The roar of a twin-turbo engine was the only sound that could drown out the screaming silence of the empty nursery. Dante didn't wait for his security detail. He vaulted over the balcony railing of the North Wing, dropping ten feet onto the hood of his custom matte-black interceptor.
Elena was right behind him. She didn't descend the stairs; she scrambled down the trellis of roses, her silk gown tearing, her hands staining red with thorns. Before Dante could shift into gear, she wrenched the passenger door open and threw herself inside.
"Get out," Dante hissed, his eyes reflecting the cold dashboard lights. "This isn't a gala, Elena. This is a war."
"That is my son," she shouted over the engine's growl. "You don't know the Sartoris. You don't know how they think. But I know what it's like to hide. Drive, or I'll jump out while you're moving."
Dante stared at her for a heartbeat, seeing a flash of the woman who had evaded his global search for three years. He slammed the car into gear, the tires screaming as they tore out of the courtyard.
The Midnight Pursuit
The GPS on the dashboard lit up with a pulsing red dot. "Enzo's tracker," Dante explained, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "He managed to tag their vehicle before they knocked him out. They're heading for the docks at Castellammare."
The car flew down the narrow, serpentine cliffs of the Sicilian coast. Dante drove with a lethal precision, drifting around corners that hung over the abyss. Elena gripped the door handle, her eyes fixed on the red dot.
"They're slowing down," she noted, her voice trembling. "Why would they slow down near the salt marshes?"
"Because they aren't going to the docks," Dante realized, his jaw tightening. "They're heading for the old ruins. There's a helicopter pad hidden in the valley."
He floored the accelerator. The world outside became a blur of silver moonlight and dark olive groves.
"Dante," Elena said, her voice suddenly calm. "If we catch them, what happens? You can't just shoot. Leo is in that car."
"I know how to handle my business, Elena."
"No," she said, reaching out to grab his arm. "This isn't business. This is him. If you kill the driver at eighty miles per hour, you kill our son. You have to let me talk to them. They want leverage, right? They want you. Give them me instead."
Dante let out a harsh, jagged laugh. "You think I'd trade you? I just got you back."
The Confrontation at the Ruins
The red dot stopped moving.
They rounded the final bend to find a silver sedan idling in the center of a crumbling Roman amphitheater. The blades of a waiting helicopter began to churn the air nearby, kicking up dust and dead leaves.
Dante slammed on the brakes, his car skidding to a halt mere feet from the sedan. He was out of the door in a second, his weapon drawn and leveled at the driver's window.
"End of the road!" Dante roared.
The rear door of the sedan opened slowly. A man stepped out—not a soldier, but a polished, older man in a tailored suit. Pietro Sartori. In his arms, he held a crying, terrified Leo.
"Careful, Dante," Pietro shouted over the rising whine of the helicopter. "The boy has a very delicate constitution. It would be a shame if the noise... or a stray bullet... frightened him to death."
Elena pushed past Dante, ignoring the gun in his hand. She walked toward the center of the ruins, her hands raised, the emeralds on her neck glinting in the moonlight.
"Pietro!" she called out. "Look at me! You don't want the boy. He's a liability. He's a toddler who needs medicine and a mother. You want the Moretti secrets? You want the codes to the Milanese accounts? I built them. I'm the one who knows where the money is hidden."
Pietro squinted at her, a greedy light entering his eyes. "The tailor girl? You're worth more than the brat?"
"I'm the architect of his fortune," Elena lied, her voice steady even as her heart felt like it was exploding. "Let him go to his father. Take me. I'm the only one Dante can't afford to lose."
Dante stepped forward, his face a mask of fury. "Elena, get back."
"Choose, Pietro!" Elena cried, stepping closer to the enemy. "The heir who will hunt you for the next fifty years, or the woman who can give you everything tonight?"
Pietro looked at the helicopter, then back at Elena. He smiled—a yellow, rotted thing. He lowered Leo to the ground. "Run to your father, little prince."
As Leo scrambled toward Dante, Pietro lunged for Elena, grabbing her by the waist and dragging her toward the helicopter.
"No!" Dante screamed, but he couldn't fire. Leo was in his path, sobbing and reaching for his legs.
Elena looked back over her shoulder as the helicopter began to lift off. She saw Dante clutching their son, his eyes filled with a raw, agonizing despair she had never seen before. She had saved Leo, but she had just stepped into the mouth of the wolf.