Page 37 of Ruined By Capture

Is he leaning closer? The space between us seems to shrink by millimeters. My breath catches as I realize he's definitely moving toward me, his eyes hooded, his expression unreadable except for the unmistakable heat—I know he’s going to?—

A shrill alarm cuts through the tension, making us both jump. Alessio jerks back like he's been scalded, his expression shifting instantly from whatever that was to cold, professional alertness.

"Cazzo!"

"What is this? What's happening?" My heart slams against my lungs as the blaring continues.

Alessio doesn't answer. Instead he grabs the laptop, yanking the charger from the wall. His movements are fluid, precise—a man who's practiced emergency exits too many times to count. He seizes my hand, his grip hard but not painful.

"Someone's fucking come for us. We need to move. NOW."

The urgency in his voice sends ice through my veins. I don't question him, don't hesitate. I'm on my feet instantly, as he pulls me toward the door.

In another room he releases my hand only long enough to grab a duffel bag from under the bed. He shoves the laptop and charger into my arms, then pulls out another gun—larger than the one at his waist—checking it with mechanical efficiency before tucking it too into his waistband. Car keys jingle as he snatches them from a hook by the door.

"Follow my lead," he instructs, voice deadly calm despite the chaos. "We don't have time for questions or mistakes. You do exactly what I say, when I say it. Understand?"

I nod, unable to find my voice. Terror claws at my throat but I force it down. Panic is a luxury I can't afford right now.

Alessio's hand finds mine, guiding me toward the spiral staircase. We descend quickly, my bare feet silent on the steps. The alarm continues its relentless screech, making it impossible to hear if anyone else is in the building.

When we reach the kitchen Alessio positions himself between me and the door, his body a human shield. He moves with predatory grace, checking sight lines before motioning me forward.

"Stay close," he murmurs, barely audible above the alarm.

We slip through the back door into the humid night air. A sleek black car waits in the shadows. Alessio opens the passengerdoor, practically lifting me inside before rounding the hood and sliding behind the wheel.

"Put on your seatbelt and hold onto something," he orders, jamming the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life, a deep, powerful sound that vibrates through the entire vehicle.

I fumble with the seatbelt, my fingers clumsy with adrenaline, finally managing to click it into place. My right hand grips the door handle tight. My left hand clasps the laptop to my chest.

CHAPTER 13

The Maserati Quattroporte roars to life the second I turn the ignition, its engine pulling with barely restrained power. My left hand grips the wheel while my right holds the Beretta, eyes scanning the mirrors for any movement. The car's leather interior still smells new—a fucking waste if we have to abandon it after tonight. Not that we fucking care about a car or its cost.

"Hold on," I command, not looking at Melania as I slam the car into reverse.

Her breathing comes in short, panicked bursts beside me. I can practically taste her fear in the confined space—the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers clutch the laptoplike it's a lifeline. Good. Fear keeps people sharp, keeps them alive.

I whip the car around, tires screaming against asphalt as we face the opposite direction from where our unwelcome visitors are approaching. The perimeter sensors were triggered at the east entrance—which means we head west, fast.

"Who is it?" Melania asks, her voice surprisingly steady despite her shallow breathing.

"Doesn't fucking matter right now," I respond, tucking the gun back into my waistband to grip the gear shift. "Could be your father's men. Could be Raymond's. Could be the fucking pizza delivery guy making a wrong turn. We're not sticking around to find out."

The Maserati leaps forward as I floor the accelerator, pinning us both against our seats. The safehouse disappears in the rearview, swallowed by darkness. The road ahead stretches empty, but that won't last long.

My eyes flick to the mirror again. Two sets of headlights appear behind us—a car and a motorcycle, moving fast. Too fast to be coincidence.

"We have company," I mutter, pushing the Maserati harder. The engine's purr deepens to a roar. "Two vehicles on our tail."

Melania twists in her seat to look behind us.

"Don't move," I snap, reaching across to push her back into position. "Keep your head down and your seatbelt secure."

The motorcycle gains ground, its single headlight growing larger in the mirror. With better acceleration and more maneuverability than our car, it'll reach us first. The other car isn't far behind.

"Merda," I growl, swerving around a curve in the road. The Maserati hugs the pavement, its handling impeccable even at this speed. I push it harder, feeling the car respond beneath my hands like a living thing.

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