My heart is pounding, my lungs filled with the cold, night air as Clark and I jog through the woods, shoving branches and thick pines out of the way.

“Remind me why we couldn’t take one of the cars,” I huff, trying to catch up to him.

“Traceable,” he pants. “He has trackers on them, and the guards keep watch of them, just in case one is ever stolen or if we’re running a deal. An alarm goes off at our station when one is in use. It’ll wake them up, and the first person they’ll alert is my dad.”

“Of course.” I keep jogging by his side until a clearing opens up ahead. Streetlights filter through the thick pines, and Clark picks up his pace, trooping ahead.

We step onto asphalt, and he comes to a halt, looking to the left, where a black Subaru is parked on the side of the road. He pulls out a set of keys and unlocks it, yanking the door open and hopping into the driver’s seat.

I load myself into the passenger seat, the scent of stale cigarettes and expensive cologne closing me in.

“Let me guess?” I say, catching my breath. “Your getaway car?”

“Only way he can’t figure out where I am all the time.” He starts the car up and puts the transmission in gear, gripping the stick and pulling off with a loud purr from the exhaust.

“Why does he want to know where you are all the time?” I ask him. “Does he not trust you?”

He shrugs, switching lanes and changing gears again. “He has his reasons not to trust me.”

“And what are they?”

He side-eyes me briefly before focusing on the road, the streetlamps flashing on his face. “A year ago, I killed someone he thought he could trust.”

My eyebrows draw together. “Who?”

“His best friend.” He pauses for a second, most likely debating whether he should continue with the story. I’m glad he does. It helps distract me from the fact that I’m walking away from ultimate bliss and right back into the fire and chaos.

“His name was Louis,” Clark continues. “He was mine and Jen’s godfather. We thought we could trust him. He’d always told me that if I ever needed to get away, to come hang with him at his place. I always did. He never bothered me, and I never bothered him or got in his way. But one day while I was at his place, I eavesdropped. I’m nosy as fuck, and I don’t care to admit it. I want to know everything.” He shrugs like he’s trying to prove a point. “I heard him talking to someone on the phone, saying how he was going to bring Big Jack with him to some warehouse and that ‘it’ could happen there. I couldn’t figure out what the fuck ‘it’ was until I came home and heard my dad on the phone ordering some of our men to pack the trucks with guns that had just been shipped in.

“I did what any nosy-as-fuck mafia son would do. I followed him—in this car—to the warehouse. Saw Louis with some man and instantly got a bad vibe. The man was trying to bargain or cut a deal, but Big Jack wasn’t having it. He wanted all the money upfront, since this man was a new buyer. So the man pulled a gun on him. And then Louis pulled a gun on him, too. His own best friend.” He smiles, like he’s remembering something. He makes a right turn, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter now.

“But as it happened, an idea struck me. I had my gun on me. Two guns, actually. He didn’t like guns in the house, so I always kept them in this car. I came out of my hiding spot and shot both of them in the head. I’ve always had a good aim. Big Jack didn’t see it coming. He was stupid for going alone, thinking Louis could be trusted. Thinking anyone could be trusted.”

“Wow,” I murmur.

“He was pissed,” he chuckles. “He shouted at me all the way home, saying how it was going to be a mess to clean up and that he was disappointed in me for following, but I think he was really disappointed in himself for falling victim to Louis’ bullshit. And I also think he was proud of what I’d done.” He runs a hand over his hair. “The thing about Big Jack Nicotera is that he thinks he can be what his brother was, but he can’t. He thinks he can go to meets and deals alone like Lion could—because Lion was respected enough—but he can’t. Because he’s not Lion. He wants to live up to what Lion was, but he never will, because he trusts too easily and his gut isn’t hard enough. That’s why we’re here—in the middle of fucking nowhere. Because the threats are everywhere, and unlike Lion, who knew how to handle his threats, my father is never bold enough. Or maybe he’s just fucking lazy now. Whatever the reason is, he lays low. Only comes out when he has to. Hired more men. More bodies. Stopped dealing with supplying drugs altogether. It’s just guns now.”

“Having a soft gut doesn’t necessarily make you weak,” I say.

“In our world, it fucking does. I learned young,” he tells me, voice harder now. “I was fucked over one time, and I swore to never let that shit happen to me again.” His jaw flexes, brows furrowing.

I inhale and then exhale deeply, looking out of the window. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve killed someone too.”

He doesn’t even look at me. “I know you have. That cold look in your eyes is very familiar to me.”

I look over at him, about to question what he means, but the car slows down, pulling onto a rocky path. He shuts off his headlights and parks in front of a small brick house.

