Adriana
Gunfire shattered everywhere.
I dropped low, pressing my head down, heart thundering in my chest. The crack of bullets ricocheted off metal, and the smell of burnt rubber clawed into my lungs.
Matteo was crouched at the back of the vehicle, his hands gripping his head like a man seconds away from erupting.
The tires screeched as his bullets tore them apart. The car fishtailed, sparks spitting against the road. The man in the passenger seat howled, clutching his hand. Blood streaked down his wrist and soaked the fabric of his shirt.
For a heartbeat, instinct pushed me toward apology, to say something absurd about his hand and beg them to let me out. Then my eyes caught it.
Ink.
A tattoo that twisted across his skin, coiling into a dagger, a serpent winding tight around it.
