Page 9 of Mafia Heir's Broken Vows

The road ahead is silent, but as I take a sharp turn, a pair of headlights flick on from the side of the road. My breath catches. The vehicle pulls out smoothly, its sleek, dark shape unmistakable—a black SUV. It follows from a distance at first, but every nerve in my body screams that this is no coincidence.

The unease twisting in my stomach turns to dread when the SUV suddenly accelerates, gaining on me fast.

ALESSANDRO

For six years, I told myself I was doing the right thing. Staying away. Letting her live a life far from the chaos I carry with me. It wasn't easy—hell, it nearly killed me—but it was the only way to keep her safe.

But seeing her tonight, standing in that ballroom with danger lurking in every shadow, I know I've been lying to myself. My absence hasn't protected her—it's only made her a bigger target. And now, Marco's goons are circling her like vultures.

I clutch the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white, as her taillights disappear into the distance. She's driving too fast for these winding roads, but I don't blame her. After the night she's had, she's probably running on adrenaline. She doesn't know I'm following her. Not yet.

The road out of Rosewood Estate is dark and quiet, the towering trees on either side swallowing the moonlight. It's too quiet. My instincts scream that something is off.

And then I see it. A black SUV lurking at the side of the road, its headlights off, waiting. My chest tightens as it pulls out onto the road behind her, speeding up to close the distance. They're not hiding their intentions—they want her to know she's being chased.

"Fuck," I growl, slamming my foot on the gas.

My headlights catch the SUV ahead, its taillights glowing like menacing eyes as it veers dangerously close to Serafina's sedan.

Her car jerks forward, the rear bumper crumpling under the force of the collision. I can see her struggling to regain control, swerving erratically to keep the car on the road. My jaw tightens as I press harder on the gas, closing the distance between us.

The sharp crack of gunfire splits the night, and I curse under my breath. Sparks fly as bullets ricochet off her car, and the glass of her rear window shatters, spraying shards into the night. Her car swerves again, narrowly missing the ditch as the SUV pulls up beside her, their intent clear.

"Not on my fucking watch," I growl, gripping the wheel like a vice.

I floor it, my car roaring as it tears down the dark, winding road. The SUV doesn't see me coming until it's too late. I slam into its side with a deafening crunch of metal, sending it skidding off the road. Dirt and debris spray into the air as the vehicle lurches to a halt in the ditch.

Serafina's sedan struggles forward, smoke billowing from the engine. She's slowing down, the car barely holding together after the beating it's taken. I veer around her, moving in front and jamming on my brakes. My car screeches to a stop, and I'm out before the engine cuts off.

"Serafina, get down!" I roar, pulling my gun from the holster at my side.

I don't wait to see if she listens. My focus shifts to the SUV as its doors fly open, armed men spilling out with their weapons raised. They're reckless, firing indiscriminately. Bullets rip through the air, hitting the back of Serafina's car, further mangling it.

I take aim and fire, my shots precise and deliberate. One of the men drops with a shout, clutching his arm, while the othersretreat under the cover of the night. The SUV's tires spin as they scramble to get away, the vehicle lurching back onto the road before disappearing into the darkness.

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the faint hum of Serafina's battered engine and the ragged sound of my breathing. I glance back at her car. The rear is riddled with bullet holes, the shattered glass glinting in the moonlight.

I stride over to her, my shoes crunching on the gravel and shards of glass scattered across the road. She's still sitting there, frozen, her hands gripping the steering wheel like it's the only thing anchoring her.

I yank open her door. "Are you hurt?" My tone is sharp, demanding, but I need to know.

She shakes her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "No, but?—"

"But nothing." I cut her off, gripping her arm gently but firmly. "Get out. Now."

Her legs tremble as she steps out, and I don't give her time to argue. "My car?—"

"Leave it," I snap. "It's not safe here."

She hesitates, but one look at my face, and she doesn't fight me. I lead her to my car, opening the passenger door and practically lifting her inside. She's still in shock, her breaths shallow, her eyes unfocused.

I slam the door and round the car, sliding back into the driver's seat. The engine roars to life, and I peel out of the lot, leaving her wrecked car behind. With a firm grasp, I clutch the steering wheel, casting a sideways look in her direction. She's pale, shaken, but alive.

That's all that matters. For now.

The silencein the car is deafening, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the leather seats as the car takes another sharp turn. Serafina sits rigid in the passenger seat with her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

I keep my eyes on the road, my grip on the wheel firm. The tension in the air is thick, and suffocating. My mind replays the attack over and over, each detail sharp and vivid. The sight of her car being rammed, the sound of gunshots, the terror etched on her face—it's burned into me now, and it's not going away anytime soon.

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