Page 133 of Mafia King of Lies

His hesitation is a knife against my throat. For a long moment, he just stands there—silent, still—as if the war inside him might tear him apart.

For one agonizing second, I think he’s going to walk away.

Then—

A sharp breath. A muttered curse.

Daniele steps forward and pulls out a knife, his jaw clenched tight.

I hold my breath as he cuts the ropes at my wrists, then my ankles, the strands falling like dead weight to the floor. My skin burns where they once held me captive.

I’m free.

“We have to go,” he says, his voice low, urgent. “If we want to get out of here alive, we need to move. Now.”

I nod, scrambling to my feet, fighting against the weakness in my legs. I use the thought of the small little life growing inside of me to push me forward and give me the strength to make it.

We move quickly, creeping toward the cabin door. Daniele peers through the cracks, body coiled like a spring. He looks over his shoulder at me and gives me one simple nod.

Stay close, his look states.

Then, in a blur, he bursts forward, kicking down the door.

The first guard doesn’t even have time to react before Daniele slams his knife into his throat. The second one fumbles for his gun, but Daniele is faster, grabbing him by the wrist and twisting until there’s a sickening snap. The guard drops, groaning in pain.

Daniele doesn’t hesitate. One quick, brutal strike to the temple, and he’s out cold.

“Move,” he hisses, grabbing my wrist and dragging me toward a car parked near the tree line.

We’re so close.

But then?—

A gunshot splits the air.

Daniele shoves me behind him just as Giacomo’s voice roars through the darkness.

“I should’ve fucking known! You’re just like that treacherous bitch, Beatrice!” His snarl cuts through the night like a blade. “Going somewhere, son?”

Giacomo steps forward, raising his gun—but the wet earth betrays him.

His boot slips on the muddy ground, throwing him off balance. He stumbles with a curse, arms flailing, struggling to stay upright.

“Run!” Daniele growls, yanking me by the wrist. “Now!”

We tear into the woods, swallowed by the dark.

The cold air claws at my lungs as I force my legs to keep moving. Every footstep is heavier than the last, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my body screaming to stop. But I can’t. Not when my child needs me to keep going. Not when every second could be the difference between life and death.

Gunshots explode behind us—deafening cracks that send my heart slamming against my ribs.

“Move faster!” Daniele shouts, gripping my wrist so tightly it feels like my bones might shatter.

My legs are about to give out, but the thought of my baby pushes me forward.

“Faster, Maria.”

I’m trying. God, I’m trying.

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