POV: Raffaele

The tension in the car was suffocating.

I gripped the wheel a little too tightly as I drove, my jaw locked, my eyes flicking between the road and Emilia curled up in the passenger seat. She hadn't said a word since we pulled away. Not that I blamed her.

This wasn't how today was supposed to go.

Luca wanted to ease her into being outside, not throw her straight into the reality of our world.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to unclench my hands. "You okay, topolina?"

She nodded stiffly, but I wasn't convinced.

I kept my voice light. "That was a nod that screamed 'no, Raffaele, I am not okay at all.'"

She shifted slightly in her seat, still gripping the sleeves of her hoodie. Her knuckles were white.

"You're scared," I said gently. "I get it."

Her head turned toward the window, her small voice barely audible. "I don't know what I'm supposed to feel."

That hit me harder than I expected.

I sighed, trying to find the right words. "You don't have to know," I murmured. "You don't have to figure it out right now. You just have to breathe, piccolina."

She didn't respond. Just kept staring at the trees as they blurred past.

I knew better than to push.

But damn if I didn't hate seeing her like this.

POV: Luca

The second the SUV was out of sight, I turned my full focus back to the problem in front of us.

The man on the ground groaned in pain, his blood pooling onto the pavement. But I wasn't looking at him.

I was looking at the trees.

The road.

The silence.

Something wasn't right.

"Trap?" Matteo asked under his breath.

"Probably," I muttered. "But whose?"

Nico was already moving, gun in hand as he circled the body cautiously. "Could be a setup," he said. "Could be someone running from something."

I stepped forward, crouching next to the man, my hand resting lightly on my own weapon. His breathing was shallow, his eyes barely open.

"Who sent you?" I asked, my voice calm, cold.

His lips parted, but only a choked, gurgling breath came out. Blood dripped from his mouth.

"Great," Nico muttered. "He's dying. That's useful."

Matteo shot him a glare before kneeling down beside me, already assessing the wounds. "Gunshot to the side," he murmured. "Exit wound's a mess. He's not making it to a hospital."

Which meant we had two options—leave him, or find out what he knew now.

"Who did this to you?" I asked again, firmer this time.

The man's eyes barely focused, but then—

"Russians..."

My blood turned to ice.

My head snapped to Matteo. His expression was unreadable, but I saw the way his fingers clenched.

Nico cursed under his breath. "Of course it's the Russians."

Of all the enemies we had, they were the worst ones to be hearing about right now.

"Can you save him?" I asked Matteo, though I already knew the answer.

Matteo inhaled sharply, pressing down on the wound. "I can stop the bleeding for now, but without surgery, he's dead."

I glanced at Nico, and he gave me a look that said exactly what I was thinking.

Not worth the risk.

The Russians weren't sloppy. If this guy was running from them, then they were already on their way.

We couldn't afford to stick around.

"We need to move," I muttered. "Now."

Matteo hesitated for a second before pulling back.

The man coughed violently, his body shaking. His eyes flickered toward me, full of something desperate. "They—" His breath hitched. "They know about the girl."

A slow, sharp silence fell over us.

Every muscle in my body went rigid.

"What did you say?"

He wheezed, struggling to keep his eyes open. "They know... the Costellos have her."

Nico moved first.

A single gunshot echoed through the trees.

The man slumped, lifeless, blood seeping into the dirt.

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

It was too late for him anyway.

I exhaled slowly, shoving my gun back into its holster. "We leave now."

Matteo stood, his expression unreadable, but I knew he hated this. Hated the necessity of it. But he didn't argue.

None of us did.

Because now, we had a much bigger problem.

The Russians knew about Emilia.

And that meant our world was about to become a whole lot more dangerous.