Prologue

Luciana

As I gazed out the windows, the stunning views of New York City captured my attention. I had just spent an entire day with Andrian, and we decided to take a drive under the stars. I cranked down the window of the Aston Martin DB11, inviting the soft night breeze to envelop us. 

“When all this wedding madness settles down,” he said, his voice calm and steady, “I’m going to take you somewhere peaceful—no phone calls, no guards, just us without anyone looking over our shoulders.”

I turned to face him, a playful smile on my lips. “You keep saying that as if you can negotiate with fate.” I chuckled at the thought.

“Maybe I already have,” he said with a cheeky grin that made my heart flutter.

I couldn’t help but smile back; he looked so dashing from the side. I could really picture him walking me down the aisle in just two weeks. Yet, I noticed his focus was fixed on the rearview mirror, and there was a seriousness etched on his face.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, a hint of concern creeping in.

“Nothing I can't handle,” he replied, glancing at me, attempting to maintain that charming smile.

I followed his gaze to the mirror, then I stole another look outside, spotting nothing unusual except for a sleek black Mercedes that had been trailing us for quite some time. The playful warmth in my chest faded slightly, curiosity stirred within me.

"Is that car..." I began to voice my concern, but he interrupted sharply, 

"The car isn’t speeding up... I can’t steer it any longer."

 His heart thundered against his chest as the vehicle lurched violently to the side. The steering wheel quaked in his grasp, refusing to respond to his frantic maneuvers. A wave of panic washed over him—the dashboard flickered ominously, the engine howled fiercely, and no matter how he pressed the brake, the car only sped up. 

He slammed his foot down on the pedal, desperate yet ineffective. The tires screamed against the pavement, and plumes of smoke billowed as he fought for control. Gritting his teeth, he strained against the wheel, his knuckles turning white—but this car had slipped from his command. It was being guided by an unseen force.

As he extended his hands to grab his phone from the dashboard, it slipped from his grip when the car suddenly veered again. I swiftly snatched it up. 

"What should I do?" I pleaded, my mind racing.  

"Call Roman!" he shouted, still wrestling with the steering. 

I was overwhelmed, struggling to comprehend the chaos unfolding around us.

The phone rang twice without any answer. 

“Oh no! Not today,” he muttered quietly, but I caught his words. 

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words eluded me. Growing up in the Sicilian Mafia for 24 years has taught me to be ready for the worst, but now that I'm facing reality, I realize that all those lessons are easier said than done.

“The black car is still tailing us, Andrian. Are we being pursued? What’s wrong with it? Has it been hacked?” I blurted out in one breath.

“Yes, I’ve lost control of the vehicle; that black Mercedes behind us has taken over. Just stay calm, Luci.” He said, though his face was etched with worry, he still managed to force a smile.

How can he find the strength to smile in a moment like this? 

He wrestled with the steering wheel, his arms straining until they ached, his foot pounding on the brakes repeatedly, but the car wouldn’t obey. 

Every warning light on the dashboard flickered like a mocking taunt. The engine screamed under the hood, as if possessed, racing down the road faster than his mind could keep pace.

“Hold on!" he yelled, his words drowned out by the deafening roar of the tires. Gripping my seatbelt, I squeezed my eyes shut and let out a scream, though I knew it was lost amidst the chaos. The headlights ahead transformed into glittering streaks, and suddenly —the road twisted sharply.

Time splintered.

The car began to spin. Metal shrieked in protest. Outside, the world dissolved into a whirlpool of light, rain, and noise. I caught a glimpse of Andrian, who was desperately pressing the brake and yanking the wheel in a last attempt to steer us to safety—but it was too late. The collision hit like a thunderclap. The sound of shattering glass pierced the air, quickly swallowed by an oppressive silence.

When the chaos ceased, everything fell into stillness. Smoke curled up from the hood; the heavy stench of fuel and burnt rubber enveloped us. I stirred, pain stabbing through my body as I struggled to draw in breath. Weakly, I turned to look at him—his head lolled against the seat, blood trickling down his cheek in a thin line.

“Hey…” My voice trembled, a gentle break escaping my lips. I reached out to him, my fingers grazing his cold, unyielding arm.  

"Rian..."  

"Andrian..."  

I gently shook his arm, urging him to respond. “Hey… wake up,” I murmured. There was no reaction. A sob lodged itself in my throat, and I shook him once more, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through my side. “Please… don’t leave me like this.”  

Tears cascaded down my cheeks, burning and unstoppable. The night was unnaturally quiet, except for the faint crackle of the damaged engine and my uneven breaths.  

“No… no, no, no,” I whispered, pressing my forehead against his arm. My body trembled, each part of me screaming from the force of the crash, but the pain in my chest was deeper than any physical injury.  

Suddenly, footsteps emerged from outside the wreckage—slow and purposeful. I lifted my head, blinking through the haze as the driver’s door abruptly swung open. A tall figure appeared, shadowed against the blinding glare of the headlights.  

“Roman?” I gasped, disbelief flickering in my tear-soaked eyes.  

There he stood, his gaze steely yet oddly composed.

He stood there, eyes hard but strangely calm as he surveyed the wreckage. His gaze lingered on his brother—just for a heartbeat, and something flickered there. Pain. Regret. But just as quickly, it was gone.

Without a word, he reached for me, pulling me gently but firmly from the twisted car. I stumbled, my legs barely holding my weight.

 “He’s—” I tried to speak, but my voice broke.

“I know,” Roman said quietly, his jaw tightening. He looked back once, the night wind tugging at his coat. Then his voice dropped, urgent now. 

“We have to go. Now.”

I stared at him, dazed. “What? Roman, he’s—”

“There’s no time,” he cut in, his tone low and sharp, eyes scanning the darkness beyond. “They’ll be here soon. If they find you, everything he died for will mean nothing.”

My breath caught. I looked one last time at the car, at

the lifeless figure inside—and then Roman’s hand closed around mine.

“Run,” he said.