The Mafia Boss Watched Her Dance With His Brother Until She Slipped Him a Bloodstained Note That Changed Everything

"Reverse!" Dominic ordered immediately.

"Can't, Boss!" the driver yelled back, glancing in the rearview mirror. "Another sedan just pulled in behind us. We're boxed in on the bridge!"

Dominic didn't panic. He reached under his seat and pulled out a heavy steel release lever. The hidden compartment between the front seats popped open, revealing two automatic rifles and several spare magazines.

"Clara," Dominic said, turning to her with absolute calm. "Get down on the floor between the seats. Cover your head and do not move until I tell you to."

"Dominic—"

"Floor. Now."

She didn't argue. She dropped down into the narrow footwell, pulling her trench coat over her head just as the first spray of automatic gunfire rattled against the heavy armored glass of the SUV.

The reinforced glass held, spiderwebbing with hundreds of white impact fractures, but refusing to shatter.

"Tommy, hit the rear car," Dominic commanded, pulling one of the automatic rifles from the hidden vault and charging the weapon. "We clear the path behind us and push back toward the highway."

"Got it, Boss!" Tommy shouted. He rolled down his side window two inches—just enough to clear the barrel of his weapon—and fired a controlled burst at the sedan blocking their retreat. The heavy rounds tore through the engine block of the rear car, sending sparks and thick black smoke billowing into the rainy night.

Dominic turned toward the front windshield. Through the spiderwebbed glass, he saw the four Detroit gunmen advancing along the sides of the bridge, using the bridge railings for cover.

"Driver, ram the car on the left," Dominic ordered. "Hold on!"

The driver threw the heavy armored SUV into drive, hit the gas, and slammed the four-ton vehicle directly into the front passenger side of the sedan blocking the bridge. The sound of tearing metal and shattering headlights roared through the night air. The lighter sedan was shoved violently sideways, spinning across the wet asphalt and opening a narrow gap on the right side of the road.

"Go!" Dominic yelled.

The SUV surged through the gap, scraping metal against metal, and burst onto the open highway beyond the bridge.

Behind them, gunfire continued to echo through the trees, but the armored vehicle picked up speed, putting distance between themselves and the ambush.

Dominic leaned back into his seat, his rifle held ready, his eyes scanning the rear window. "Tommy, status?"

"Driver took a graze on the shoulder, but he's okay," Tommy reported, breathing heavily as he reloaded his pistol. "The armor took the worst of it. But Boss... how did the Morettis know we were taking the Oak Park route? Only three people knew about that safehouse."

Dominic’s eyes darkened. "Vincent didn't just betray us to the feds tonight. He gave the Morettis our entire emergency playbook."

From the floorboard, Clara raised her head, her face pale but her eyes sharp. "Dominic... if Vincent gave them your safehouses, he knows about the river house too. He knows where your off-grid servers are."

Dominic reached down and helped her back up onto the leather seat. Her hair was disheveled, and the green gown was damp from the floor, but she looked remarkably composed for someone who had just survived an automatic weapon ambush.

"The server at the river house is the only place where the decrypted backup files are stored," Clara said, leaning close to him. "If Vincent gets to that server before we wipe it, he won't just have your financial records—he'll have the identities of every undercover contact, every politician, and every legitimate business partner you've built over fifteen years."

"Then we don't go to the safehouse," Dominic said grimly. He reached for his satellite phone and pressed a speed-dial button.