Chapter 7 - The Midnight Drive
The rain was torrential by the time we reached the private canopy.
A matte-black armored Maybach was idling beneath the hotel’s portico, flanked by two black SUVs with tinted windows. The moment we stepped through the revolving doors, two suited men stepped forward with oversized umbrellas, forming a moving corridor of protection until Adrian guided me into the leather-swathed interior of the sedan.
The doors shut with a heavy, vault-like thud, instantly sealing out the cold, the rain, and the ruined world of Ethan Carter.
Adrian didn't immediately speak. He leaned back against the plush headrest, closing his eyes for a long moment. In the dim ambient lighting of the car, I could see the faint lines of exhaustion etched around his eyes. He carried the weight of hundreds of lives, thousands of decisions, and an ongoing, silent war that never truly slept.
I reached across the console, laying my hand over his.
His eyes opened instantly, gray and sharp, but the moment he felt my touch, the tension drained from his frame. He turned his hand over, intertwining his long fingers with mine, bringing my knuckles to his lips.
“I’m sorry,” Adrian murmured, his voice rough against my skin.
I tilted my head, studying him. “For what?”
“For turning your reunion into a crime scene,” he said, a self-deprecating smirk touching his lips. “I promised you a quiet evening. I promised I would let you show them that you were happy, without having to drag my shadow across your past.”
“Adrian,” I said softly, shifting closer to him until my shoulder rested against his chest. “You didn't ruin anything. You showed them reality.”
He let out a low rumble of a laugh, his arm wrapping around my shoulders and pulling me against his side. “Carter was a worm. I should have broken his fingers the second he laid a hand near your arm.”
“You gave him five minutes to leave the state,” I reminded him, resting my cheek against the wool of his coat. “That was practically merciful.”
“Dante is tracking his car,” Adrian said casually, though the chill in his voice reminded me that mercy had limits in the Moretti family. “If Carter stops anywhere other than the highway heading west, he won't make it to morning. I don't leave loose ends when it comes to you, Claire.”
I didn't argue. I had long since made peace with the reality of Adrian’s world. In the beginning, when we first met, I had been terrified of his power. But I soon realized that while Adrian was a monster to the men who crossed him, to me, he was a fortress. In an unpredictable, cruel city, he was the only constant I had ever known.
The car glided smoothly through the rain-slicked streets of Manhattan, turning south toward the private estates overlooking the river. The silence between us was comfortable, filled only with the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers and the muffled hum of the engine.
Then, the partition between the front and back seats slid down an inch.
Dante’s voice came through, tense and clipped.
“Boss.”
Adrian’s arm instantly tightened around me. “Speak.”
“We’ve got a tail,” Dante said. “Two vehicles. Dark sedans, running without headlights, three blocks back. They picked us up the moment we cleared the hotel district.”
My breath hitched. I sat up, looking out the tinted rear window. Through the rain-streaked glass and the halos of red brake lights, I could barely make out the low, menacing silhouettes of two pursuit vehicles matching our speed.
“Marcone?” Adrian asked, his voice completely devoid of panic, dropping into the cold, calculated register of a general on a battlefield.
“Likely,” Dante replied. “The scouts at the hotel were a diversion. They wanted us to clear the perimeter with light security so they could hit the transport on the highway.”
Adrian didn't curse. He didn't hesitate. He reached down beside his seat, flipping a hidden latch beneath the armrest. A concealed compartment opened, revealing a heavy automatic pistol and two spare magazines.
He pulled the slide back with a sharp, metallic *clack*, chambering a round before setting the weapon in his lap.
Then he looked at me.
There was no fear in his eyes, only an unyielding, possessive ferocity that made my pulse race.
“Keep your head down, Claire,” he whispered, his hand coming up to cup the back of my head, pulling me down toward the leather seat. “Whatever happens outside this glass, you stay low.”
“Adrian—”
“Trust me, little bird,” he said, his lips brushing my forehead with fierce intensity. “I survived twenty years in this city before I found you. I have no intention of leaving you a widow tonight.”
May you like
Before I could answer, the engine of the Maybach roared to life with terrifying power, pinning us back against the seats as Dante slammed the accelerator, hurtling us straight into the dark, rain-swept highway.
***
