LaCacci The HuntBegins
841 Words
Lyra’s POV
“Prima i soldi?” I asked coolly, settling into the leather chair across from Don Costello.
He looked every bit the seasoned mob boss, he was in his late forties, had white-streaked hair, and a rigid posture that radiated danger. But I’d stared down worse since becoming an undercover agent.
He leaned in, dragging his chair forward. Smoke curled from the blunt in his fingers. The acrid, heavy smell hit me hard, but I didn’t flinch. I couldn’t. The seasoned dealer I was pretending to be wouldn’t even blink.
“Dove sta la mia roba?” he asked, his voice like gravel scraped across concrete.
I didn’t answer. I Just slid the suitcase across the table. He popped the latches, flipped it open, and took a long sniff of one powder-filled bag. His eyes flashed with approval.
He tapped his fingers together, to send an unspoken signal.
Two large men stepped out of the shadows. One of them approached with a second suitcase and placed it in front of me.
I opened the lid. Money., stacked and real filled the suitcase.
Crack!
A gunshot echoed from the rooftop. My partner who had been on the roof pulled the trigger.
My Instinct kicked in.
“Kudos,” I muttered, already reaching for my gun as I stood. My heels slammed against the concrete.
I fired two quick shots and the two men bodies dropped.
“You’re under arr….” Before I could finish my statement, more of his men spilled from the shadows, guns blazing.
I ducked as bullets tore through the smoky air. From above, my SIRIO partner fired back, covering me.
In the chaos, I spotted Don Costello slipping through the back door.
Coward.
I sprinted after him. No way in hell was I letting him get away.
“You have to stop, Don Costello!” I shouted, chasing him through every corridor and corner.
He dove into a waiting car and sped off.
Shit.
I mounted a parked motorcycle, kicked it to life, and peeled into the street. No way I’m letting him escape.
It’s been four years since I joined SIRIO, Servizio Italiano Ricognizione e Infiltrazione Operative, which was after my family’s murder. And I’ve never failed a mission. Don Costello won’t be the first.
Milan’s streets blurred around me, with cobblestones, sirens, and shouting. Golden streetlights stretched long shadows across narrow alleys as I weaved through traffic.
Far ahead, I caught a glimpse of his taillights cutting through the night.
I gunned the engine, leaning low, slicing through the wind like a blade.
My mind suddenly drifted to today’s date.
Four years. My parents’ anniversary. The day everything ended.
“Dangerous on the road!”
“Who the hell is that?”
“A woman riding like this?”
Voices from passing drivers blurred into the chaos, but I didn’t flinch. I couldn’t.
I aimed low and fired. His motorcycle tire screeched. He jerked the wheel hard and spun around.
“What a pro… bastard,” I muttered, revving my engine and charging straight toward him. I couldn’t afford to lose him.
Any failure, especially this one, could cost my boss his rank.
And my boss? He wasn’t just any superior officer.
He was my uncle.
That thought alone lit a fresh fire inside me. I aimed again and fired at his tires.
Bang!
Rubber Of his car tire screamed against the pavement.
He swerved, and the tires screeched, trying to stabilize the car.
I took a deep breath,
Then I launched myself from my motorcycle, landing hard on the roof of his car.
“Stop this car!” I shouted, slamming the butt of my gun against the roof.
“f*****g bastard!” I growled, again and again, metal meeting metal.
I finally found a grip on the passenger door and yanked it open, sliding into the moving car.
Don Costello cursed and lunged.
A knife flashed in his hand. “f*****g i***t!” he spat, aiming it at my chest.
I caught his wrist mid-air, twisting. The blade dropped to the floor.
We both grabbed for the steering wheel, and we locked in a brutal tug-of-war for control. The car swerved violently, and the horns blaring around us.
“Let go, Don!” I hissed through gritted teeth as I hold the steering wheel closely.
But he wasn’t letting go. And neither was I.
Finally, after several agonizing seconds, I wrenched the wheel away from him, sending the car skidding toward a blocked road ahead of us.
Screech!
The tires locked, and the car flipped, tumbling violently before finally slamming to a halt.
Ughhh.
I coughed as smoke billowed from the wrecked car. my hand trembled as I tried to open the car door.
Beside me, Don Costello lay breathing shallowly.
No!
I couldn’t let him die now.
He had answers to so many questions, answers about drug trafficking and human trafficking that we needed.
“Don Costello!” I called out, tapping his cheek. “You’re not getting off that easy.
- Writer
