Page 49 of Bound to the Enforcer

I duck behind a stack of crates, my heart hammering in my chest as I try to steady my breath. My gun is heavy in my hand, but I'm not afraid.Not yet.

"Alessio!" I shout, but the noise of gunfire drowns me out.

Then, I see him. He's behind a pillar, his gun steady, moving with the kind of precision that's almost too calm. But even he can't fight all of them.

I take a deep breath and move, crouching low, my boots barely making a sound on the cold floor. The shouts of his men ring louder, closer, but I stay focused on my target. I pop out from behind the crate, fire a quick shot, and take down one of them before ducking back again.

"Sophia!" Alessio calls sharply. I peek out again, catching his eye across the room. "Get to the door! We need to move!"

I don't hesitate. I sprint toward the back exit, weaving through crates and debris. My pulse is a steady drumbeat in my ears, the sound of my boots echoing as I make my way through the chaos.

A bullet whizzes past my ear, grazing my cheek, and I don't stop. I don't flinch. There's no room for fear now.

I burst out into the cold night air, the sound of my breathing harsh in the stillness. I don't slow down until I hear the screech of tires—Alessio's car.

He's already there, one hand on the door, his eyes scanning the street, his body tense. His expression hardens when he sees me, and he doesn't say a word.

"Get in," he commands.

I don't argue. I climb in quickly, slamming the door behind me as he hits the gas. We tear down the street, the engine roaring as we push the car faster. The distant sound of sirens wails in the background, but it doesn't matter. We need to get far enough away before they can track us.

Alessio's knuckles are white against the wheel, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed straight ahead. He doesn't speak, but I can feel the anger rolling off him like waves. It's not just at the men we just fought. It's atMatteo.

The betrayal cuts deeper than anything else we've faced.

We drive, neither one of uttering a word the city lights flashing by in a blur. I glance at him, but he doesn't even look my way. His anger is like a storm, wild and unrelenting, and I can't seem to reach him.

"I'm sorry about Matteo." I speak steadily despite everything.

He grunts in response. His jaw is so tight I'm afraid it might snap.

We reach the outskirts of the city—quiet streets, dark alleys, the world feeling like it's holding its breath. Alessio turns into a secluded area, pulling into a small, hidden parking lot by an empty building.

“Where are we?” I break through the thick silence of the car. I stare at his knuckles that grip the steering wheel with such force that I fear that he will hurt his hand.

“It’s a vacant building. These are new apartments about to come to market. I purchased one a few months back. We can hide here while we regroup and come up with a fucking plan.”

The car comes to a screeching halt, and he cuts the engine. The quiet in the car feels suffocating. The weight of everything—Matteo's betrayal, the blood on our hands, and the uncertainty of what comes next—presses down on us both.

I look at him again. This time, he meets my eyes, his burning with something I can't quite place—fury, regret, or something deeper. He opens the door, and I follow him out, trying not to let my own anger bubble to the surface.

We head inside. The building is simplistic in its design, nothing too fancy, but it is also quite nice. If I wasn’t running for my life, I could find a home in this place.

We walk inside in silence. The place is decorated, barely. There's a couch and loveseat in the living room and a small dining table. From the looks of it, there is one bedroom and a small kitchen with nothing on the counter to indicate that someone lives here. The only sound that can be heard is the squeak of our shoes against the wooden floor. He places the keys on the coffee table in the living room. I can see the tension in his back. I wish I knew what to say, but I too am at a loss for words.

"I didn't expect him to do that," he says quietly, the words heavy between us. "I thought I knew him."

The hurt in his tone cuts through the anger, and for a second, I see the man beneath the soldier—the one who's been burned by the very people he trusted.

"You couldn't have known, Alessio," I say softly. "He wasn't the man you thought he was."

"I should've seen it," he utters with tight frustration. "I should've known."

I step closer, reaching for him, my hand resting lightly on his arm. "You can't blame yourself for this."

He doesn't respond, but his shoulders relax just a fraction. We stand there for a long moment. Finally, Alessio breaks the stillness.

"I'm going to take a shower," he says quietly.

---