Page 153 of Stalking Ginevra

Reaper claps a hand on my shoulder, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Married life getting to you?”

“Not now,” I snap.

He snorts, but the fact he noticed means I’m already slipping. “Zambino looks like he’s about to piss his pants.”

I grunt, my hand tightening on my pistol. It’s not just Zambino’s nerves—it’s the whole setup. The air feels too still, too quiet, like the city is holding its breath.

A car rumbles, and I turn just in time to see headlights slicing through the darkness. It pulls up to Zambino, the low hum of the engine growing louder, more menacing. Relaxing, Zambino steps toward the passenger window.

As it rolls down, his features slacken with shock. Before he can even utter a word, gunfire erupts, filling the street with a staccato crack of bullets. Zambino drops to the pavement, bleeding through multiple wounds.

“Shit!” I sprint to my car, my boots slamming against the pavement as I bark orders into my earpiece. “After them! Don’t let that car leave the city.”

I slide behind the wheel as Reaper dives into the passenger seat. The engine snarls awake, and my men emerge from the shadows, their tires screaming as they tear through the alley. I hit the gas, reveling in the surge of power. That bastard isn’t escaping. Not tonight.

My grip tightens on the wheel as I give chase, navigating each turn, my tires spitting sparks on the asphalt. Adrenaline hums through my system, but it’s the cold burn of rage that keeps me focused.

The flash of confusion in Zambino's eyes tells me Victor sent someone else. Someone who wasn’t planning on Zambino the rendezvous leaving alive.

I yank the wheel hard, swerving the car around a corner, narrowly missing a heap of trash. The car ahead fishtails, clipping a dumpster, sending out explosions of debris. They’re panicking. But every wild swerve, every mistake, only brings me closer. The noose is tightening.

Reaper pulls out a control pad and taps on its screen. “Deploying drones,” he says. Seconds later, I catch sight of the aerial hunters pursuing the fleeing car. “They’re ready to fire on your command.”

The killer’s vehicle takes another sharp turn, scraping against a brick wall with a metallic squeal. Jaw clenching, I lean forward. They’re getting reckless. Desperate.

On the next bend, the driver's tires screech against wet asphalt. The car fishtails before slamming into a wall with a satisfying crunch. Its hood crumples like an accordion, billowing clouds of steam.

I slam on the brakes. Before the engine stops sputtering, I’m out, gun drawn, and heading to the wreckage. Heart pounding, I approach the car, my boots crunching over the broken glass, my eyes locked on the driver’s door.

“Secure the area!” I snap, gesturing at my men to fan out and cover every angle.

Reaper moves in first, yanking open the driver’s door. A middle-aged woman collapses onto the pavement, her bruised face hitting the ground with a thud.

Not what I expected.

Reaper crouches down to check her pulse. “She’s alive.”

“Who the fuck is she?” I mutter, my gaze flicking to a half-packed duffle bag on the front passenger seat.

“Makes no sense,” Reaper mutters.

I clench my jaw, my patience close to snapping. This wasn’t the plan. Victor was supposed to be here, and now we’re left with a half-dead woman and no answers.

“Get her in a van,” I snap and step back to scan the area for any more surprises. “Search every inch of that car. I don’t care if it’s a gum wrapper. I want to know everything.”

As my men move in to lift the woman, a streetwalker steps out from around the corner. Clad in a leopard-print mini skirt and a fake fur jacket, her heels click against the pavement, and her hips sway like she’s still on the clock. Her sharp eyes flick between the wrecked car and the unconscious woman.

“Rough night, huh?” she says with a sly grin. “I could call the cops, or you could make it worth my time to forget what I saw.”

“Get the hell out of here,” I snap.

Her gaze flickers to my chest as if she can see through the armor. Before I can deal with her, Reaper staggers backward with a shout.

“We’ve got a problem!”

I turn just in time to see him pull a digital device out of the woman’s purse, resembling a bomb. The countdown is already ticking with thirty seconds left on the clock.

“Everyone, move!” I yell. “Reaper, get her out of here!”

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