The wind was sharp against my face as we ripped down the country road, the thunder of Matteo’s bike vibrating through my bones. My arms were locked tightly around his waist, my cheek pressed to the leather of his jacket, heart still galloping from the chaos we’d left behind. It should’ve felt terrifying, riding into the unknown with the echoes of gasps and gunfire in our wake. But it didn’t. It felt like freedom.
The sun was bleeding into the horizon, streaks of orange and violet painting the sky as we wove through winding roads and stretches of open fields. Behind us, the rest of the crew followed like black hounds in formation. Enzo had Sofia, and I could see her tiny form nestled into him, arms wrapped around his chest, her dark curls fluttering in the breeze. She was safe. For now.
Matteo’s grip on the handlebars was firm, controlled, like he was part of the machine itself. Every movement he made was calculated, he leaned just enough into the curves, accelerated in bursts, always
