Ellie's POV
Move.
The command screamed in her head, but her body was a frozen block. The man, his face a mask of impatient irritation in the bad light, pulled the car door open. He was going to die. He was going to climb into that fireball and die, and she was going to watch.
MOVE, ELLIE!
Her father's voice, not a memory this time, but a roar from somewhere deep inside her.
Her muscles unlocked. She didn't stand up. She launched. She shot forward from her crouch like a sprinter, her cheap shoes slipping on the slush. A raw, animal scream tore from her throat.
"STOP!"
The man jerked, his head snapping toward the sound. He saw her as a wild-eyed woman in a dirty coat lunging at him from the shadows. His expression shifted from annoyance to furious disbelief. He held up a single finger, a universal shut-up gesture, and put his phone back to his ear.
He didn't see it. He thought she was crazy. A problem to be ignored.
"DON'T GET IN!" she shrieked, her voice breaking with terror. She stumbled, pointing a trembling finger under the car. "THE WIRES! IT'S A BOMB!"
That got his attention. He lowered the phone, his dark eyes locking onto hers. But it wasn't understanding she saw. It was cold, controlled anger. A powerful man is being screamed at by a nobody in an alley. "Walk away," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. It wasn't a request. It was an order.
He believed his own authority more than her panic. He turned back to the open car door, one foot already inside.
A new sound sliced through the frozen air.
CLICK.
Digital. Final.
The solid red eye under the car seemed to burn brighter.
Time didn't slow down. It exploded.
Panic wasn't an emotion. It was a physical force, a rocket in her chest. Ellie didn't think. Her body took over. She covered the last three feet in a desperate, slipping lunge. Her hand didn't go for the door. It shot out and clamped around the rough wool of his coat sleeve, just above his elbow.
She yanked.
She threw her entire weight backward, feet scrambling for purchase on the ice.
"What the!" he snarled, his balance gone.
They fell together in a tangle of limbs and expensive wool and shrieks onto the hard, wet, filthy ground. He landed half on top of her, the air blasting from her lungs.
The world turned white, then orange, then roared.
BOOOOOOM.
The sound was a living thing. It punched Ellie in the chest, in the teeth. It wasn't something she heard with her ears; she felt it in her bones. A wave of blistering, dry heat washed over them, followed by a shockwave of air that sucked the breath right back out.
The car wasn't a car anymore. It was a roaring column of fire, climbing into the night, swallowing the falling snow. The alley was painted in hellish, dancing light. Metal screamed as it tore apart. A hubcap whizzed over their heads and smashed into the brick wall with a deafening CRACK. Shards of glass and pieces of burning debris rained down around them like deadly confetti.
Ellie lay on her back, stunned. The high-pitched ringing in her ears was the only sound. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She saw the fire reflected in the falling snowflakes, each one a tiny, beautiful spark before it melted.
The weight on top of her shifted. The man Nicholas, she remembered the hostess sighing his name. Mr. Pellagrini pushed himself up on his elbows. Soot streaked his sharp jawline. A cut bled above his eyebrow. His dark eyes, wide with shock and adrenaline, found hers.
In the flickering, terrible light, she watched the journey on his face. The shock. The dawning, horrific understanding. Then, faster than she could blink, the shock was wiped away. His eyes turned sharp, focused, and cold as the ice beneath them. He looked from her to the inferno that had been his car, then back to her. He wasn't seeing the person who saved him. He was assessing a new piece on a dangerous chessboard.
The ringing in her ears began to fade, replaced by chaos. Shouts of alarm from inside the restaurant. The whoop-whoop of a distant alarm. And closer, much closer, the pounding of heavy, running feet.
Two men materialized at the alley's entrance. They were huge, silhouettes against the streetlights, moving with a terrifying purpose. They took in the scene: the fire, their boss on the ground, and their hands disappeared inside their suit jackets.
Nicholas was on his feet in one fluid, powerful motion. He didn't look hurt. He looked energized. Angry. In control. He glanced down at Ellie, still sprawled and gasping on the ground.
He spoke, his voice cutting through the noise. It was calm, flat, and carried an authority that brooked no argument. He wasn't talking to her.
"Get her," he said, nodding at Ellie. "In the car. Now."
The two giants moved. They weren't coming to help her up. They were coming to collect her. Hands like vise grips closed around her upper arms, hauling her to her feet as if she weighed nothing. Her legs buckled.
"Wait! My bag! Let me go!" Her protests were weak, swallowed by the crackle of the fire.
They didn't speak. They just marched her, half-dragging, half-carrying, toward a different black SUV that had silently appeared at the mouth of the alley, its engine running. The door was already open.
Nicholas brushed debris from his coat and climbed into the front passenger seat without a backward glance. Ellie was unceremoniously shoved into the back. One of the men, the one with a face like carved stone, slid in beside her, blocking her from the other door. He smelled like gun oil and cold air.
The door slammed shut. The locks thunked down with a terrible finality.
The SUV peeled away from the curb, leaving the nightmare of fire and noise behind. Ellie twisted, looking through the back window. The alley, now full of running people and growing flames, looked like a scene from a movie. It shrank, turned a corner, and was gone.
She was in a silent, plush, moving prison.
The man in the front, Nicholas, was already on his phone, speaking in low, rapid Italian. His voice was hard. Ellie didn't understand the words, but she understood the tone. It was the sound of someone giving orders after an attack.
She hugged herself, shivering violently. It wasn't from the cold. The SUV was warm. It was from the shock, and from the look in his eyes when he'd said, "Get her."
The driver, the other giant, watched the road with robotic focus. The man beside her stared straight ahead, his body taking up too much space.
"Please," Ellie whispered, her voice raspy from smoke and screams. "I just want to go home."
Nicholas finished his call. He didn't turn around. He spoke to the reflection in the rearview mirror. "What's your name?"
"Ellie. Ellie Wells. Please, just let me out. I won't tell anyone. I promise."
He was silent for a long moment. The city lights streaked across the tinted windows, painting stripes on his impassive face. "Ellie Wells," he repeated, as if testing the sound. "You pulled me from a car bomb. Do you understand what that means?"
"It means I saved your life!" The anger was returning, burning away some of the fear. "This is my thank you? Kidnapping?"
Finally, he turned in his seat to look at her directly. His gaze was intense, probing. "No. It means you saw the device. You can describe it. You saw me. The people who did this will know that. You are a witness, Ellie. And in their world, witnesses are a liability. They are erased."
The word erased hung in the warm air of the car. It wasn't said with cruelty. It was said as a simple, awful fact. Like stating the sky is blue. The bomb wasn't an accident. It was a message. And she had just become a part of the conversation.
"I don't know anything," she said, but the protest was weak.
"You know enough." He turned back to the front. "You're under my protection now. Whether you like it or not."
Protection. It sounded an awful lot like captivity.
She looked at the door locks. There were no handles. Just smooth panels. Master-controlled from the front. A cold certainty settled in her stomach. She wasn't getting out until he decided.
The driver's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. "Boss," he grunted, a single syllable of warning.
Nicholas and Ellie both looked back. A pair of headlights had changed lanes and was speeding up behind them, weaving aggressively through traffic.
Nicholas's face went still. "Lose them, Marco."
The SUV's engine roared. Ellie was thrown back into the soft leather as the driver, Marco, stomped on the gas. They shot through an intersection as the light turned red. The car behind them didn't stop. It followed, its headlights growing larger, brighter, angrier in the back window. It swerved and rammed their bumper with a sickening, jolting CRUNCH.