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.
