Chapter 3 - Bullets at the Drive-Thru
Matteo’s car was a black armored SUV with dark windows and enough polished leather to pay my rent for a decade.
I stopped beside the rear door.
“No.”
Matteo looked at me from the other side of the vehicle.
“No what?”
“I am not sitting in the back like a hostage.”
“You are not a hostage.”
“Then I sit in front.”
Luca opened the driver’s door.
“I drive.”
I pointed at the passenger seat.
“Then I sit there.”
Matteo studied me.
“Most people prefer distance from Luca.”
Luca looked across the roof.
“Most people have good instincts.”
I opened the front door.
“Most people have better shoes.”
Matteo glanced down at the electrical tape around my sneaker.
“You will replace those.”
“With what money?”
“Mine.”
“No.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
I got inside.
Matteo took the back seat with Salvatore.
As Luca pulled away from Bellaforte Express, I looked through the window at the restaurant.
Jenna stood near the front door, watching us.
I sent her a message.
I’m fine. Tell Brad I expect my tips.
Her reply came immediately.
YOU LEFT WITH MATTEO MORETTI.
I typed back.
He criticized my workplace footwear.
She sent six question marks.
Luca glanced at my phone.
“You’re telling people where you are?”
“I’m telling my friend I’m not dead.”
“You should not share our route.”
“I have not shared the route.”
“Good.”
“I also don’t know the route.”
Luca almost smiled.
Matteo leaned forward slightly.
“Tell me about the book.”
“It was a collection of Italian poems.”
“Title?”
“Canti Orfici.”
Matteo and Luca exchanged a glance.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Matteo said.
“That was not a nothing glance.”
“Did your mother write inside it?”
“She wrote inside everything.”
“What kind of notes?”
“Translations. Grocery lists. Complaints about authors.”
“Anything about Sofia?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never checked?”
“My mother owned hundreds of books.”
“Where are they?”
“In boxes in my apartment.”
Matteo sat back.
“Then we start there.”
The city moved past us beneath a gray afternoon sky.
Row houses. Corner stores. Construction scaffolding. The elevated train rattling above an intersection.
I looked at Matteo in the mirror.
“You really did not know she was dead?”
“No.”
“You would have helped?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Whatever she needed.”
“She needed treatment.”
His gaze met mine in the mirror.
“I know.”
“She needed money.”
“I know.”
“She needed someone powerful enough to make hospitals listen.”
His jaw tightened.
“I know.”
I turned toward the window.
For the first time since the kitchen, he had no answer.
That should have satisfied me.
It did not.
We were three blocks from my apartment when Luca slowed at a red light.
A motorcycle stopped beside us.
The rider wore a black helmet.
Matteo’s body changed instantly.
Not dramatically.
His shoulders lowered. His eyes sharpened. One hand moved toward the inside of his jacket.
“Go,” he said.
“The light is red,” Luca replied.
“Go now.”
The motorcycle rider reached into his coat.
Luca slammed the accelerator.
The SUV shot through the intersection as horns erupted around us.
A car swerved.
I grabbed the dashboard.
“What is happening?”
A sharp crack struck the rear window.
The glass held.
Gunfire.
“Down,” Matteo ordered.
I turned in my seat.
The motorcycle followed.
The rider raised one arm again.
Salvatore pulled me backward between the seats just as another bullet hit the vehicle.
The sound was deafening.
I landed half across Matteo’s knees.
He shoved me lower and covered my head with one arm.
“Luca.”
“I see him.”
The SUV cut hard to the right.
Tires screamed.
The motorcycle overshot the turn, then corrected.
Matteo pulled out a handgun.
I stared at it.
“You said no weapons in the restaurant.”
“We are no longer in the restaurant.”
“That is not comforting.”
“Stay down.”
Luca accelerated toward a narrow side street.
A delivery truck blocked half the lane.
“We will not fit,” Salvatore said.
“We will,” Luca replied.
The SUV squeezed past with inches to spare.
The motorcycle followed.
Matteo lowered the window two inches.
I grabbed his wrist.
“No.”
His eyes flashed.
“Let go.”
“You fire from a moving car, you could hit anyone.”
“He is trying to kill us.”
“And there are people on the sidewalk.”
Another bullet struck the back panel.
Matteo looked toward the pedestrians ahead.
Then he closed the window.
“You have a better idea?” he asked.
It was the second time he had asked me that today.
This time I did.
“Go back to Bellaforte.”
Luca looked at me as though I had lost my mind.
“The restaurant?”
“The drive-thru.”
Matteo’s eyes narrowed.
“Explain.”
“The lane wraps tightly around the building. There are concrete barriers near the loading area. A motorcycle can follow us in, but he cannot turn as wide as this SUV.”
Luca understood first.
“And the exit?”
“Blocked by the trash compactor on delivery days.”
“What day is it?” Matteo asked.
“Tuesday.”
Luca smiled.
“Delivery day.”
Matteo looked at me.
“You are certain?”
“No. I enjoy giving criminal transportation advice under pressure.”
He turned to Luca.
“Do it.”
Luca made two sharp turns, circling back toward Bellaforte.
The motorcycle stayed behind us.
I pulled myself upright.
Matteo grabbed my arm.
“I told you to stay down.”
“I need to show him the entrance.”
“You can point from the floor.”
“I can’t see through the floor.”
Luca cut across traffic and turned into the restaurant lot.
Customers near the entrance scattered.
Brad stood inside the glass doors with both hands raised in horror.
“Drive-thru!” I shouted.
Luca swung the SUV into the narrow lane.
