The fuel gauge needle wasn't just dropping. It was plummeting like a dying hope. The red glow in the AgustaWestland AW109 cockpit blinked with an irritating rhythm, reflecting in Mateo Rossi’s eyes, which were already bloodshot from exhaustion. Below, the Mediterranean looked like a sheet of liquid obsidian, ready to swallow anyone foolish enough to fall into it.
"Damn you, Vane," Mateo growled, his voice raspy, fighting the sting in his throat. He pulled back on the collective lever with precision, trying to steady the helicopter as the engine began to cough. "He really wants us gone without a trace."
Elena Vance, seated beside him, still gripped a pistol tightly in her lap. Her wedding dress was torn and stained with soot, engine grease, and her own father’s blood. Her hair, once style
