The black Maserati tore down Fifth Avenue, headlights slicing through the midnight rain. Aria's pulse thudded against her ribs, matching the screeching rhythm of the tires as she clutched the leather seatbelt like a lifeline.
"Faster, Lorenzo!" Her voice cracked, torn between command and plea.
He didn't look at her. His hands were steady on the wheel, long fingers dancing across the gearshift with the precision of a pianist coaxing notes from ivory. Behind them, Sebastian's convoy, three monstrous SUVs, stayed in brutal formation, headlights glaring through the downpour like predators refusing to lose their prey.
"They're gaining," she whispered, the words half-choked.
Lorenzo's jaw twitched, stone-carved. "They'll never touch you while I'm breathing."
He downshifted. The engine roared, the Maserati jolting forward like a beast unleashed. Aria was slammed back against the seat, her breath snatched away.
Then, a crack.
Gunfire split the night. The side mirror exploded, spraying glass across the slick road.
Aria gasped, her throat tight. "God…."
"Stay down!" Lorenzo barked. His arm shot across her instinctively, shielding her body as another bullet pinged against the trunk. The car swerved violently, water spraying in silver arcs, but Lorenzo's grip was iron. He steadied them, eyes burning forward.
Aria curled into herself, heart hammering. What have I done?
Just hours ago she had stood under golden chandeliers, draped in diamonds, smiling for cameras, the perfect wife in a gilded cage. Now, she was a fugitive beside a mafia lord, hunted by the man who owned her name.
And the terrifying part? She didn't know if she wanted to be caught.
"Hold tight," Lorenzo muttered. Ahead, a delivery truck loomed.
He spun the wheel sharp, tires screamed, water sloshed across the lanes, and the Maserati carved between two vehicles with barely inches to spare. One of Sebastian's SUVs clipped the truck's bumper. It spun wildly, slamming against a streetlight with a metal-crunching roar.
Aria flinched. In the rear window's flicker, flames burst, licking into the stormy night.
But two SUVs pressed forward, relentless.
"They won't stop!" she cried.
"They don't know how," Lorenzo said grimly, his voice a blade. "Men like him never do."
For the briefest second, his gaze darted toward her, unreadable, then back to the road. "But neither do I."
Something unspoken crackled in the air between them, an understanding, raw and dangerous.
Minutes later, the Maserati skidded into a narrow, shadow-drenched alley. Lorenzo killed the headlights, and the car heaved into silence, engine growling low.
They sat there, breathless, cocooned in darkness. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed, carried faintly by the storm.
Aria pressed trembling fingers to her temples. Her body shook, but whether from adrenaline or fear, she couldn't tell. "This is insane. I don't even know where I'm going, or why"
"You know why," Lorenzo cut in, his voice low but sharp. His eyes pinned her, fierce, unyielding. "Because you're done being his prisoner."
Her chest tightened. Prisoner. The word scraped against her bones. Memories flickered, Sebastian's hand on her wrist, cold and possessive. His whispers at night: You are mine. Always mine.
Her throat burned. "And what am I to you? Another conquest? A jewel for your empire? A prize to prove you can take what belongs to him?"
The silence stretched, thick enough to choke.
Finally, Lorenzo said quietly, "No. You're fire. The kind of woman who burns cages to ash. I'm not here to own you." His eyes, dark and steady, didn't waver. "I'm just giving you the match."
The words struck her like lightning. Dangerous. Reckless. Intoxicating.
Part of her wanted to believe him. Another part, older, wounded-whispered: What if I'm only trading one master for another?
She turned away, unable to answer herself.
The safehouse was nothing like Sebastian's glass-and-gold palace. No chandeliers glittered here. No velvet drapes muffled the world. Instead, bare walls, exposed brick, steel beams, the faint smell of gun oil and leather.
It wasn't comfort. But it was real.
Lorenzo unlocked the door and stepped aside. "You'll be safe here. For now."
Aria's heels clicked against the concrete as she entered, her gown, ripped and rain-stained, hanging like a ghost of the gala. She sank into a worn leather chair, burying her face in her hands.
The silence pressed down.
Finally, she whispered, "Sebastian will never let me go. He'll destroy us both before he does."
"Let him try."
Lorenzo poured whiskey into two chipped glasses, sliding one toward her. His knuckles were grazed raw from the wheel, veins bulging with restrained fury. "He's ice. I'm fire. And fire melts ice every time."
She stared at the amber liquid, then at him. His reckless confidence was infuriating. And yet, absurdly, she felt safer in this broken place with him than she ever had in her crystal cage.
What is happening to me?
The television flickered on, static hissing before settling.
A news anchor's calm voice filled the room:
"Breaking: Billionaire mogul Sebastian Draven has issued a statement following tonight's gala scandal…"
Aria froze.
Sebastian's face appeared, calm and immaculate, like marble. "My wife was endangered tonight by criminal elements who infiltrated our event. I am working closely with authorities to ensure her safe return. Anyone aiding her captors will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."
Captors.
Her nails dug into her palm until she tasted blood in her mouth.
He was rewriting her story. Again.
Lorenzo's jaw hardened. "He's painting himself the savior. Making you the fragile ornament stolen from his empire."
Aria rose slowly. Fury burned, curling through her veins like wildfire. "He'll make the world believe I'm weak. That I need saving. Again." Her voice cracked with rage. "I won't let him win the narrative."
"Then change it," Lorenzo said, studying her. "Make the world see you're not his possession."
Her breath quickened. "And how exactly do I do that?"
A dangerous half-smile touched his mouth. "By starting a war."
The thought made her heart pound in a strange rhythm, fear and exhilaration colliding.
The door creaked.
One of Lorenzo's men entered, face pale as chalk. He tossed something onto the table.
A small black device. Blinking red.
Aria's stomach dropped. "What is that?"
"A tracker," the man said grimly. "Planted in the car. They already know where we are."
The air thickened, electric.
Lorenzo's expression darkened, every inch of him coiled steel. He reached for his gun, chamber snapping with lethal finality.
Aria's pulse thrashed. "Sebastian's men"
"They're coming," Lorenzo finished, his eyes locking with hers. Steady. Deadly.
A beat of silence. Rain drummed the windows like war drums.
Then, glass shattered in the back hall.
Headlights flared through the alley cracks.
Boots pounded the pavement outside.
Lorenzo stepped in front of her, weapon raised, voice low and final:
"And this time, Aria, you'll have to choose where you stand when the bullets start flying."