Chapter 2 – Wrong Car

Matteo slammed the door and dropped to the floor of the backseat, panting like a hunted animal. His fingers clutched the leather pouch like it was his last lifeline. Everything around him was silent now—too silent. The kind of silence that felt like a held breath before something exploded.

He dared a peek through the tinted glass.

Two dark figures sprinted past the alley’s opening.

One of them cursed. “Where the hell did he go?!”

Matteo grinned—small, smug, and completely exhausted. “Still got it.”

He leaned back, pressing his head against the seat. The car smelled like money. Not just clean or new—but rich. The kind of scent you didn’t find in cars that were barely holding together with duct tape.

Matteo glanced at the dashboard.

The engine was on.

His eyebrows shot up. “Ohhh, jackpot,” he whispered. “This day just keeps getting better.”

He slid into the front seat, fingers itching for the wheel. “Okay, Matteo. You survived, you scored, and now you drive off into the sunset like a badass. Easy.”

Then he paused. “Wait... I don’t know how to drive.”

He stared at the gear shift like it was written in an alien language. “Okay. Okay. How hard can it be? It’s just... gas and go, right?”

He reached for the gear stick.

Click.

A sharp sound. Cold metal. Pressed gently against the side of his neck.

Matteo froze.

“Oh come on,” he groaned. “Seriously?”

A low, calm voice spoke from behind him. “Move again, and your blood’s gonna be all over my leather seats.”

Matteo raised both hands in slow motion. “Not touching anything, I swear.”

A beat of silence. Then the voice again—steady, unamused. “Why are you in my car?”

Matteo glanced sideways. “Funny story, really. I was just on my way to Bible study when—”

“Try again.”

“Okay, okay!” Matteo sighed. “I was being chased. You know how it is—city life, full of surprises.”

Another pause. Then, sharper: “What’s in the pouch?”

Matteo hesitated. “Lunch.”

“Try again.”

“Okay, fine. It's... keys. A lot of them. Maybe too many. Honestly, I don’t even know what half of them open.”

The silence from the back seat grew heavier.

Matteo couldn’t see the guy clearly, but he could feel the way the air shifted. This wasn’t some random driver. Whoever he was, he wasn’t surprised—not really. Not by Matteo. Not by the stolen pouch.

And definitely not by the situation.

Finally, the man pulled the gun back. “Sit up. Slowly.”

Matteo exhaled and shifted into the front seat, hands still in the air. “Look, I didn’t mean to steal your car, okay? I was just improvising.”

“Yeah,” the voice said coolly. “You’re clearly great at that.”

Matteo turned and finally got a good look at the man in the backseat.

Sharp jawline. Black gloves. Eyes like winter steel. He didn’t look angry. He looked... amused. In a dangerous kind of way.

“Let me guess,” Matteo said. “You’re not an Uber.”

“Nope.”

“Chauffeur?”

“No.”

“Hitman?”

There was a pause.

Matteo blinked. “Wait—are you?”

“Depends. You planning to give me a reason?”

Matteo raised his hands again. “I’m unarmed and underfed. You won’t even get a good fight.”

The man gave the faintest smile. “What’s your name?”

Matteo hesitated. “What’s yours?”

“I asked first.”

Matteo sighed. “Fine. Matteo.”

The man leaned back. “Well, Matteo. Looks like you just crashed into the wrong life.”

Matteo glanced out the window. The street was empty. The world quiet again.

“So what happens now?” he asked.

“That depends,” the man said smoothly. “On who those keys belong to... and how badly they want them back.”

Matteo frowned. “So you do know something.”

“I know enough to recognize a guy who's just stolen from people who don’t let things slide.”

Matteo’s heart skipped. “And how do you know they won’t let it go?”

The man smirked, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Because I wouldn’t.”

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