บททั้งหมดของ His Arranged Protection: บทที่ 71 - บทที่ 80

~~NICCOLÒ~~ I sat alone in the operations room, with a cup of black coffee growing cold beside me as I studied the forensic reports spread across the table. For the third time in the last hour, I reread Kai's autopsy findings and none of it felt right. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly while surveillance monitors on the far wall displayed live feeds from different sections of the estate. Under normal circumstances, I would have divided my attention between the reports and the security feeds. Today, however, every ounce of my concentration remained fixed on the papers in front of me. Kai had been young, disciplined, and exceptionally well-trained. The discovery of the false tooth containing poison had already raised numerous questions, but the toxicology report had complicated matters even further. His blood contained traces of substances common

~~LENA~~ The world outside the SUV blurred into a sickening streak of dark green and grey as Marco drove down the steep ridge road like a madman. Inside, the silence was deafening, broken only by the violent rattling of the frame and the heavy, ragged breathing of the three of us. I was pressed against the floorboards, the cold metal of the pistol still clutched in my numb fingers. Niccolò's weight slowly shifted off me, but he didn't move away. He sat back on the leather seat, his eyes staring blankly at the roof of the car. The blood from the graze on his neck had smeared across his jaw, drying into a dark, ugly crust. "She's dead," I whispered, the image of Isabella's frail body slumping in that rusted chair burning into my mind. The horror of it clawed at my throat. "He killed her just to prove a point." "He killed her because she was a loose end," Niccolò corrected me, his voice terrifyingly hollow. He didn't look at me. His hands were braced on his knees, his knuckles raw and

~~LENA~~ Marco hit the garage door opener, and the heavy metal doors slid upward, letting the cold morning fog roll into the hangar. The car shot out of the building, the tires gripping the wet asphalt as we sped away from the docks and toward the dark entrance of the highway. The interior of the car was freezing. I huddled into my coat, my hand still resting on the hidden device in my pocket. I wanted to check for a new message, but I knew I couldn't risk the blue glow of the screen. Niccolò was sitting right in front of me, his head slightly turned as he watched the dark road ahead. The silence inside the car was thick and heavy. I looked at Niccolò's profile. In the dim light of the dashboard, I could see the dark smear of dried blood along his collarbone and his neck. The graze from the bullet was still open, a nasty, red tear in his skin that looked painful.

Chapter 77 Lena’s POV The concrete floor stung my knees as I hit the ground, the dust of fifteen years rising to choke my lungs. Above me, the world erupted into a deafening wall of noise. Niccolò didn’t hesitate. The absolute silence of his focus was terrifying. He fired three rapid shots through the open doorway, the muzzle flashes illuminating the dim metal locker like lightning strikes. One of Silvio’s tactical guards groaned, his heavy body crashing sideways against the blue metal rolling door with a hollow, ringing thud before he collapsed into the gravel outside. "Fallback! Fallback!" Silvio screamed, his voice strained over the sudden, overwhelming roar of automatic gunfire echoing from the main lane. Through the haze of dust and gun smoke, I saw Silvio retreat into the alleyway, firing blindly behind him. The remaining guard backed away, keeping his rifle trained on our doorway as they scrambled for cover.

~~LENA~~ The interior of the Charger smelled of burning rubber and deployed airbags, the white nylon fabric deflated over the dashboard like a shedding skin. Marco didn't speak. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel, his eyes darting frantically between the rearview mirror and the dark, tree-lined highway stretching into the grey morning. Niccolò sat in the passenger seat, his jacket stripped off. He didn’t wince as he poured a small bottle of high-proof rubbing alcohol directly over the jagged tear on his shoulder. His jaw clenched so tightly the muscle ticked, but he didn't make a sound. "We can't go back to the estate," Marco finally muttered, his voice cracking under the weight of the adrenaline crash. "Silvio knows the safehouses. Costa has the license plates of every vehicle in the Santoro garage. We’re driving a moving target, Niccolò." "We drop the car in thirty miles," Niccolò said, his voice flat,