STEFANO

I drop Andrea off at the mall, my heart heavy with concern as I think about her. My eyes flick to my new bodyguard, Victor for today, a poor substitute for Samuel, who's with Andrea. Though Samuel is the only one I trust with my life, I'm more at peace knowing he's by her side right now. But it's not just her safety that's gnawing at me.

Andrea's reaction when I mentioned Rome is etched in my mind; her sudden panic and distress inexplicable yet undeniable. It's just a city name, for God's sake, but it clearly triggered something deep and painful within her. There's a part of Andrea's past I don't know about, a darkness she's keeping hidden. As much as I want to demand answers, to shake the truth out of her, I know better. I've chosen the hard way - waiting for her to open up, even as it kills me inside.

And then there's that phone call with her father. The thought of tears streaming down her face haunts me. I make a mental note to call Aurora later, hoping she can shed some light on this mystery.

"How close are we, Victor?" I inquire as we round a street corner. Victor is capable, but he's no Samuel.

"We've arrived, sir," he replies, pulling up into a rundown neighborhood. The dilapidated buildings stand in stark contrast to the opulence I'm accustomed to.

I step out of the car and initiate the search for Petrova, whom Peter believes resides in this area. She's also been in Sicily, but now Rome - we need to find her before she slips away again.

I knock on doors, each one producing no sign of her, increasing my frustration. Midway through, I pull out my phone, a sudden need to hear Andrea's voice overwhelming me. When she doesn't pick up, a cold fear grips my heart. I quickly call Samuel, his reassurance a temporary balm to my worries.

An hour later, I'm at the last door, a silent prayer on my lips. When a woman matching Petrova's description answers, I feel a surge of triumph.

"Are you Petrova?" I ask, my hand instinctively moving to my gun.

"Вот дерьмо," Oh shit! she curses in Russian, slamming the door. Before I can react, I see her leaping out a window, fleeing like a cornered animal.

I give chase, my heart pounding, adrenaline surging through my veins. Petrova throws obstacles in my path, but I'm relentless, pushing and jumping, my focus razor-sharp. We reach a dead end, and for a moment, I think it's over.

"Petrova, there's nowhere to run," I say, despite my ragged breathing. "I promise I won't hurt you, only if you deserve it."

"So, you think, but you should be the one begging for mercy," she says, her lips curling into a cruel smirk. Her eyes gleam with malicious triumph as she savors the moment. Suddenly, the air grows thick with tension as a hidden door in the wall creaks open. Burly men, their faces etched with menace, emerge from the shadows. "Finish him, boys," she commands, her voice dripping with satisfaction. She turns on her heel and disappears through the door.

These fuckers think they can take me. Funny. "Who wants to go first?" I taunt. I shift into a fighting stance, muscles coiled tighter than a spring in a cheap watch. Just as my fingers brush against the cool metal of my piece, a pair of arms like steel cables wrap around my neck from behind. Fuck me sideways – I didn't check my six.

Struggling against the vice-like grip, I drive my elbow into my attacker's ribs, aiming for the kidneys. Instead of loosening his hold, the bastard only tightens it, making spots dance before my eyes like a fucked-up disco ball. I grind my heel into his foot, feeling bones crunch, and slam the back of my head into his face. The sickening crunch of cartilage is music to my ears. Seizing the moment, I deliver a brutal knee to his family jewels.

As his grip falters, I lunge for my fallen piece. Time slows to a crawl as I grasp the familiar grip, spin around, and pull the trigger. The deafening bang is followed by a spray of warm, sticky blood across my face. The sharp, tangy scent of metal fills my nostrils, sending a shiver of exhilaration down my spine.

My body moves on autopilot, years of street fights and mob wars kicking in as I dodge and weave, my gun barking with deadly precision. One by one, the suits fall, their bodies hitting the ground with dull thuds. But my victory is short-lived as more goons pour through the door like rats from a sinking ship.

A cold dread settles in my gut as I realize I'm in deep shit. My clip's running low, and I'm outnumbered worse than a snitch at a family dinner. The weight of my choices bears down on me – stay and face certain death, or run and live to settle scores another day. With a silent curse that would make a sailor blush, I make my decision. It's time to make tracks.

I whirl around and sprint back the way I came. As I round the corner, I collide with someone stepping out of a house. The impact is jarring, but I don't spare a moment to check if they're okay. I keep running until a familiar scent stops me dead in my tracks, and I spin around, my eyes widening in disbelief.

"Andrea!" I exclaim, shock and confusion warring within me. What the hell is she doing here, of all places?

"Stefano," she says, her voice a mix of surprise and pain as she pushes herself off the ground. I quickly move to help her up, my hands trembling slightly from the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

"What is going on? Why are you running?" Andrea asks, her eyes searching mine for answers. I open my mouth to explain, but the sound of multiple footsteps echoing behind us, growing louder with each passing second, cuts me off.

"I can't explain right now. We need to go," I say urgently, grabbing her hand.

"Is everything alright?" she asks, worry etching lines across her forehead.

"Don't worry, nothing is going to happen to you," I assure her, tightening my grip on her hand as we start running. My mind is racing, trying to process the fact that she's here, but safety comes first. Explanations can wait.

We run as fast as we can, but it's not fast enough. They're gaining on us, and the car is still too far away. My heart pounds in my chest as I realize we need a new plan. I need to find a car and hotwire it - if we don't leave here soon, we might lose our lives.

I halt us abruptly, scanning the area for the best vehicle to break into. This moment brings back memories of my training with Dad. To think I once thought learning to hotwire a car was useless - and now here I am, grateful for every lesson.

A truck catches my eye. "Get in," I command, smashing the window with my elbow. The glass shatters, and I quickly reach in to unlock the door. I sweep the broken shards off the seat, ignoring the sharp pricks against my skin.

"Stefano!" Andrea exclaims, grabbing my hand and staring at the fresh cuts and blood slowly oozing from them.

"I'm fine," I insist, shrugging off my suit jacket and laying it on the seat for extra protection. "Sit," I order, lifting her into the seat before slamming the door shut and sprinting to the driver's side.

As I move to break the driver's side window, Andrea reaches over and unlocks it for me. I slide in, immediately diving under the steering column to work on the wires. Suddenly, a gunshot rings out, the bullet whizzing past the car.

"Get down, Andrea!" I yell, pushing her head down with one hand while continuing to work on the wires with the other. More shots fire and the windshield explodes into a shower of glass.

Andrea screams as I throw myself over her, shielding her body with mine. I can feel shards of glass biting into my back, but I ignore the pain, focusing on getting the car started. After what feels like an eternity, the engine roars to life.

I slam my foot on the gas pedal, and we lurch forward, tires screeching against the pavement. I weave through the streets, my knuckles white on the steering wheel, constantly checking the rearview mirror for pursuers. Luckily, they don't seem to be following, but I'm not taking any chances. They knew I was coming - for all I know, another trap could be waiting ahead.

I maintain our breakneck speed until we reach the hotel. Only then do I allow myself to breathe a sigh of relief. I throw the keys to the velvet and quickly move to help Andrea out, my hand instinctively finding hers again.

"Come on," I say, guiding her towards the elevator. We ride up to the penthouse in tense silence, both of us still on high alert.

Once inside our suite, I turn to face Andrea, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away to be replaced by a mix of confusion and anger.

"Do I need to ask, or are you going to fucking tell me what you were doing there?" I demand, my voice low and intense.

She turns to face me, her eyes widening as the reality of the situation sinks in. And then another thought hits me like a punch to the gut - where the hell is Samuel?