[Aldo]
The truck smashes into us, a thunderous roar of metal crumpling against metal. The rear glass shatters instantly, fragments cascading through the air like jagged stars.
The force propels us forward, slamming my chest into the dashboard, knocking the wind out of me. The screech of twisting steel fills the night as the car is shoved violently off the road,
the tires skidding across loose gravel before we plunge into a steep side ditch. The car groans as it tilts upward, one side propped precariously higher than the other.
We’re completely exposed to the road, the beams of the truck’s headlights glaring down at us like predatory eyes.
The air is heavy with the acrid stench of burned rubber and gasoline. My pulse is pounding in my ears, and each shallow breath tastes of panic. My hands scramble for the shotgun,
the cold metal bracing me against the chaos. Beside me, Luca’s movements mirror mine, his jaw tight, his face set with grim determination.
The truck behind us screeches to a halt, and my gut twists as I hear shouting-angry, guttural voices barking commands-and the metallic click of guns being cocked.
I unbuckle my seatbelt, the sound too loud in the suffocating silence that follows. My hand fumbles for the grenade Luca packed.
My fingers shake, but I manage to pull the pin.
“Cover me,” I growl, shoving the window open and hurling it out. The sharp clink of metal hitting the pavement is the only warning before the explosion detonates.
The force shakes the car violently, rattling every loose piece of metal and glass. My ears are ringing so badly I can’t hear my own gasp.
Smoke billows up, thick and choking, stinging my eyes as I clamber out of Luca’s side. We stumble into the grass, the damp blades brushing against my trembling hands as we hit the ground hard.
The grenade’s explosion has turned their truck into a mangled heap of scorched metal. My vision swims, black dots spotting the edges,
but Luca’s rough slap across my cheek pulls me back. “Focus,” he snaps, his voice barely audible over the lingering hum in my ears.
Gunfire erupts, bullets slicing through the air, whistling past us. The pings of ricocheted shots off the car are sharp and jarring,
some punching clean through and sending sprays of dirt around us. Each hit feels like a countdown ticking against our lives.
We clutch our shotguns, and I force myself to calm my racing thoughts.
The deafening gunfire slows, giving way to an uneasy pause. Luca meets my eyes, his gaze steady despite the chaos. “Now!” he hisses.
We rise together, splitting their line of fire. My shotgun bucks against my shoulder with every blast, the recoil sending jolts through my arms. The thunderous reports of the weapon seem to echo forever in the night.
Their screams cut through the din as the truck becomes a shield of twisted metal. The grenade’s damage has already shredded it, and our shots reduce it to little more than a burning skeleton.
One of the men behind the truck rises, desperation written across his face. He aims at Luca, but I don’t give him the chance.
My shot tears into his chest, and he crumples with a scream, blood blossoming across his shirt like a macabre flower.
Another man rolls out, trying to fire, but I’m faster. His body jerks as my shot lands true, and he falls lifeless to the ground.
A new sound tears through the chaos-a distant engine revving. My stomach clenches as headlights pierce the smoke.
Another vehicle approaches, but as I raise my gun, it reverses sharply, tires screeching in retreat.
“Cowards,” I mutter under my breath, but I can’t celebrate. The momentary distraction costs us.
Gunfire erupts from the warehouse. My head snaps toward it just as Luca cries out. I turn to see him drop to one knee, clutching his arm where blood seeps through his fingers.
“Luca!” I shout, panic rising.
He grits his teeth, his curses in Italian venomous and sharp.
“I’m fine,” he hisses through the pain. He raises his shotgun with shaky arms and fires, the blast taking out the kneecap of one of the shooters. The man collapses, screaming, his agony a sharp counterpoint to the chaos around us.
Luca’s shotgun clatters to the ground as he loses grip. I take out the last man, my shot silencing him instantly.
“Luca?” I kneel beside him, scanning his pale, sweat-slicked face. His breathing is ragged, but his glare is defiant.
“You okay?” I ask, voice tight.
“Figlio di puttana,” he spits, clutching his arm. “My arm. My fucking arm.”
His free hand gropes for the shotgun, which he uses as a crutch to stagger upright with my help.
We approach the man Luca shot, his screams cutting the night air. He writhes on the ground, his hands scrambling at the dirt.
Our shadows loom over him, and he freezes, his terror palpable. His trembling hand reaches for a gun nearby, but Luca stomps on his shattered knee with brutal finality.
The man’s scream pierces the night like a knife.
A door bangs open, and all thoughts of vengeance vanish. My heart stutters as I see them-Andre and Dawn stumble out, collapsing onto the cement platform.
“Go,” Luca says, his voice cold steel. “I’ll keep this one company.”
I don’t wait. My legs are moving before he finishes, carrying me across the blood-soaked ground.
Dawn is cradling Andre’s head in her lap, her face pale and streaked with dirt and tears. “What happened?” I demand, dropping to my knees beside them.
Her voice is small, trembling. “He’s gonna be okay, isn’t he, Aldo?”
My eyes dart to Andre’s shirt, now a sodden mess of dark, sticky blood. It pools beneath him, painting a gruesome trail back to the warehouse.
My gaze flicks between the two of them-Dawn’s desperate, tear-filled eyes and Andre’s weak, bloodied grin.
He looks up at me, barely clinging to consciousness. “My man,” he rasps, a faint glimmer of humor still lingering in his voice.
I kneel closer, the weight of the moment crushing down on me.
I don’t know whether to feel relief or despair. My gaze lingers on his wound, the slick sheen of blood too much to ignore.
My words come out cracked, disbelief all over.
“What-how?”