Page 77 of Auctioned Innocence
“Someone leaked our entire security protocol.” Dante’s voice is tight with pain and fury. “Someone with access to the highest levels. Someone we trusted.”
A bullet shatters our back window, sending safety glass cascading into the backseat.
Vincent swears creatively in three languages, swerving onto a service road that runs between abandoned warehouses.
“Vincent,” I say, suddenly remembering why this feels familiar. “You grew up in this area, didn’t you?”
“Every street, every alley,” he confirms. “Home field advantage.”
He takes us through a series of turns that would make a GPS unit cry, navigating by memory through neighborhoods that have seen better decades.
Behind us, the pursuit vehicles struggle to keep up, their drivers relying on technology rather than local knowledge.
“Sir,” Vincent says to Dante, “Protocol says to get Miss Renaldi to the emergency safe house in?—”
“No.” Dante’s grip on my hand tightens, and I can feel the tremor in his fingers that he’s trying to hide. “They’re watching all the family properties. Waiting for us to run to ground like rabbits.”
As if confirming his words, another text from Marco appears:Multiple hostile teams positioned at all known locations. Organized hit. They WANT you to run to safety. DO NOT return to family.
The message is clear—we’re on our own.
No family backup, no safe houses, no cavalry coming to save us. Just us, a wounded enforcer, and whatever skills we can muster.
“What about the yacht?” I suggest, grasping for options. “We could reach international waters, contact friendly governments?—”
“First place they’ll look,” Dante cuts me off, though not unkindly. “Viktor’s been planning this for too long. He’ll havecontingencies for everything we can think of and half the things we can’t.”
“Then what?” Frustration bleeds into my voice. “We can’t just keep running forever.”
“We need to disappear,” Dante says firmly. “Completely off-grid. No electronic footprints, no paper trails, no contact with anyone they might be monitoring.”
Vincent takes another sharp turn, finally losing our tail in a maze of warehouse districts that stretch for miles.
Industrial lighting casts harsh shadows between buildings, creating a maze of potential hiding spots.
He pulls into a dark loading bay between two massive distribution centers, cuts the engine, and suddenly the silence is deafening.
No more gunfire, no more pursuit vehicles, no more immediate threats.
Just the sound of our own breathing and the distant hum of the city that never sleeps.
“This is as far as I go,” Vincent says quietly, and there’s genuine regret in his voice. “They’re looking for this vehicle, and they’ll be monitoring all known associates now. Anyone who’s worked with your family for more than a few months is compromised.”
He reaches under his seat and pulls out a set of keys attached to a simple keychain. “Blue sedan, two blocks east. Parked behind the Chinese restaurant. Clean papers in the glove box, registered to a shell company that doesn’t exist on paper. Tank’s full, spare tire’s good. Should get you wherever you need to go.”
“Vincent—” I start, but he shakes his head.
“Been an honor, Miss Sofia. Your parents would be proud of how you handled yourself tonight.” He looks at Dante. “Both of you. Now get out of here before they triangulate our position.”
We switch vehicles in silence, the night air cold against my skin after the warmth of the SUV.
Every shadow could hide an enemy, every distant sound could be pursuit closing in.
Dante’s jaw is tight with pain as I help him into the passenger seat of the sedan, his movements careful and measured.
The sedan is everything Vincent promised—nondescript, forgettable, the kind of car that could disappear in any parking lot in America.
Perfect for becoming invisible.
