Chapter 40

(Isabella's POV)

The night air was thick with tension, pressing against Isabella like a weighted blanket. She gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. The old van rattled beneath her hands, every bump in the road making her heart jump. In the back, Enzo lay sprawled out, his face too pale for comfort. He was barely conscious, his breathing uneven.

They had escaped the Morettis-for now. But she knew better than to believe it was over. The Syndicate was still out there, watching, waiting.

Julian sat in the passenger seat, his fingers twitching near his gun, his expression as dark as the road ahead. He hadn't spoken much since they fled. The betrayal they had suffered earlier still burned in his eyes, and Isabella could feel the tension rolling off him like waves.

"We need a plan," Julian muttered, mostly to himself. "They'll track us down. It's just a matter of time."

Isabella was about to respond when the van's radio crackled to life. A burst of static filled the air, followed by a voice-low, smooth, and full of amusement.

"You can run, but you can't hide, Callahan."

Isabella's heart slammed against her ribs.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the volume knob, as if turning it down would make the voice disappear. It didn't. The laughter that followed sent a chill through her bones.

And then-headlights.

Bright, blinding headlights flooded the rearview mirror. Black SUVs roared onto the road behind them, moving like a pack of wolves closing in on their prey.

"Damn it!" Isabella hissed, slamming her foot on the gas. The van lurched forward, its engine groaning in protest.

"We've been made," Julian growled, already cocking his gun.

Isabella didn't need him to tell her that. The problem was, she had no idea how they were getting out of this.

They were out of time.

(Enzo's POV)

Pain. That was the first thing Enzo registered. A dull, aching pain that pulsed through his entire body, making every breath feel like a chore.

The second thing he registered? Gunfire.

The sharp crack of bullets ripping through the night jolted him awake, and for a moment, he had no idea where he was. Then it all came rushing back-the escape, the van, the chase.

Through the haze of exhaustion and pain, Enzo forced himself to sit up. The moment he did, his ribs protested violently. He ignored it.

His eyes flickered to the rear window-shattered. The SUVs were still on their tail, relentless as ever.

Classic Syndicate. Precise. Efficient. Deadly.

They weren't just after him. They wanted everyone in this van. No loose ends.

"We need to split up," he rasped, his voice rough from exhaustion.

"No way," Isabella snapped, her eyes flicking toward him in the rearview mirror. "You can barely stand."

Enzo met her gaze, his expression hard. "If they catch us together, we're dead. I know how they work."

Before Isabella could argue, the windshield exploded.

Glass rained down, forcing her to duck as a bullet embedded itself in the dashboard.

Julian swerved violently, barely missing a spike strip that had been laid across the road.

Enzo saw it then-an abandoned warehouse looming in the distance. Rusted metal. Broken windows. It was perfect.

No time to think. No time to argue.

Enzo reached for the van door, yanked it open-

And jumped.

(Isabella's POV)

The van screeched to a halt inside the warehouse, tires skidding across cracked pavement. Smoke from overheated brakes filled the air, mingling with the thick tension pressing down on Isabella's chest.

She shoved the door open, heart pounding. "Where's Enzo?"

Julian was already out, gun drawn, scanning the darkness. "He jumped."

"He what?" Isabella's voice shot up an octave.

Julian didn't even flinch. "Rolled right out the damn van."

Her stomach twisted. Enzo was already half-dead, and now he was out there alone? Fantastic. Just fantastic.

But before she could even process her next move, movement in the shadows made her freeze.

A slow, deliberate footstep. Then another.

A figure emerged from the darkness, stepping into the faint glow of the broken warehouse lights. He was an older man, dressed in a sharp suit that somehow remained immaculate despite the chaos around them. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed back, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room with a quiet sort of authority.

Isabella knew that face.

She had seen it before. In files. In intelligence briefings.

Lorenzo Callahan.

Enzo's former mentor.

A man who was supposed to be dead.

He smiled, slow and calculating, like a predator who had just cornered its prey.

"You should have stayed dead, Enzo."

Isabella barely stopped herself from visibly shuddering.

This wasn't just the Syndicate coming after them.

This was personal.

And that made it so much worse.