CHAPTER 1
SABRINA
The first bullet hit the car’s rear window, creating a spiderweb of cracks.
More shots rang out, striking the compromised bullet-resistant glass.
After another barrage, it finally shattered.
Screaming in terror, I threw my arms over my head and ducked low.
My body slammed against the side door as the car swerved violently to the right.
The tires screeched against the worn cobblestones, the air filling with the stench of burning rubber.
We careened through the narrow streets of Rome’s Centro Storico, the massive stone buildings of the Diamanti headquarters receding in the rearview mirror.
Another bullet pinged off the metal frame.
The car smashed into a parked delivery truck, throwing me forward against the seat in front of me.
Metal crumpled, the windshield fracturing into a network of infinitesimal cracks.
We lurched forward, slamming into a row of scooters and grinding to a halt up on the curb, against a stone wall.
The driver twisted in his seat, yelling in rapid-fire Italian, face contorted with panic, gesturing wildly with the gun in his hand.
Tears blurred my vision. “You’re talking too fast!”
I’d picked up some Italian during my month in the country, but not enough for this.
“Corri! Corri!” he shouted, simplifying to the one command he needed me to understand.
Run.
Right as a bullet silenced him.
A stream of blood flowed from the circular wound in his forehead, dripping between his still-open eyes before he collapsed.
Run.
The word had been drumming in my head from the moment I agreed to Sebastian’s devil’s bargain.
Outside, there was shouting and the pounding of boots against stone.
The passenger door swung open.
A man dressed entirely in black, face hidden behind a motorcycle helmet, reached for me.
I kicked, my foot connecting with solid muscle.
He grunted, momentarily losing his grip.
“Vieni qui, puttana!” he growled, lunging again.
I evaded his attempt, kicking out once more.
This time he leaned in farther, snatching me by the ankle.