The vehicle scraped against a menu sign.
“That will be expensive,” I said.
Matteo stared at me.
“You are worried about the sign?”
“Brad will blame me.”
The motorcycle entered behind us.
The lane curved sharply around the building.
Luca slowed just enough to make the rider believe he was gaining.
“Now stay left,” I said. “There’s a concrete divider after the freezer door.”
Luca turned.
The SUV cleared it.
The motorcycle did not.
The rider clipped the concrete barrier.
The bike bucked sideways and crashed across the pavement.
The man rolled hard, striking the side of the loading dock.
Luca stopped the SUV near the blocked exit.
Matteo opened the rear door.
I grabbed his jacket.
“Do not kill him.”
He looked back at me.
“He shot at us.”
“He crashed. He might already be dying.”
“Then your concern is unnecessary.”
“Matteo.”
It was the first time I had used his first name.
He paused.
Something passed through his expression.
Then he handed the gun to Salvatore.
“Stay in the car.”
I opened my door.
He turned sharply.
“What did I just say?”
“You said it in English. My comprehension is excellent.”
I stepped out.
The rider lay beside the damaged motorcycle, groaning.
His helmet had cracked against the pavement.
Matteo reached him first.
He removed the man’s weapon and kicked it away.
Then he crouched.
“Who sent you?”
The rider laughed weakly.
“Go to hell.”
Matteo grabbed the front of his jacket.
“I have been there. It was badly managed.”
The man coughed.
Blood darkened his lower lip.
I crouched on the other side.
“Call an ambulance.”
Matteo did not look at me.
“Not yet.”
The rider’s eyes shifted toward me.
Recognition appeared.
“There she is,” he whispered.
My skin went cold.
Matteo tightened his grip.
“You know her?”
The man smiled through blood.
“Elena’s daughter.”
Matteo’s voice dropped.
“Who sent you?”
The rider looked at me.
“The book does not belong to you.”
“What book?” I asked.
He laughed again.
“The old woman should have burned it.”
Matteo shook him once.
“Name.”
The rider’s smile faded.
“Moretti thinks he protects people.”
His eyes fixed on me.
“He only brings death closer.”
The distant sound of sirens rose beyond the buildings.
The man reached suddenly toward his boot.
Matteo moved faster.
He struck the man’s wrist and pinned it to the ground.
A small folding knife dropped onto the pavement.
Matteo leaned closer.
“Try that again, and the ambulance will not matter.”
The man glared up at him.
Then his eyes shifted past us.
His face changed.
“Down!” he shouted.
A second vehicle tore into the parking lot.
Dark sedan.
White sticker on the rear window.
Red lily inside a circle.
The passenger window lowered.
Matteo threw himself over me as gunfire exploded across the loading area.
Bullets struck the brick wall.
Glass shattered behind us.
Luca and Salvatore returned fire from behind the SUV.
Matteo dragged me toward the concrete barrier, keeping his body between mine and the sedan.
I could feel his hand pressed against the back of my neck.
“Are you hit?” he demanded.
“No.”
“Check.”
“I would notice.”
“Check.”
I ran my hands over my sides.
“No blood.”
The sedan sped away before police sirens reached the block.
Silence followed.
Not true silence.
Car alarms screamed.
The motorcycle engine hissed.
Someone inside Bellaforte was crying.
Matteo remained crouched in front of me.
His face was inches from mine.
For the first time, his calm had cracked.
Not with fear for himself.
With fear for me.
“You were supposed to stay in the car,” he said.
“You were supposed to call an ambulance.”
His hand tightened briefly around my arm.
“This is not a joke.”
“I know.”
“Someone just tried to kill you.”
“They were aiming at all of us.”
“No.”
His eyes locked on mine.
“They were aiming at you.”
I looked toward the injured rider.
He had lost consciousness.
Police cars turned into the lot.
Matteo stood and pulled me up with him.
“We cannot go to your apartment now.”
“The book is there.”
“So are the people looking for it.”
“Then we need to reach it before they do.”
His expression hardened.
“You are not going near that building.”
“It is my apartment.”
“It is a target.”
“I am not abandoning the only thing my mother may have left me.”
Matteo stepped closer.
Around us, Luca spoke rapidly to his men. Police officers shouted instructions. Customers watched through shattered windows.
Yet Matteo’s voice remained low.
“You do not understand what kind of people these are.”
I stared at him.
“I understand exactly what kind of people they are.”
“No, you understand poverty. Hospitals. Grief. Those things are cruel, but they are not deliberate.”
His eyes darkened.
“These people will study what you love, what you fear, and what you cannot replace. Then they will use it.”
I thought of my mother’s books.
Her handwritten notes.
Her scarf still folded in the top drawer of my dresser.
“I have already lost what I cannot replace.”
Matteo’s expression softened.
Only for a second.
Then he turned to Luca.
“Get two cars. We go to the apartment.”
Luca frowned.
“You just said—”
“She is going with or without us.”
Matteo looked at me.
“I prefer to control the size of the disaster.”
I folded my arms.
“That is the nicest thing you have said all day.”
He leaned closer.
“Do not mistake patience for softness, Tessa.”
I held his gaze.
“Do not mistake fear for obedience, Matteo.”
For one long second, neither of us moved.
Then the corner of his mouth lifted.
Barely.
A terrifying mafia boss stood in the wrecked drive-thru of my workplace, surrounded by police, broken glass, and bullet holes.
And he smiled at me.
May you like
That was the moment I should have walked away.
Instead, I followed him toward the waiting car.
