Felix stepped out into the evening air, his breath catching slightly as he blinked up at the muted sky.
The restaurant door closed gently behind him, sealing off the warmth and noise inside.
The driver, sensing the shift, moved quickly—opening the car door without a word.
Felix slid in, the soft leather seat cold beneath him. He didn't look back.
He sat still, hands clasped in his lap, his jaw tight. His eyes stayed on the windshield, but they weren't really seeing it.
The door behind him clicked again.
Matteo entered.
The car dipped slightly under his weight. He sat beside Felix, silent. Not a single word offered.
He looked at him, sideways—briefly.
The kind of glance that lingered but never landed.
Felix didn't meet it.
The silence stretched, heavy.
Matteo's hand shifted—he reached out, almost instinctively, fingers pausing inches from Felix's.
Then stopped.
Retracted.
His hand fell into his lap.
He leaned back, exhaling through his nose, but still said nothing.
He'd never been good with words. And this—this kind of silence—was safer.
The engine started.
But inside the car, the space between them said more than either of them could.
The car rolled forward in a steady hum, the city unfolding around them in blurred streaks of gold and shadow.
Neon signs flickered past, half-washed in dusk.
Inside, the air was still. Thicker somehow.
Felix leaned against the window, one arm curled across his chest, the other resting on his thigh.
His fingers tapped once—then stopped.
He hadn't said a word since they left.
Up front, the driver glanced at the rearview mirror.
Then again. His knuckles tightened faintly on the wheel.
"Sir," he said under his breath, just loud enough. "That van… it's been tailing us since the last turn."
Matteo's posture shifted immediately—straightening. He turned, just enough to glance through the rear window.
A black van.
Then, another slipped in two cars behind it.
His eyes narrowed.
"That one... and now another."
Felix followed his gaze, frowning as unease prickled down his spine. "They're following us?"
Matteo's jaw tensed. "Drive faster."
The driver didn't hesitate. The car surged forward, the smooth glide replaced with urgency.
Felix sat up straighter, his voice low. "What's going on?"
Matteo didn't take his eyes off the mirror. "They're after me. I need to get you out."
A beat of silence.
Felix blinked. "You're serious?"
Matteo nodded once. "We'll find a stop. Somewhere secure. You'll get out—go home."
Felix turned sharply. "And what about you?"
No answer.
Matteo's eyes locked on the glass, the reflection of his own face staring back at him, grim and unreadable.
Behind them, the vans didn't fall back.
Another turned in. Third.
The driver's voice dropped lower. "Still on us. All three."
Matteo leaned forward, his tone slicing through the tension. "Cut left. Now. Take the alley—two blocks down."
"Yes, sir."
The car veered. A hard turn. Streetlights slipped away.
Felix gripped the seat. His breathing had changed—shallower, tighter. But he didn't speak.
Matteo noticed—but stayed silent.
But in his silence, in the stiff line of his shoulders and the way his hand stayed inches from Felix's arm—ready to shield, not touch—it was clear.
Every move Matteo made carved a single truth into the night—nothing would touch Felix while he was still breathing.
The alley narrowed as they turned in—dimly lit, brick walls closing tight on both sides.
But just as the headlights sliced around the final corner—
A black sedan surged out from the shadows.
Too fast.
Too close.
CRASH—
Metal tore into metal. Glass exploded. The world jolted sideways.
The front of their car crumpled with a violent screech. Felix lurched forward—
"Down!"
Matteo's arm shot across him, shoving him low. Shards rained like needles. The windshield cracked in a web of silver.
Smoke curled from the hood, sharp with burnt rubber and metal, stinging Felix's throat.
Outside—tires screeched. Doors slammed.
The vans had surrounded them.
"Stay inside," Matteo snapped, voice low and sharp as a blade. His eyes never left the chaos outside. "Don't move, Felix."
Felix's breath hitched, his hands gripping the leather seat beneath him.
Matteo reached beneath his coat—steel gleamed.
To the driver, he nodded once. "Now."
Both doors flew open.
Matteo was out first—shoulders squared, gun raised, jaw tight.
The driver followed, taking the other side.
Figures spilled from the surrounding cars. Faces half-covered. Boots pounding the pavement.
No words. Just movement. Intent.
A pipe swung. Matteo ducked clean under it, stepped in, drove his elbow into the attacker's gut. The man folded—Matteo finished him with a shot.
Another came at the driver—fists flying.
He blocked one, took a second to the ribs, then drove his knee into the man's stomach and slammed him against the car.
Matteo moved like he'd done this a hundred times. Cold. Fluid. Efficient.
A knife flashed—Felix flinched. Matteo turned and fired. The man dropped.
Felix pressed himself lower, heart pounding like a war drum.
More footsteps. Yelling.
Matteo reloaded mid-step, gun clicking back into place with practiced speed.
His coat flared as he spun—firing at a man on the left, then sweeping low to knock a second's legs out from under him.
Blood hit the pavement.
The driver grunted—caught across the jaw—but didn't fall.
He grappled with his attacker, wrestled the weapon away, then turned it back on him.
Gunshots echoed through the alley like thunder between buildings.
Matteo didn't blink. Didn't hesitate.
And still—he kept glancing back.
Kept checking that Felix was still down, still safe.
Another wave poured in from the alley's mouth—more figures, more weapons, no hesitation.
Matteo fired—once, twice—
A third pulled up short in his grip.
Click.
Empty.
He dropped the gun without a flinch.
Two men lunged. He spun, met the first with a hard punch to the throat—elbowed the second across the jaw. Bones cracked. Someone shouted.
Another tried to swing a pipe. Matteo ducked, caught his wrist mid-air, twisted—
The pipe clanged to the pavement as the man screamed.
But they kept coming.
Behind him, the driver groaned—cornered by three. A blade flashed, carving across his shoulder. He staggered back, blood already soaking into his shirt.
Matteo's breath came faster. His coat torn at the shoulder, hair loose and wild, blood spattered across his jaw.
Still—he moved. Sharp. Controlled. But they were swarming.
A blow caught him across the ribs—he stumbled, teeth clenched, swung back hard—
Another came from behind.
Too many.
He turned to the car.
Felix's wide eyes met his through the cracked glass.
Matteo yanked the door open. His hand shot in—wrapped around Felix's wrist.
"Run."
Felix froze. "What—"
"I said run!"
Before Felix could think, Matteo pulled him out—
They were already moving—Matteo dragging him into motion, weaving between bodies and broken glass.
A figure lunged from the side—Matteo shoved Felix behind him, drove his shoulder into the man, knocking him flat—then turned again, gripping Felix tighter.
"Don't stop," he growled. "No matter what."
Their shoes pounded over broken glass and slick pavement. Smoke and blood thick in the air.
Behind them—shouts, footsteps chasing.
Ahead—the alley curved, a single flickering streetlamp their only light.
Felix stumbled—Matteo caught him mid-slip, didn't slow.
They ran. Together. Breathless.
Behind them, the alley burned with noise and chaos.
Ahead—only darkness. And Matteo's grip.