There is a garage off to the left, the lights on inside it. He hops out in a matter of seconds. Before I get out, I fetch my gun and then push the door open, following him to the garage.

He presses a button and it opens automatically.

First I see the athletic shoes, and then the jeans, and then rope around a striped blue shirt. When the gate is fully open, Clark steps forward with a crooked smile, and the man jerks in his chair.

“Here he is. The pilot,” Clark announces with way too much pride.

I frown at him. “What the hell, Clark? Why is he tied up?” I hiss. “I thought you said he was home!”

“When I said home, I really meant that I took him from his house, brought him to a private garage of mine, and roped his ass in a fucking chair.” He looks at me, and I throw my hands out, utterly confused. “What? He wouldn’t fucking cooperate, so I dragged his ass here. Be glad that I did it. That motherfucker was heavy.” He turns his back, and I sigh, twisting around and facing the pilot. I take my gun out and then place my bag down.

Walking up to him, I slowly peel the tape off of his mouth. He scowls up at me, breathing fast, eyes full of panic.

“Please,” he begs. “Don’t kill me, please. I swear, I didn’t do anything. I’ve only been doing my job!”

I stand up straight. “What’s your name?”

“Travis.”

“Well, I only need your cooperation, Travis. That’s it. We take you to the jet, you get it running for us, and get me to Mexico. When you get me there, this will all be over, and you can go back to doing your job.”

“Mexico.” He blows a breath. “I—I would have to make a pit stop for gas, and I can’t do that without checking in. He told me I can’t check in anywhere!” His eyes dart over to Clark.

I glance back at Clark, who rolls his eyes.

I bend over, pressing my palms into the tops of my thighs. “Listen, I don’t care if you check in. By the time anyone catches on, we’ll be too far ahead for them to do anything about it. Yeah, they may come after us, and yeah they might catch you, but if Uncle Jack asks, just tell him Gia Nicotera wanted to get back to Mexico, and she forced Clark to come along with her. Tell them I had guns to both your heads, if that’ll help. You’ll be in the clear and so will Clark.” I walk behind him, pulling at one of the knots in the rope.

“Why would I lie for him after what he did to me?” he demands, glaring at Clark. “He took me during the middle of the night, while my family was sleeping. They could have seen what happened. My wife is pregnant!”

“Uh, I think if you want to keep your fucking job, Travey boy, then you’ll say exactly what the fuck she told you to say, and go along with it. Your kids won’t be feeding themselves, right? Your family relies on the money we give to you.”

“Oh, don’t you dare bring my kids into this,” Travis seethes.

“Oh my God. Seriously?” I roll my eyes. “Just shut the hell up and help me untie him. You two can argue later.”

Clark turns with a ghostly sneer. He pulls a pocketknife out of his front pocket and pushes a button on the side of it, slinging the blade out. Travis freezes up as Clark walks toward him with the knife. He grabs the top of the rope and slices through it, staring down at Travis the whole time.

Once the rope is undone, I step back, and Travis stands up, still wary.

“Better not give us any trouble, Travey boy. I’ve got my eyes on you.”

“If I get fired—”

“If Big Jack fires you, then I will make sure you get enough money so that you never have to work for anyone ever again.” They both look back at me. Clark’s eyes scream his doubt, and Travis is flat-out stunned. I wave a hand. “I have a soft spot for kids. Can we go now?”

Clark walks past me, to the exit. I point at Travis with my gun, motioning with it for him to move along. He gives me a nervous glance before walking out.

When we’re outside, Travis says, “I try to stay out of the loop on these things—what goes on in the mafia family—but you must be her. The girl they all kept talking about. The one who was abducted and then set free by some kingpin in Mexico. Now you’re trying to go back there?”

I really am getting sick of everyone wondering why I want to go back. Maybe when they see Draco and me together, they’ll understand. Until then, I’ll keep my mouth shut and let his actions speak for themselves.

We meet up to Clark’s car, and I open the back door for Travis. “Get in,” I order, ignoring his statement.

He climbs in without hesitation, and I slam the door behind him.

“Hey, take it easy on the doors, Tomb Raider,” Clark snaps as he starts the car up.

“Just drive.” I shut the passenger door and place my gun on my lap. “How long to get to the private strip?”

“About twenty-five minutes,” Clark answers.

“Is the plane fueled?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at Travis.

“Yes. There is a full tank and it was already checked, inside and out, by a mechanic.”

“And we’ll only need to make one stop to fill up?”

“Yes,” he answers.

“Good.”

Travis slouches back in the seat, and Clark puts the car in motion. We ride mostly in silence, but my mind is screaming. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. This is a suicide mission, for sure.

For all I know, as soon as I cross that border, someone will recognize me and inform Yessica, and she’ll come for me again. I’m praying the opposite happens, and they inform Draco instead.

