Chapter 6 Panic

• Mia POV
• The chase was a heart-pounding ballet of screeching tires and adrenaline. But what surprised me most was Albert—he remained almost too calm for the situation.
• For a while, the driver's skills were enough, weaving through narrow streets and back alleys. But the sheer number of pursuers proved overwhelming. We were cornered on a deserted stretch of road, boxed in by four identical black SUVs.
• Albert let out a sigh, a sound devoid of fear but heavy with resignation.
• "Pull over."
• "What?" I could barely breathe around the panic.
• In the rearview mirror, I saw a luxury sedan emerge from the pack, gliding effortlessly to the forefront. A figure stepped out of the other car, silhouetted by the headlights. Tall and broad-shouldered, their features hidden in the shadows. It was someone I didn't recognize—a kingpin, perhaps, or at least a high-ranking member of Verdi.
• Albert's hand shot out, gripping my arm with surprising force. "Stay down," he commanded, his voice low and urgent. "Don't get out. Don't open the window, no matter what."
• I clearly wouldn’t do that even if he asked me to. But what about him?
• Fear twisted a tight knot in my stomach. He climbed out of the car, his face an unreadable mask. The distance was too great, the soundproofing too good, to make out the conversation. But I watched intently, every fiber of my being focused on the scene unfolding before me.
• Then, movement. Someone was being dragged out from behind the figure facing Albert. A limp form slumped over a shoulder, crimson staining the pale moonlight. It was Marco. His face was a grotesque mask of blood and pain.
• "Did... Did you do that?"
• The bodyguard, who hadn't gotten out, didn't answer. His gaze was unwavering as I shifted in my seat, my eyes glued to the horrifying tableau.
• The conversation continued, it seemed. Then, the figure who had gotten out of the car reached into his jacket pocket, and a glint of metal caught the moonlight.
• It was a gun.
• My breath hitched in my throat.
• A scream ripped from my lips, a sound of terror I couldn't contain.
• The world seemed to slow down, the gun rising in a lethal arc. But it wasn't pointed at Albert. The barrel was aimed squarely at Marco, and then a deafening crack filled the air, mingling with the sound of my scream.
• Albert POV
• Impatience gnawed at me as I climbed out of the car.
• Carmelo, the boss of the Verdi mafia, was everything his reputation suggested – a bull of a man with a face like a crumpled map and a temper to match. Perhaps it wasn't the most courteous move to beat the living daylights out of Marco without a heads-up, but frankly, I didn't care.
• Growing up watching the way my mother was treated, I'd always hated thugs who enjoyed harassing innocent women. That bastard had dared to put his hands on my wife. Even if she was mine only in name, it was a punish able offense in our world. Anyone would understand that and probably tip their hat for my leniency.
• The mafia in this city were a dying breed. Most had already swallowed their pride, exchanging their territories for a hefty sum and a guaranteed cut of the "goods" that flowed through my network. Carmelo was one of the first to do so. He wouldn't dare make a move against me, not directly. He wasn't stupid, and he liked the money too much.
• I'd tried to avoid confrontation earlier, not wanting to spook Mia. But when they'd surrounded us, boxing us in, I knew a meeting was inevitable. Carmelo wouldn't back down in front of his men, not without a show, at least.
• He approached lightly but kept a neutral distance. It was a matter of respect as well as a challenge.
• "Volkov," he growled, the word a low rumble in his chest. "Didn't think you'd stoop to such tactics. Beating a man half to death on neutral ground."
• "Neutral?" I scoffed, amusement flickering in my eyes. "This city has no neutral ground, Carmelo. And Marco," I gestured towards the whimpering lump at his feet, his face a grotesque parody of its former self, "stepped out of line. On my turf, putting his hand on my wife."
• Carmelo's men stirred, a ripple of unease running through their ranks. They knew the score.
• "Your turf?" Carmelo spat; his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "Your wife?"
• "She's just a waitress!" Marco cried. "She can't be--"
• "And yet, she is," I said, my voice cold and hard. "My wife, and after today, she is no longer a waitress. We've already registered our marriage and everything. Take it to heart, Carmelo, and spread the word. I was being nice. Next time someone touches what's mine, the consequences won't be a simple beating."
• The threat hung heavy in the air. Carmelo's face contorted in a mask of fury, but a flicker of something else flickered in his eyes – fear. He knew I wasn't bluffing. He knew the fragile balance of power in this city had been irrevocably shattered.
• "Registered, huh?"
• He lifted his hand. A man scurried away, presumably to make a call. The seconds ticked by, each one an eternity. Carmelo's face grew calmer by the moment, and Marco looked more terrified by the second.
• Finally, the man returned, and a curt nod was the only confirmation he needed. Carmelo's stance shifted. He looked pissed, resigned even. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he pulled a gun from his holster, and the movement was swift and practiced. It was aimed at Marco.
• "Mistake," he muttered, the word thick with regret.
• A loud bang echoed through the deserted street, the gunshot sharp and final. The smell of gunpowder filled the air, acrid and metallic. Brains exploded all over the ground. And his body fell limp. One of Carmelo's men rushed forward, a strangled cry escaping his lips. He knelt beside Marco's body, his touch frantic and futile.
• Carmelo barked a single, harsh word, and the man retreated, his head bowed in submission. There was something on his lips that told me this guy wasn't nearly as meek as he appeared to me. It seemed like Carmelo would have to watch his back.
• The entire scene played out in a matter of seconds, a brutal and efficient execution. I vaguely heard Mia scream in the car, but I didn't look back. I only hoped she didn't see.
• It seemed like the cat was out of the bag a little faster than I expected it to be. I sighed. It had been nice that Mia treated treat me like a normal person. I wished it could have lasted a little longer.
• Carmelo turned towards me, his face etched with a mixture of exhaustion and apology.
• "My sincerest apologies, Volkov," he rasped. "Seems I didn't understand the situation. Have a nice night. It won't happen again... Expect a real token of my apologies. Perhaps something for your new Mrs. Congrats." He gestured towards his men. "Let's go."
• They shuffled away, leaving Marco's body on the ground. The silence that descended was heavy. When they were gone, I turned back towards the car. Mia was staring out of the car. She'd probably seen everything. She was probably in shock.
• I opened the door, but her face wasn't blank with fear or shock.
• "Who exactly are you, Albert?" she asked, her voice steady, almost like an interrogation. "And what connection do you have to the mafia?"
• Interesting.