Page 54 of Ruined By Capture

I check the screen. "Twenty-three percent left to copy. Maybe four minutes? Five at most."

He nods once, jaw clenched as he pushes the Audi faster. The warehouse disappears behind us, swallowed by darkness. The speedometer climbs past ninety as we hit a straight stretch of road.

"Will the files be usable if we have to shut it down early?"

"The encryption sequence needs to complete or we might lose access to everything. Raymond's security system is... it's like nothing I've seen before."

The progress bar inches forward: 82%. My pulse matches its rhythm, each percentage point another heartbeat.

"Four minutes," Alessio mutters, more to himself than to me. His eyes narrow as he checks the mirrors again. "We need to get off this main road."

The laptop fan whirs louder as it processes the massive data transfer. 85%.

"The second the files copy, I just need to unplug the USB," I explain, eyes fixed on the progress bar crawling toward completion.

Alessio takes a sharp turn down a narrow side street, the Audi's tires protesting against the pavement. "Check first that we have the files intact before unplugging. I need to know we didn't go through all this for nothing."

The progress bar hits 90%. My fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to verify the data the moment it finishes.

"Come on," I whisper to the machine. Each percentage point feels like an eternity. 92%... 93%...

Alessio pulls his phone while keeping one hand firmly on the wheel. He dials without looking, muscle memory guiding his fingers.

"Damiano," he says the moment the call connects. His voice shifts to Italian, words flowing faster than I can follow completely. I catch fragments—"tracker activated," "moving locations," "files transferring." I haven't had the chance to speak or understand my own language since my father insisted that we needed to adjust to the Americans. We only spoke English at home.

I watch the progress bar hit 98% as Alessio falls silent, listening to whatever Damiano is saying on the other end.

"Call me again when you're clear," Alessio says finally, switching back to English. "We're alerted if you need backup."

He ends the call just as the laptop chimes softly. 100%.

"It's done," I announce, immediately opening the copied files to verify their integrity. My fingers skim across the keyboard, checking encryption signatures and file sizes. "Let me make sure everything transferred correctly."

I scan through the copied data, checking timestamps and file structures. The medical records are there. The victim profiles.

"We got it," I confirm, relief washing through me.

"Then unplug it," Alessio commands, eyes darting between the road ahead and the rearview mirror.

I eject the drive properly through the operating system, then carefully remove the USB from the port. The tiny device feels impossibly heavy in my palm—hundreds of lives, millions in cryptocurrency, and enough evidence to destroy my father and Raymond.

"We're off the grid again." I say, slipping the drive into my pocket and zipping it securely.

CHAPTER 18

I've been driving for over an hour, taking a circuitous route to throw off any potential tail. The needle on the gas gauge dips dangerously close to empty and I feel Melania shifting uncomfortably in the passenger seat.

"We need to stop," I announce, scanning the upcoming exit for a suitable gas station. "Fuel's low."

Melania nods, relieved. "Good. I need a bathroom."

I choose a small gas station with minimal security cameras—old enough to have blind spots but not so decrepit that we'd stand out. I pull up to a pump shielded from the entrance, positioning the car for a quick exit if needed.

"Wait," I say as Melania reaches for the door handle. My hand automatically goes to her wrist, stopping her. Her pulsebeneath my fingers sends an unwelcome jolt through me. "We don't separate."

Her eyes meet mine, questioning but not arguing.

"I'll wait outside the bathroom, then we go into the store together." I release her wrist but maintain eye contact. "Stay close to me at all times."

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