Page 65 of Mafia Daddy

The pursuing SUVs are gaining. Bullets ping off the back of our car. I duck low in my seat, heart hammering, as Kobek swerves onto the main road, tires screaming. The chase is on.

And all I can think about is getting back to Maxim alive…

Kobek is a great getaway driver, but I can see that he is getting weaker at the wheel. His face has gone pale, sweat beading on his forehead, and his shirt is now almost entirely blood red.

The wound is worse than he let on.

Every time Kobek breathes, a wet, rattling sound comes from his chest. His hands are trembling on the steering wheel, knuckles white where they’re not stained with blood.

“Kobek,” I say, my voice shaking but trying to stay calm. “You’ve done a great job. We’re far enough ahead of the Lentini men now. Pull over. We need to switch positions.”

He grits his teeth, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror.

The pursuing SUVs are no longer visible in the distance, but we’ll need to be quick to keep it that way.

“I can keep driving,” he mutters, stubborn as ever.

“No, you can’t,” I insist, reaching over to grip his arm. “You’re losing too much blood. If you pass out at the wheel, we’re both dead. Please. Let me drive.”

Kobek hesitates for another few seconds, then finally nods. He pulls the sedan over onto a narrow shoulder hidden by thick trees. The moment the car stops, he slumps sideways. I jump out, run around to the driver’s side, and help him into the back seat. He’s heavy, but adrenaline gives me strength. I grab a thick towel from the emergency kit in the trunk and press it hard against his chest.

“Hold this tight,” I tell him. “Don’t let go.”

Kobek nods weakly, pressing the towel over the wound as he lies across the rear seats. His breathing is shallow now, labored. I look at him in the rearview mirror as I slam the driver’s door shut and put the car in gear. He does not have much time. I can see it in the way his eyes are glazing over, the way his skin is turning grey.

I change the destination on the satnav to the nearest hospital, a regional medical center about twenty-five minutes away according to the map.

This is a huge risk.

Hospitals mean records, cameras, questions. But if Kobek does not get medical attention ASAP, he will die right here in the back seat and I cannot let that happen.

As I accelerate hard down the road, I grab my phone and call Maxim. He answers on the second ring.

“Milo? What is happening?” His voice is sharp with worry.

“We’re being chased,” I say quickly, eyes flicking between the road and the mirror. “Kobek is shot. He’s losing a lot of blood. I’m driving us to the nearest hospital. It’s the only way.”

Maxim curses in Russian. “Do not go to the hospital. It is too dangerous. They will be watching medical centers, will have men on the inside there if it’s near their compound. Tell me your location. I will send a team to extract you.”

“There is no time,” I reply, my voice breaking. “He’s dying, Maxim. I have to get him help now.”

The line is silent for a beat. Then Maxim speaks again, voice tight. “Fine. Go to the hospital. But be careful. I will come to you.”

“No,” I say firmly. “It is too risky. Stay where you are, handle your business. I will call you when we are safe.”

I hang up before my Daddy can argue.

My hands are shaking on the wheel, but I keep my foot pressed to the floor. The car flies down the rural roads, tires screeching on the turns.

I glance in the rearview mirror again.

No one is following us right now—thank God—but that could change in an instant. I need to put as much distance as possible between us and those Lentini SUVs.

Kobek groans from the back seat. “Milo… you should not have… risked this.”

“Shut up and save your strength,” I snap, trying to keep my voice steady. “You are not dying on me today. Maxim would kill me if I let that happen.”

A weak chuckle escapes him, followed by a wet cough. Blood flecks the towel.