Chapter 4 - Echoes from the Ash
I gripped the encrypted phone so tightly the plastic casing groaned in protest.
"You burned to a crisp twelve years ago," I growled into the receiver.
Dante's raspy laughter sounded like dry leaves scraping across concrete.
"Fire only purifies the strong, Adrian," he replied smoothly.
"I traded a lot of money and a few unidentifiable corpses to buy my freedom that night."
I scanned the dark treeline, watching for any movement from Marcus's approaching squad.
"If you're alive, why hide in the shadows for over a decade?" I demanded.
"Because your mother possessed more power than I anticipated," he admitted bitterly.
"But now Lorenzo's true heir has surfaced, and the old bloodline can finally be restored."
He wanted Mia to legitimize his violent coup of the Moretti empire.
"You are never touching this child," I swore, looking down at the brave little girl.
"You don't have a choice in the matter," Dante mocked.
"I own the local police, I own the state troopers, and clearly, I own your security detail."
He was right about Marcus, which meant my entire organization was severely compromised.
"Look up at the sky, Adrian," Dante whispered menacingly.
"Tell me what you see."
I tilted my head backward and peered through the thick canopy of leaves.
A low, rhythmic thumping sound began to vibrate through the humid evening air.
Suddenly, a blinding white searchlight pierced through the branches, illuminating the forest floor.
It was a heavily modified police helicopter, circling directly above our exact coordinates.
The beam of light swept across the ground, missing our hiding spot by mere inches.
"You have ten minutes to walk out with the girl, or the thermal cameras will find you," Dante warned.
The line abruptly went dead, leaving me in terrifying silence beneath the deafening roar of the chopper.
I looked at Elena, who was struggling to stay conscious against the oak tree.
We could not outrun a thermal-equipped helicopter with a severely wounded woman.
Just as the blinding spotlight swung back toward us, Mia tugged firmly on my jacket sleeve.
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"There is a metal door in the ground over there," she whispered, pointing toward a patch of overgrown briars.
I realized with absolute horror that the little girl was pointing to an old bootlegger's trapdoor.
