Chapter 7 – THE BRIDGE IN THE RAIN

Rain lashed against the windshield in violent sheets.

Victor slammed the accelerator to the floor. The sedan’s engine roared, but the two black SUVs behind us were faster. They were closing the distance with terrifying speed.

“Hold on to her!” Luca shouted, shielding Isabella’s sleeping body with his own.

He drew his gun, rolling down the back window.

Answer One: Marcus wasn’t taking any chances. He intended to wipe out Luca’s entire bloodline on the highway.

“Don’t shoot!” Victor yelled. “If you blow a tire at this speed, we flip!”

A sharp crack echoed through the rain. The rear window shattered, spraying glass across the backseat.

I screamed, covering my head.

“They’re trying to run us off the bridge!” Victor shouted, wrestling with the steering wheel as one of the SUVs aggressively merged into our lane, side-swiping the back bumper.

We swerved wildly, the tires screaming against the slick asphalt of the Chicago River bridge.

“Emma, get down!” Luca ordered, firing three shots blindly into the storm.

I crouched as low as I could in the passenger seat, my heart pounding so hard it hurt.

The second SUV pulled up alongside us.

Through the rain-streaked window, I saw Marcus driving. His face was twisted in a mask of pure rage.

He pointed a heavy handgun directly at Victor.

Open Two: How could we possibly survive a high-speed shootout against armed mercenaries?

Suddenly, a massive eighteen-wheeler sounded its horn, merging into the center lane ahead of us.

“Brace yourselves!” Victor roared.

Instead of braking, Victor yanked the steering wheel hard to the right, slamming the brakes and spinning the sedan in a perfect 180-degree turn.

The car violently rotated, sliding backward across the wet pavement.

Marcus, completely caught off guard, couldn’t stop in time.

His SUV slammed full speed into the rear trailer of the eighteen-wheeler.

The sound of crunching metal and shattering glass was deafening. The SUV crumpled like a soda can, spinning out of control and crashing violently into the concrete barrier of the bridge.

The second SUV swerved to avoid the wreckage, skidding wildly before slamming into the guardrail, its front end completely crushed.

Victor brought our sedan to a smoking, screeching halt, facing the wrong direction on the empty bridge.

Silence fell over the car, broken only by the sound of the rain and the rhythmic thwack of the windshield wipers.

I slowly raised my head.

Luca was breathing heavily, still covering Isabella, who miraculously hadn’t woken up.

“Is everyone okay?” Victor asked, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

“We’re alive,” Luca gasped.

We looked through the shattered windshield at the burning wreckage of Marcus’s SUV.

Reversal: The invincible traitor was defeated, not by a bullet, but by his own blind rage.

Luca opened the car door and stepped out into the freezing rain. His gun was drawn.

“Stay in the car,” he ordered us.

I watched through the window as Luca slowly approached the crushed SUV.

The driver’s side door was pinned against the concrete. Smoke billowed from the engine.

Marcus was slumped over the steering wheel, covered in blood, barely conscious.

Luca didn’t shoot him. He reached through the broken window, grabbed Marcus by the collar, and pulled him out of the wreckage, dropping him onto the wet asphalt.

“Where is Bianca?” Luca demanded, standing over his former friend.

Marcus coughed, spitting blood onto the rain-soaked road.

“She’s… she’s gone, Luca,” Marcus wheezed. “She took the money. She left me to clean up the mess.”

“Where did she go?” Luca shouted, pressing his boot into Marcus’s shoulder.

Marcus laughed weakly.

“You’ll never find her. She booked a private flight out of O’Hare. She’s already in the air.”

Luca cursed, lowering his gun. Bianca had escaped. She had ruined his life, murdered his wife, and she was going to get away with it.

But I couldn’t accept that. Not after everything she had done to Isabella.

I opened the passenger door and stepped out into the rain.

“Emma, get back in the car!” Luca shouted.

I ignored him. I walked up to Marcus, looking down at the broken man on the pavement.

“She didn’t leave you to clean up the mess, Marcus,” I said, my voice eerily calm.

Marcus looked up at me, his eyes unfocused. “What?”

“She left you to die,” I said.

“Because I saw her slip the exact same poison she used on Clara into your whiskey glass right before dinner started.”

TITLE: The Poison In The Whiskey

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