Chapter 3 - The Silver Lighter
The fire escape was slick with freezing rain.
I scrambled down the rusted iron steps, one hand gripping the icy railing, the other firmly planted over my stomach. Behind me, the apartment erupted into chaos. Suppressed gunfire spat into the night, sounding like violent, rhythmic coughing.
Dante was right behind me, his large frame blocking any stray bullets from reaching my back.
“Keep moving!” he shouted over the roar of the storm.
My foot slipped. My sneaker lost traction on the wet iron. I pitched forward, a scream tearing from my throat as the dark alley rushed up to meet me.
A hand clamped onto the collar of my coat.
Dante hauled me backward with bone-jarring force, slamming me against his chest. He held me suspended over the drop for a terrifying second, his heart hammering against my spine.
“I’ve got you,” he breathed heavily into my wet hair. “I’ve always got you.”
He guided me down the final flight, lifting me over the rusted drop-ladder. We hit the wet pavement of the alley just as a black armored SUV skidded around the corner, its headlights blinding us.
The back door flew open. Leo, Dante’s most trusted driver, was at the wheel.
“Get in!” Leo yelled.
Dante shoved me into the backseat and dove in after me just as bullets sparked against the reinforced steel of the passenger door. The SUV tore out of the alley, throwing me against the plush leather seats.
I lay there, gasping for air, clutching my belly. The baby was rolling frantically, disturbed by the adrenaline flooding my veins.
Dante leaned over me, his hands hovering but never touching. He checked my face, my arms, searching for blood.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his voice cracking.
“No,” I choked out. “I’m fine.”
He collapsed back against the seat, running a shaking hand over his wet face. For a moment, the untouchable Don looked entirely broken.
“The Falcones didn't know about me,” I said, trying to steady my breathing. “I was careful, Dante. I changed my name. I never used credit cards. How did they know to flag my medical records?”
Dante pulled the silver lighter from his pocket again, turning it rapidly. The clack-clack of the metal filled the tense silence of the cabin.
“They didn't flag your name,” Dante said, his dark eyes meeting mine. “They flagged the genetic markers.”
I frowned. “Genetic markers?”
“They had a mole in the testing lab. When you did the prenatal blood work last week, the system flagged a direct familial match to my DNA profile on file from the federal database.”
He stopped turning the lighter.
“They didn't find Mia Moretti. They found the heir to the Chicago syndicate.”
My stomach bottomed out. They weren't hunting me because I was his ex-wife. They were hunting me to erase his bloodline.
I looked toward the front seat, seeking reassurance from Leo, a man who had driven me to countless dinners during my marriage.
As the streetlights flashed across the driver’s hands gripping the steering wheel, I froze.
Leo was wearing a heavy gold signet ring on his right index finger. A ring bearing the crest of a falcon clutching a dagger.
The Falcone family crest.
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I slowly turned my head to look at Dante. His eyes were already locked on the rearview mirror. He had seen it too.
“Leo,” Dante said softly, his voice a lethal purr. “Where are you taking us?”
