THE MAFIA'S HEIR

CHAPTER 5

I pressed the gas pedal hard, the engine roaring as I pushed my car to its limits—faster than I ever imagined, even in a rage. I had one goal: to catch up to the car that I believed held Rosalla. A message from her father, Mr. DanielsDaniels, echoed in my mind, taunting me with thoughts of him trying to help her after selling her off. It was infuriating.

As I glanced in the rearview mirror, I saw the target vehicle approaching. Strangely, it didn’t seem to notice me. In seconds, it zoomed past, my heart pounding in my chest. “What a relief,” I murmured, gripping the steering wheel tighter and accelerating toward it.

With desperation 1driving my actions, I raised my rifle and aimed at the back tire. I pulled the trigger, but I missed. Before I could react, bullets struck my side mirror, shattering it into pieces. I barely felt the pain in my side; my only thought was Rosalla. I had to show her that my love was real.

Navigating a sharp bend, I took another shot at the tire. This time, I hit it, and I felt a surge of satisfaction. The car slowed down—finally!—but I knew I had to act quickly. If they stopped, I would be outnumbered and likely outmatched.

As the car came to a halt, my instincts kicked in. I spun my car around, putting my foot on the gas and facing them. The doors flew open, and two men jumped out, guns drawn. At that moment, all I could think was that this was my only chance. Without hesitating, I slammed my foot on the gas and drove straight toward them.

The impact was jarring. I felt a thud beneath my tires, but I had no time to check if it worked. I was bleeding from somewhere painful, and it didn’t matter—Rosalla wasn’t in that vehicle. I had to find the one ahead.

“Damn it!” I cursed under my breath, feeling the warmth of blood trickling down my side. I stepped on the pedal again, chasing the next car that hesitated in its decision to move. They seemed to pause, but when they saw my reckless maneuver, they sped off.

Despite the damage, my car was still functioning. I glanced at the shattered side mirror. “Great,” I muttered, pulling the dangling pieces back towards me, desperate to regain some control over my view.

Suddenly, I spotted them—two black pickup trucks barreling toward me at high speed. My heart raced even faster. I had to decide: keep chasing and risk being overtaken, or find a way to stop them.

Glancing back, I saw the pickups closing in. Without a second thought, I slammed on the brakes and swerved sharply to the left. The closest truck veered into the bushes, trying to avoid a collision. I smirked at my small victory.

But I knew I was likely a dead man driving. Even so, I was determined to fight until the very end. If there were any wishes for ghosts, I’d come back to avenge myself.

I closed my eyes, preparing for the inevitable surround-and-fire scenario. But then, blaring sirens echoed in the distance—the police were finally here. Yet the pickups didn’t stop; they drove past, firing bullets at my car. The glass shattered, and I knew I had to get rid of my rifle.

I reached out and tossed the gun as far into the bushes as I could. It was an act of desperation. My head spun from the pain, and the heat from the engine was unbearable. I fought to keep my vision clear, but the flames licked at the edges of my vehicle.

I felt my blood soaking my shirt, and with every second, my car rattled more. The smell of smoke filled my lungs. With one last push of adrenaline, I yanked the door open and stumbled out.

Before I could get far, a wave of dizziness washed over me, and I crumpled against the hot metal of the car for support.

The police were closing in, their lights flashing in chaotic hues. A cacophony of sound surrounded me—the sirens, shouts, and the crackling flames from my burning car. Everything became surreal. I felt weak as the world began to spin, shadows dancing at the edges of my vision.

I was handcuffed and rushed toward the ambulance as the fire department arrived on the scene. I could barely hear the voices calling out to me; they felt distant and muffled, like I was underwater. As they pushed me into the ambulance, I knew I was drifting away—slipping into the unknown—but I felt a small glimmer of relief that the police had caught me first before the chaos consumed me entirely.

Everything faded to black as I looked up at the stars flickering in the night. The last thing I remembered was the hope that somehow, some way, I would get back to Rosalla.