Clark parks in an abandoned lot, leading us to the private runway on foot. I can see the jet. It’s white, with a thick black line across the middle. It’s not as big as Draco’s, but it’s nice. Simple. Just like Uncle Jack and his family—well, all of them but Clark.

There is no one around, to my surprise. There is a booth a couple yards away, but it doesn’t look like anyone is in it.

“Did you tell security to go home? The guards?” I ask.

“Yes. Paid them off so they wouldn’t ask any questions or report to Big Jack. No one’s watching.”

I hustle beside him, trying to keep up my pace while also keeping an eye on Travis, who is on the other side of Clark. We finally reach the jet, and Clark grabs a handle, drawing down the stairs that lead up to it.

He heads up the stairs, turning on several lights, and then popping his head back out, gesturing with two fingers for us to come inside.

“You, to the cockpit,” he says, pointing at Travis. “How long to get this thing warmed up and ready to fly?”

“Um, give or take, twenty to thirty minutes,” he answers.

“What?” I drop my bag on the seat. “We can’t wait that long. We need to go now. Anyone could come out here!” I throw my hands in my hair, pushing it all behind me.

“Just chill, Gia. No one is around. Trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone,” I grumble, snatching up my bag and slouching in one of the chairs. Travis enters the pit, and Clark sighs, following behind him, watching his every move.

The smell of leather and spice surrounds me, my leg bouncing as I hear Travis complaining about something and then pulling a few knobs and twisting some levers.

Twenty minutes pass, and the engine starts, but they’re still up there, trying to figure something out.

I pick up my gun and look out of the window, my heart catching speed again. The strip is empty. Vacant. We’re the only ones here. I have to keep that in mind.

With a deep breath, I stand, going for the mini-fridge bolted to the wall. I take out a water bottle and crack it open, guzzling most of it down.

I sit back in my seat when their voices become calmer. My pulse settles, and I loosen my finger from the trigger.

Just as I start to relax, headlights flash on my face through the plane window, and a black truck with flashing blue and white lights appears, parking a short distance away from the plane.

I know that SUV.

I saw it earlier.

My heart drops at the mere presence of it.

A man in a black suit steps out, his hair parted just at the temple, gelled and combed in style. He adjusts the collar of his jacket, but I hop out of my chair, clutching the gun.

“Clark—who the fuck is that?” I hiss, shoulders hiking up, tense now. Every muscle in my body grows tight, my breaths thicker, becoming harder to pass through.

Clark spins around with his eyebrows drawn together, drawing the cover of one of the windows up and peering out. “Shit.”

“I thought no one knew we were here! Is that a cop?”

I look back out the window, and the cop digs into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out a gold badge and holding it in the air.

“DEA! I need everyone on the jet to step off right now!” he commands.

My pulse becomes sluggish. I can hear it whooshing in my ears. My finger tightens around the trigger, eyes as wide as saucers.

“Gia, be calm,” Clark murmurs. “We don’t have any drugs. Just guns. And I have permits for mine. We can easily hide yours.”

I don’t speak.

I can’t.

All words are lodged in my throat.

A fucking DEA agent is standing outside the jet. He could arrest us all and throw us in jail for the hell of it.

“I’m not here about the drugs, or the money, or any of that shit you try to do under the radar!” he yells, taking a small a step forward. “I’m here for Gianna Nicotera.”

When he says my name, my sluggishly beating heart slithers to the pit of my stomach.

Clark looks over at me with a slight grimace. “How the fuck does he know you’re here?”

I pull my lips in, taking a step to the side. I don’t know. I have no clue how he knows. He shouldn’t know…Draco was smart. He did it quietly. There’s no way in hell…

“How long until we can take off, Travis?” Clark demands.

“Almost ready. Just—just two more minutes at least. Everyone has to buckle in.”

I ignore them, staring harder out the window.

“She knows where you are, Gianna,” the agent yells, pacing in front of the jet. “You can’t run. She’ll find you, wherever you go. Just turn yourself in and end this. Give her what she wants.”

My heartbeat is all I can hear now.

A slow, deliberate thump.

Thu-thunk.

Thu-thunk.

Thu-thunk.

I can’t breathe…

I can’t…I can’t talk. One moment I’m gasping for breath, listening to Clark shout my name, and the next, I’m seeing red. So much fucking red. I feel my teeth smash together, my gun tighter in hand.

I don’t give much thought to what I do next.

My feet move faster than my brain can function.

Even though I hear Clark shouting at me, probably telling me not to go out, I don’t listen.

Before I know it, I’m standing in the cold, hustling halfway down the staircase with my pistol aimed high and a bullet flying directly at the agent.