Chapter 2 - Blind Mirrors And Broken Routes
The harsh glare of high beams reflected aggressively off the cracked rearview mirror, blinding Grace for a split second.
She gripped the worn steering wheel with both hands, her knuckles whitening until the skin stretched taut over bone.
"Keep your eyes forward," Luca's voice came from the darkness behind her, cold and steady despite the blood gurgling in his throat.
"They're behind us," Grace gasped, her left foot tapping erratically against the floor mat.
"I know."
"They're coming fast!"
"Do not panic, Grace."
Hearing her actual name spoken by the billionaire mob boss sent a shiver through her spine that was colder than the rain.
She had cleaned his private quarters for eighteen months, yet he had never once addressed her by anything other than an indifferent nod.
He knew who she was.
He had always known.
"Turn right at the access road behind the greenhouse," Luca instructed, his voice tightening as the car bounced over a drainage dip.
"That road is private property, Mr. Moretti," she protested automatically, her domestic discipline kicking in like an absurd reflex.
"Turn the wheel, Grace, or they will pit-maneuver this tin can into the river before we reach the highway."
Grace hauled the wheel hard to the right.
The tires lost traction on wet gravel before clawing their way onto an unpaved service route bordered by overgrown pine trees.
Behind them, the massive black Cadillac Escalade swerved aggressively, flattening the wooden gate posts as it gave pursuit.
"Why did you choose my car?" Grace shouted over the screaming whine of her old four-cylinder engine.
"Because every executive vehicle registered to this estate has a satellite transponder wired into the engine control module," Luca answered between ragged breaths.
"Your car is garbage."
"Excuse me?"
"No transponder," Luca clarified, a morbid edge of practicality in his tone.
"No digital footprint."
"No registered asset value to the syndicate."
"An invisible piece of junk."
"I spent two months of savings on this junk," she snapped back, fear suddenly mutating into raw, indignant survival adrenaline.
"If we survive the night, I will buy you a fleet of them."
"I don't want a fleet, I want to not get murdered on a Tuesday night!"
The heavy SUV behind them closed the gap with effortless horsepower, its reinforced bull bar looming inches from her rusted trunk.
A sharp metallic impact rocked the Honda, sending Grace's head whipping back against the headrest.
"They're ramming us!"
"Accelerate through the dip," Luca commanded, pulling himself up onto his elbow despite the agony tearing across his ribs.
"Take the old access ramp toward the municipal water treatment facility."
"That ramp is chained off!"
"Then break the chain!"
Grace pinned the accelerator to the floorboards.
The speedometer crept sluggishly past sixty miles per hour as water sprayed in massive sheets against her undercarriage.
Ahead in the darkness, two rusted steel chains hung across a narrow concrete bridge spanning the canal.
Grace closed her eyes for a microsecond, braced her arms against the wheel, and slammed through the center.
The chains snapped with an ear-splitting crack like rifle fire, whipping across the windshield and cracking the safety glass into a web of spiderwebs.
The lightweight sedan cleared the concrete lip and landed hard on the other side, scraping its oil pan with a sickening crunch.
Behind them, the heavier Escalade attempted the same trajectory.
Its massive three-ton weight hit the saturated embankment at the edge of the canal, blowing out its front left tire and skidding sideways into the mud.
Its headlights spun wildly into the black water below before coming to a violent halt against the concrete culvert.
Grace did not slow down.
She navigated the labyrinth of access alleys behind the treatment plant, turning three distinct times without using her turn signals.
She guided the battered sedan down into a disused industrial loading dock beneath an abandoned textile warehouse.
She cut the headlights and pulled the emergency brake.
Silence fell over the car like a suffocating blanket, broken only by the ticking of the overheated engine and the sound of Luca's labored breathing.
Grace sat trembling in the darkness, her chest heaving as tears of pure shock finally spilled down her cheeks.
"Check your mirrors," Luca whispered.
Grace wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve and looked back.
The service alley was pitch black.
No headlights followed.
No sirens wailed in the distance.
"We lost them," she whispered, her voice cracking.
"For twenty minutes," Luca replied, his voice fading slightly.
"Maybe thirty."
Grace turned around in her seat, her eyes adjusting to the shadows of the vehicle interior.
Luca's head was slumped back against the window, his chest rising and falling in shallow, erratic spasms.
The crimson stain had spread across his stomach, soaking entirely through the waistband of his trousers.
"Mr. Moretti?"
No answer came, only a faint groan of profound agony.
Grace climbed clumsily over the center console into the back seat, her hands shaking as she pulled off her woolen winter scarf.
She grabbed his arm, pulling his weight toward her.
"Listen to me, you arrogant bastard," Grace said, tears streaming down her face as she pressed the scarf hard against the bullet wound.
"You are not dying in the back of my Honda."
Luca's eyes fluttered open in the dim gloom, locking onto hers with an expression she had never seen on his face before: genuine, unadulterated vulnerability.
May you like
"Keep pressing," he whispered, his bloody fingers resting over hers.
"And check my pocket."
