The car bounced violently, sliding on the wet asphalt of the narrow country road outside.

Matteo fought the wheel, straightening the car as we sped away from the estate.

I looked back through the cracked rear window.

The headlights of the SUVs were still behind us, winding through the dark trees.

“Are you hit?” Matteo asked, his eyes darting to the mirrors.

“No,” I gasped, checking my hands and chest. “I don’t think so.”

“Good,” he said. “Because we can’t stop.”

He drove fast, the tires slipping on the wet curves of the road.

The rain was coming down harder now, washing the blood from his hands onto the leather steering wheel.

“Where are we going?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Away from Rome,” he said. “They own the city. Every safehouse is theirs.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small burner phone.

He tossed it into my lap.

“Open it,” he said. “There is a number saved under ‘Ancona’.”

I picked up the phone, my fingers shaking so much I could barely press the buttons.

The screen lit up, casting a blue glow on my face.