeth snapping at our heels. I pressed Luca tighter against me, so tight his little arms squirmed in protest.
Giovanni’s knuckles were white on the wheel. He jerked us down another alley, the screech of tires bouncing off brick walls. The headlights behind us followed.
They were locked on us. On him.
Luca.
“Dante!” My voice cracked. “They’re not stopping….”
“I see them.” His hand moved, calm, deliberate, drawing the gun from beneath his jacket. The motion was so familiar, so frighteningly smooth, it was like watching someone breathe. Natural. Icy. Necessary.
But I wasn’t made for this world. I wasn’t made for the way Dante loaded death into his palm like it was salvation.
Luca whimpered, burying his f
