Damiano leaned over the center console, firing his handgun twice through the shattered opening.

The man on the hood fell backward into the dark, rainy street.

But more footsteps were already splashing toward us.

The driver’s side door was yanked open from the outside.

Damiano fired again, but a metallic thud echoed from the passenger side.

The passenger door swung open.

A gloved hand reached inside, grabbing my arm.

“Let go of her!” Damiano roared.

He turned to shoot, but a heavy wooden butt of a rifle crashed through the rear window, striking him across the side of his head.

He grunted, his body sagging against the leather seat.

Blood began to seep from his temple, dark and thick in the dim light.

“Damiano!” I cried out, reaching for him.

The grip on my arm tightened, pulling me violently toward the door.

My heels dragged against the rubber floor mats.

I kicked out, my shoe catching someone’s shin.

A man cursed in the darkness, his grip slipping for a second.

I scrambled back toward Damiano, trying to wake him.

“Damiano, please, get up!”