Chapter 2 - The Tree Beneath the Cliff
I should have listened.
Every survival instinct told me the same thing.
Go back to your car.
Wait for police.
Forget Dante Moretti.
But the sedan shifted below me.
The tree holding it bent with a terrible groan.
Someone was still inside.
I shoved the phone into my pocket and climbed.
Mud swallowed my shoes. Branches cut my palms. Twice I nearly slid down the slope.
When I reached the wreck, Dante was conscious enough to understand he was dying.
His gray eyes found mine through the shattered window.
“Who are you?”
“The waitress.”
Even then, confusion crossed his face.
“What?”
“Bellini’s.”
The tree cracked.
“Get out!”
“Door’s jammed.”
I grabbed the handle.
Nothing.
Dante tried kicking from inside, but his leg appeared trapped.
“Listen to me,” he said. “Climb back up.”
“No.”
“The car moves, you go with it.”
“Then stop talking.”
I found an opening near the shattered rear window and reached inside.
He grabbed my arm.
I pulled.
He barely moved.
“Leave me.”
“No.”
“Waitress—”
“My name is Cara!”
The tree cracked again.
Something changed in his expression.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Like he finally understood I was actually stupid enough to stay.
He forced his trapped leg free.
I grabbed his wrist.
He climbed.
The sedan shifted.
“Cara!”
I screamed and pulled.
Dante came through the window just as the tree snapped.
The car dropped.
We flattened ourselves against the mud while twisted metal vanished into the darkness below.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then headlights flooded the road above.
One black SUV.
Then another.
Then four more.
Men descended the slope.
The first reached us and immediately drew a weapon.
He saw Dante injured.
Then me.
My hands were covered in blood.
“Step away from Mr. Moretti!”
More weapons appeared.
Dante caught my wrist.
“Don’t shoot her.”
Every man stopped.
The security chief knelt beside him.
“Sir, what happened?”
“Brakes.”
His eyes moved to me.
Then hardened.
“How did you know?”
I looked at the men surrounding us.
One face made my stomach drop.
I had seen him before.
Not clearly inside Bellini’s booth.
But through the narrow gap in the partition when Vanessa’s lover stood to leave.
Same square jaw.
Same scar beside his ear.
Same silver watch.
He was standing among Dante’s security team.
My mouth went dry.
Dante noticed.
“What?”
I pointed.
“That man.”
The guard stepped backward.
The security chief turned.
I whispered:
“He was with your wife.”
The man reached inside his jacket.
Three guards reacted.
But he wasn’t reaching for a weapon.
He pulled out a phone.
Pressed one button.
Then smiled at Dante.
“You weren’t supposed to survive.”
An explosion suddenly lit the ravine beneath us.
Dante’s crashed sedan erupted in flames.
May you like
Evidence disappeared in a single orange flash.
And while everyone stared downward, the traitor ran.
