He grabbed my hand, his grip warm and firm, and led me toward the back exit of the safehouse.

We stepped out into the cool Roman night, the air smelling of wet stone and exhaust fumes.

The narrow alleyway was dark, lit only by a single flickering streetlamp fifty yards away.

A black sedan sat idling at the corner, its headlights switched off.

“Get in the back,” Matteo whispered, unlocking a dusty Alfa Romeo parked near the wall.

I slid into the passenger seat while he got behind the wheel, the engine cranking to life with a quiet purr.

As we pulled out of the alley, the black sedan’s lights flickered on, trailing us at a distance.

“They are following,” I said, looking in the side mirror.

“I know,” Matteo said, his hands steady on the steering wheel. “We lead them to the brick yard. We find your father, and then we finish this.”

The streets of Rome blurred past us in a haze of yellow streetlights and ancient stone walls.

We crossed the river, the dark water of the Tiber reflecting the city lights like oil.