Page 131 of Unravel Me

The blow is hard and sends him stumbling backward, but not hard enough to make him let go of the hand holding my wrist.

"If you think this is over, you're out of your fucking mind!" he howls.

And he twists my wrist with a violent jerk. The gun flies out of my hand, but my reflexes don't fail me. I snap my knee up and kick it as it falls, sending it skidding across the room until it crashes behind the old chest with a loud metallic bang.

But that's not the end of it. I still have one more ace up my sleeve. The moment Rocco makes a small move, as if he's about to lunge for the gun, I yank my arm up over my shoulder, draw my katana, and level it straight at him, forcing him to stumble backward.

We stare each other down. He's breathing hard.

Moments like this make me curse the fact that I'm mute, because I have a lot I'd like to scream at him.

Rocco has nothing to defend himself with. At our uncle's insistence, all of my brothers trained in kendo. Rocco made it to second dan. Eliano and I reached third. Only Ennio earned sixth dan. Rocco knows he doesn't stand a chance against a drawn blade.

I narrow my eyes and press the tip of the katana lightly against the chest of his vest.

"You know what?" he almost whispers. "For years, I wanted to find out who my True Mate was and kill the bastard before any bond could form. It's the biggest weakness a mafioso can have. As we all can see…" he hisses and points at me, "…exhibit fucking A."

His eyes are squeezed nearly shut; he's still breathing heavily. A thin stream of blood runs from the wound on the back of his neck, trickling down onto his vest and slowly soaking into the fabric.

Then…

…my phone starts ringing.

Fuck.

I have to answer it. It could be—

My eyes land on the screen for a fraction of a second, long enough to read that…

‘Rocco’ is calling me!

What the f—

But my mad brother has been waiting for exactly that.

I'm certain he’s about to dive for the gun, but instead he does the last thing I expect of him.

Rocco runs!

Since we're standing close to the door, he spins, yanks it open, and bolts outside.

I swing the katana, but the blade's tip strikes the doorframe, missing him by a hair.

Rocco leaps off the small steps in front of the cabin and takes off toward his car in long strides.

Furious, I throw the katana aside. My other weapon is still holstered at my waist. I yank it free in a rush and fire… Rocco is already at his car. He ducks at the last second, but the bullet still slams into his back. I see his body jolt and stagger, yet somehow he forces himself onward and throws himself into the driver's seat.

I fire several more rounds, but the windows are armored. Spiderwebs of cracks spread across the glass, yet they hold.

Rocco starts the engine and tears away with a screech of tires, but I'm not about to let him disappear.

I dive into my own vehicle and go after him.

I've got a slight advantage. Mine is a Jeep Wrangler, while he's driving a Mercedes-AMG G. The G-Class handles rough terrain surprisingly well and has a monstrous engine, but my Wrangler is narrower, more agile, and far better suited to these tight forest trails and deep ruts. My tires grip the mud more effectively, while his Mercedes has the edge in raw power and pulls away faster whenever the road straightens.

So I stay on him, and it turns into a brutal back-and-forth. On the straight stretches he opens the gap, but every time the trail twists through the trees, I'm right back on his bumper.

The roar of our engines shreds the silence of the forest. I grit my teeth, wishing I possessed the same connection to the woods that my uncle Renato has, and that Silvio still carries within him. But I'm too young; my bond with the forest isn't complete yet, so I can't command the trees to bend their branches across the road and stop Rocco.