Chapter 42 - Blood and Ash
We didn't take the fire escape. Dante’s men had likely rigged it, and the police below were sweeping the perimeter with floodlights.
Vincent guided us through the service elevator shaft, using a counterweight cable he had prepped days before as an emergency egress. Maya was strapped securely to my chest in a tactical harness, her head tucked under my chin. I could feel her rapid, shallow heartbeat fluttering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"Hold on to me, Elena," Vincent murmured in the dark shaft as the wind howled through the vents. "Don't look down."
I didn't need to look down. All my focus was on Maya. "I have her, Vincent. Just get us out."
We descended into the sub-basement, bypassing the police blockade entirely. In the damp subterranean garage, an unmarked black utility van stood waiting. Vincent disarmed the perimeter sensors, threw the back doors open, and shoved us inside before sliding into the driver’s seat.
The engine roared to life with a low, customized rumble. Vincent killed the headlights and rammed through the wooden security gate of the alley, turning hard onto the rain-slicked side streets just as three cruisers tore past the intersection with sirens blaring.
In the back, I tore open Maya's medical pouch. My hands were shaking, but maternal instinct took over the moment I saw her blue-tinged lips.
"Inhaler first," I whispered to myself, checking the dosage gauge. "Come on, baby girl. Deep breath for Mommy."
Maya wheezed, trying to cooperate, but her chest was spasming. "Mommy... it hurts. The loud noises..."
"I know, sweetie. I know. Close your eyes. Imagine the garden by the lake, remember? The blue butterflies."
I pressed the spacer to her mouth, counting each breath. Slowly, the whistling began to ease, but her skin remained dangerously pale and clammy. The stress was triggering an autoimmune flare-up.
Up front, Vincent adjusted the rearview mirror, his eyes locked onto mine. "How is she?"
"She needs a hospital, Vincent! Not an alley, not a safe house—a sterilized room and an IV drip of corticosteroids. If her fever spikes again, her lungs will collapse!"
"We can't go to a public hospital," Vincent said grimly, swerving into an industrial access road. "Antonio’s network monitors every emergency intake system in Western Europe. The moment Maya’s name or biometric profile hits a triage terminal, hit squads will be at the door within twenty minutes."
"Then what do we do?!" I shouted, fear boiling over into rage. "You heard Dante! Your grandfather has seventy-two hours! Maya doesn't have seventy-two hours to hide in a van!"
Vincent slammed his hand against the steering wheel. "I have a contact. A private clinic in the hills above Nice. Dr. Laurent owes his life to my father. But to get there, we have to cross two departmental checkpoints."
He reached into the console and pulled out a fresh passport, tossing it into my lap.
I picked it up. The photo was mine, taken from airport security footage months ago, but the name read *Elena Moretti*.
May you like
"What is this?" I asked, breathless.
"A legally binding marriage certificate filed in Milan three days ago," Vincent said without turning around. "If we are stopped, you aren't the runaway nanny who kidnapped my child. You are my wife. And Maya is our legitimate heir."
