Milan — On the way to the Ministry
The car sped through the half-empty streets like a black arrow.
Vera stared out the window, heart pounding, expecting at any moment to see headlights chasing them down.
Giulio Moretti drove with firm hands, eyes hard, as if each turn was a battle.
"They're going to try to stop us," he said, never taking his eyes off the road.
Vera knew it.
The dossier burned in her lap like a live stick of dynamite.
And then — as if summoned from a nightmare — the roar of furious engines shattered the silence.
In the rearview mirror, Moretti saw them: three black cars, closing fast.
"Hold on!" he shouted.
The car swerved violently into a side street, tires screaming against the wet asphalt.
Behind them, the pursuers followed without hesitation.
Gunshots cracked the night.
Vera ducked instinctively, shielding the dossier with her body.
Moretti maneuvered like a seasoned racer, weaving through narrow streets, forgotten alleys, and empty plazas.
But it was like trying to outrun ghosts.
They would not give up easily.
"We have to reach Piazza della Scala!" Moretti yelled.
It was the last checkpoint before the Ministry — and where public patrols would start to appear. If they could make it, there was a chance for protection.
The car jolted, bounced over curbs, weaving through the thin dawn traffic.
One of the black cars pulled alongside them.
The window rolled down.
A gun appeared.
Moretti jerked the wheel hard.
Their car scraped against a metal post, losing a side mirror — but dodging the shot.
Vera bit her lip until she tasted blood.
Just a few more minutes.
Just a few more...
The plaza loomed ahead, bathed in the yellow light of old streetlamps.
The race against death wasn't over yet.
But the finish line was in sight.
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If you believe Vera and Moretti can break through the darkness, drop a Power Stone — every heartbeat pushes them closer to victory!