The tires screeched against the asphalt as Alessio floored the engine, the headlights cutting through the dark like twin blades. Noa sat beside him, gun in his lap, jaw tight, heart a fucking riot in his chest. The city blurred past, buildings ghosting by like memories he didn’t ask for. His fingers curled into the leather seat, trying not to shake.

“She’s going to kill me,” he said flatly.

Alessio’s eyes didn’t leave the road. “She can try.”

“She meant it,” Noa whispered. ...