[Dawn]
Aldo is searching his mind for the correct response. He can see my neck bulging and my temple flashing with a pulsing vein. My anger is a live wire, crackling through the confined space of the car. I’ve gone from zero to one hundred over my damn brother, and my frustration is practically vibrating off me.
That’s when the car horn blares.
And another.
A car veers sharply into our lane.
Aldo slams on the brakes, and the force yanks me forward in my seat. The seatbelt digs into my chest as I instinctively grab at the dash, my fingers clawing for stability. My heart rockets into my throat.
Then Aldo swerves hard left, the tires screeching against the asphalt as the van swings violently to the side. I see it clearly now-them.
It’s the men from the car!
The Russians Aldo’s been paranoid about. They’re grinning, laughing like this is all a game to them. My stomach twists in a cold knot as they swing back across, aiming straight for us again.
“Shit,” Aldo spits, his voice tight with fury. He jerks the wheel, threading us out of their path and toward the emergency shoulder. I clutch the door handle, every muscle in my body tensed.
The van jolts as Aldo accelerates down the shoulder, overtaking a row of cars. The roar of the engine vibrates through me, and I barely have time to process what’s happening.
“They’re right behind us!” I manage, my voice cracking.
Aldo glances over his shoulder, his jaw clenched. Sure enough, they’re there, weaving through traffic with infuriating ease. The two men are still grinning, waving at us like this is some twisted joke.
“What the actual fuck?!” Aldo snaps, slamming a hand on the steering wheel. His knuckles are white as he grips it, his eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror.
He veers into another lane, but they follow, closing the gap. The van jerks as he narrowly avoids a collision, threading us between cars like a needle through fabric.
“They’re trying to box us in,” I say, panic rising like bile in my throat.
“No shit!” Aldo barks back.
The Russians pull alongside us, their car so close I can see the gleam of their teeth as they talk and gesture wildly. One of them points at the front of our van, his expression smug.
“They’re slowing!” I yell, my voice nearly drowned out by the chaos around us.
“Not on my watch,” Aldo growls. His foot slams the gas, and the van surges forward. Then, without warning, he jerks the wheel, ramming their car.
The impact sends a bone-rattling jolt through the van, and the Russians’ expressions twist into rage. They gesture furiously, one of them pounding a fist on the dashboard.
“They’re pissed now!” I shout.
“They’ve been trying to kill us! I couldn’t care less if they’re pissed!” Aldo yells back.
He changes lanes again, threading us dangerously close to the edge of the road. I grip the seatbelt as if it’s the only thing tethering me to this world.
The Russians drop back suddenly, slipping between cars like shadows. My pulse thunders in my ears as I crane my neck, trying to keep them in sight.
“Where’d they go?” I whisper, dread creeping into my voice.
Aldo mutters something under his breath, his eyes scanning the mirrors. I don’t dare look at him-I’m too busy watching for their next move.
And then they’re back.
They dart out from behind a car, veering hard toward us. Their target is clear-the rear corner of the van.
“Hold on!” Aldo barks, his voice sharp with adrenaline.
The van lurches as he slams on the brakes. My body lifts off the seat, the seatbelt digging painfully into my ribs as it catches me. I gasp, my hands flailing for something solid to grab onto.
The Russians’ car rockets past us, swerving wildly. They overcorrect and shoot toward the exit divider.
For a split second, time seems to freeze.
Their car slams into the water-filled barriers lining the exit. There’s a deafening crash, followed by an explosion of water that drenches the highway. The front of their car crumples like paper, the metal folding in on itself.
Aldo doesn’t slow.
We speed past the wreck, the chaos shrinking in the rearview mirror. My chest heaves as I suck in air, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst.
“What the hell was that?” I manage, my voice trembling.
Aldo shakes his head, his expression grim. “That’s a question for your brother.”
“What?” I snap, my eyes wide.
But Aldo doesn’t answer. He just shakes his head again, like he’s already said too much.
The rest of the drive is a blur. We keep looking in the mirrors, our eyes darting to every car that gets too close. My mind replays the scene over and over-the car veering into our lane, the crash, the water spraying across the highway.
I keep seeing them coming for us. I keep imagining the impact, the van spinning out, the wreckage left behind.
But that’s not what happened.
I turn to Aldo, my voice softer now. “Thanks for saving us. Your driving was crazy.”
Aldo glances at me, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. “No need to thank me. I didn’t even think-I was just reacting.”
“Well, as far as reactions go, that was pretty good,” I say with a shaky laugh. My hands are still trembling, but some of the tension eases.
In the distance, the New York City skyline comes into view, glittering like a mirage on the horizon. The sight fills me with a strange mix of relief and unease.
Aldo’s phone rings then, breaking the fragile calm. He answers, his voice steady despite the way his hands grip the steering wheel like a lifeline.
“Luca’s family has eyes on us,” he says when the call ends. “Their cars will merge with ours as we head along. We’ll get off at the exit the lead car indicates. From there, it’s straight to the docks…”
I nod silently, my thoughts still tangled in the chaos of the last few minutes.
This road trip has had everything-more than I bargained for.
The excitement of our hookups wasn’t enough. Now we have Russian bratva adding fear and adrenaline to the mix.
Even as the Colombino family cars join us, threading through New York’s maze of streets, one question lingers in my mind:
Why were those men trying to kill us?
Unless it wasn’t meant to be us.
Maybe they were expecting my brother.
And if that’s the case, what the hell kind of trouble has Andre gotten himself into this time?