Chapter 17 - The Fracture of Steel
The impact was catastrophic.
The reinforced steel bumper of the flatbed slammed into the rear quarter panel of the Mercedes with bone-crushing momentum.
The car spun violently across three lanes of rain-slicked asphalt, tires screeching against the wet road.
Metal shrieked against metal as we smashed into the concrete center divider, spinning twice before coming to a halt against the guardrail.
The side curtain airbags deployed with a deafening boom, filling the cabin with white chemical smoke.
My head throbbed with white-hot pain where my temple had struck the door frame.
Blood trickled warm and sticky down the side of my face, stinging my left eye.
"Mateo!" I choked out, pushing the deflated nylon airbag away from my chest.
Mateo was already unbuckling his harness, blood running from a gash across his nose.
"I’m here, Signorina; move, we have to clear the vehicle now!"
Through the shattered driver’s side window, I saw the flatbed truck reversing across the highway shoulder, positioning itself for a second ramming run.
Behind it, two black sedans pulled up, their doors swinging open in the torrential downpour.
Four men in tactical rain gear stepped out, assault rifles raised to their shoulders.
They weren't trying to capture me.
This was a clean, scorched-earth hit designed to look like a horrific highway pileup in the middle of a storm.
Mateo kicked his passenger door open, unholstering his custom Glock 21.
"Stay behind the engine block!" he shouted, leaning over the hood and firing three controlled double-taps into the rain.
The lead gunman collapsed onto the wet asphalt, his rifle clattering across the lane.
Traffic on Interstate 55 had ground to a halt hundreds of yards behind us, civilian horns blaring into the storm.
I reached beneath the driver’s seat, finding the concealed magnetic lock my father had installed in every family vehicle.
I pulled out the compact SIG Sauer 9mm, racking the slide with a clean, metallic snap.
A bullet shattered the Mercedes rear windshield, spraying safety glass into my hair.
I rolled onto the wet pavement behind the heavy front tire, using the steel rim as cover.
Through the spray of rain, I saw a woman standing beneath an umbrella near the rear sedan.
She wore a black trench coat, her platinum blonde hair tucked beneath a cashmere beret.
Bianca Rossi.
She was watching the slaughter with a cold, detached amusement, holding a silver umbrella in one hand and a phone in the other.
She wanted to see my body pulled from the twisted steel.
"Mateo, suppress the right side!" I commanded.
"On your mark!" Mateo yelled back, emptying his magazine into the flatbed truck's front tires.
The heavy front tire of the truck exploded with a loud bang, dropping the chassis onto its rim.
I leaned around the front bumper, centered my iron sights on the gunman advancing along the concrete barrier, and squeezed the trigger twice.
The man stumbled forward and dropped into the ditch.
Bianca’s smile vanished.
She saw me standing upright through the rain and smoke, blood running down my cheek, weapon raised and steady.
She realized, in that split second of terror, that I was not the sheltered mafia princess she had tried to poison.
I was Antonio Romano’s daughter.
She turned on her heel and scrambled into the passenger seat of the rear sedan.
"Drive!" she screamed through the downpour.
The sedan reversed violently, tires smoking against the wet pavement, and sped away down the exit ramp toward the industrial district.
May you like
Behind us, the sirens of the Illinois State Police began to wail in the distance through the storm.
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