The Road to Hell

The car hummed beneath us as we sped through the darkness, the rain finally letting up but leaving the roads slick and treacherous. Dante drove with one hand on the wheel, the other pressed against his wounded shoulder, his jaw tight with pain he refused to acknowledge.

I watched him from the passenger seat, my mind racing. The flash drive was tucked into my bra, the only place I could think of that Isabella's men wouldn't search if we were stopped. The evidence of my father's innocence, of Dante's parents' murder, of everything Isabella had done. It felt like a live grenade pressed against my heart.

"You're staring," Dante said, his voice cutting through the silence.

"You're bleeding through your bandage."

"I'm aware."

"You need to let me look at it."

"I need to get us to the Marchetti estate before Isabella's men find us." He glanced at me, his gray eyes glinting in the darkness. "I've survived worse."

"Forgive me if I don't find that comforting."

His lips twitched, that almost smile that made me want to punch him and kiss him in equal measure. "You're welcome to distract me."

"With what?"

"Your charming personality. Your razor wit. Your complete inability to follow orders."

"I don't follow orders. I make suggestions. Strongly worded suggestions."

"Ah. Is that what we're calling it?"

I laughed despite myself, the sound surprising in the tense quiet of the car. Dante's expression softened, and for a moment, he looked almost human. Almost vulnerable.

Then his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, and the mask slammed back into place.

"We have company," he said, his voice cold.

I twisted in my seat, my heart lurching. Two sets of headlights, closing fast. Black SUVs, the kind that screamed government or crime syndicate. In this part of the country, it was definitely the latter.

"Isabella?"

"Probably. Or one of her allies." Dante's foot pressed harder on the accelerator, the car surging forward. "Hold on."

I grabbed the door handle as we took a curve at breakneck speed, the tires screaming against the wet asphalt. The SUVs followed, gaining ground, their headlights cutting through the darkness like predatory eyes.

"What's the plan?" I asked, my voice remarkably steady.

"Outrun them or kill them."

"Those are our only options?"

"I'm open to suggestions."

I thought fast, my mind racing through everything I knew about the area, about Isabella's operations, about the Marchetti territory. Something clicked.

"The river," I said. "The Marchetti estate is on the other side of the Blackstone River. There's an old bridge about two miles ahead, the only crossing for ten miles in either direction."

"And?"

"And if we can get across first, we can destroy the bridge. Cut them off."

Dante looked at me, something like respect flickering in his eyes. "That's a good plan."

"I have them occasionally."

"It's also insane. The bridge is probably narrow, old, and not designed for high-speed chases."

"Do you have a better idea?"

He was quiet for a moment. Then he laughed, a short, sharp sound. "No. No, I don't."

The bridge appeared in the distance, a narrow stone arch spanning the dark water. It looked ancient, barely wide enough for one car, with no guardrails and a surface that had probably never been repaired.

"Hold on," Dante said again, and this time I did.

We hit the bridge at full speed, the car shuddering as we bounced over the uneven surface. The river rushed below, black and churning, and I could see the other side approaching fast. The SUVs were right behind us, their headlights blinding in the mirror.

We reached the other side just as the first SUV started across. Dante slammed on the brakes, spinning the car to a stop, and grabbed something from the glove compartment. A small device, like a detonator.

"What is that?" I asked.

"Insurance." He pressed the button.

The bridge exploded.

The sound was deafening, a roar of fire and stone that shook the ground beneath us. The first SUV was caught in the blast, flung into the river like a toy. The second skidded to a stop at the edge of the gap, its occupants staring at the churning water where their companions had disappeared.

Dante didn't wait to see what they would do next. He floored the accelerator, and we disappeared into the darkness, leaving the burning bridge behind us.

I stared at him, my heart pounding. "You planted explosives on a bridge?"

"I plant explosives on a lot of things. It's a hobby."

"A hobby."

"A useful one."

I shook my head, a laugh bubbling up in my chest. "You're insane. You're absolutely, certifiably insane."

"And yet you married me."

"Worst decision of my life."

"Too late to back out now." He glanced at me, and for a moment, the mask slipped. I saw something raw in his eyes, something that looked almost like hope. "You're stuck with me."

I reached over and placed my hand on his thigh, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric of his pants. "I know."

We drove in silence for a while, the miles passing beneath us. The sky was starting to lighten, the first hints of dawn coloring the horizon. The Marchetti estate was close now. I could feel it, a weight pressing against my chest.

"When we get there," Dante said quietly, "let me do the talking. Lorenzo is old-fashioned. He doesn't respect women who speak out of turn."

"Then he's going to hate me."

"I'm counting on it."

I looked at him, confused. "Why?"

"Because you're not like anyone he's ever met. You don't bow, you don't scrape, you don't pretend to be less than you are. He'll be so busy being outraged that he won't notice you're studying him, learning his weaknesses, planning your next move."

"You think I can outsmart a crime lord who's been in power for fifty years?"

"I think you can do anything you set your mind to." He glanced at me, his gray eyes serious. "You're the most dangerous person I've ever met, Chloe. And I mean that as a compliment."

I didn't know what to say to that. So I said nothing, just held his gaze as the sun rose over the Marchetti estate, a sprawling villa that looked more like a fortress than a home.

The gates opened as we approached, as if they had been expecting us. Men in dark suits lined the driveway, their faces impassive, their hands never far from their weapons. Dante stopped the car and turned to me.

"Last chance to run," he said.

"I'm not running."

"I know." He reached over and cupped my face, his thumb brushing across my cheek. "Whatever happens in there, remember that you are mine. And I protect what's mine."

"Even from a seventy-three-year-old crime lord?"

"Especially from him."

He kissed me, quick and fierce, and then he was out of the car, walking toward the villa with the confidence of a man who had nothing to lose. I followed, my heart pounding, my mind racing.

We were about to walk into the lion's den. And I had a feeling the lion was hungry.