Chapter 16: Escape and Trap

Moretti's scream cut through the smoky air of the casino like a knife. "You! You were supposed to be dead!" His words echoed in the VIP section, and for a moment, Ethan's heart seemed to stop. The fat man had knocked over his chair and jumped to his feet, his cigar falling to the floor and sparking on the carpet. Time seemed to freeze in the casino; cards hung suspended on the tables, drink glasses were forgotten in people's hands, laughter was cut off, replaced by stunned silence. Ethan drew his gun, his fingers tightening around the cold metal of the barrel, but Moretti's two remaining men were already moving. Guns slid out from beneath their jackets, gleaming in the dim light of the street lamps. Tables tipped over one by one, filling the air with the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass. Shouts erupted as the patrons fled, the chaotic energy of the casino turning into panic.

For a brief moment, Ethan thought of Rachel; the final moments at the dock, the blood spreading over the concrete, the death that came with Elena's cold command. He couldn't make a mistake this time. His eyes locked on Moretti, but the man's guards were closing in. As a table toppled, Ethan dove to the ground, the dusty surface of the carpet filling his nose. In that instant, a gunshot rang out; but it wasn't a loud explosion, it was the familiar soft pfft of a silenced shot. Elena had stepped in front of Ethan, her red hair glowing in the dim casino light. She aimed her silenced pistol at one of the men, firing once, striking him in the chest. The man collapsed with a wheeze, his arms slack, the gun slipping from his hand and skidding across the carpet.

"Go!" Elena shouted, pushing Ethan hard by the arm. There was urgency in her voice, but her eyes remained cold and calm. "I'll cover you!" Ethan didn't hesitate. He ran from the VIP section toward the back door, his feet slipping on the carpet, his heart pounding in his ears. Moretti's enraged voice echoed behind him: "I'll kill you, you filthy rat!" The fat man's breath was wheezing, but his resolve was terrifying. Ethan kicked open the door, the hinges creaking, and the cold night air hit him like a slap to the face. It was raining now, the fine droplets hitting his coat, turning the street asphalt into a slippery mirror.

He ran into the streets, ducking into narrow alleyways, trying to lose Moretti. He zigzagged between trash cans and rusty fire escapes, his breath burning in his lungs. His shoes slipped on the wet ground, but he couldn't stop. Moretti wasn't giving up; despite his bulk, he was fast, his steps echoing on the stone pavement. Ethan spotted something in the glow of a streetlamp: a knife. The steel gleamed menacingly, reflecting the light, and it seemed as though it had been sharpened with Moretti's fury. For a moment, Ethan's mind went blank; just imagining the man coming at him with a knife sent chills down his spine. But there was no room for fear now—survival was the only focus.

He stopped at a corner, leaning his back against the wet brick wall. The rain made everything slippery, his coat soaked through. He held his breath, listening to Moretti's labored breaths as he drew closer. The man's steps were heavy but determined. Ethan closed his eyes, gathered his thoughts, and briefly pushed away the image of Rachel's final glance. Then he saw Moretti turn the corner; the fat man's body filled the narrow street, tightly gripping the knife in his hand. Ethan moved. He extended his foot, tripping Moretti. The fat man stumbled, lost his balance, and rolled to the ground. The knife flew from his hand, landing in a puddle with a sharp clink. Ethan jumped on him, landing a punch to Moretti's chin, the crack of bone echoing in the air.

But Moretti didn't give up. With unexpected strength, he shoved Ethan back, sending him stumbling into a trash can. The metal pressed into Ethan's chest, and he gasped for air. "You're a pest!" Moretti roared as he got to his feet. His face was bright red, his eyes wild with rage, saliva flying from his mouth. "But you're going to die tonight!" He reached into his coat, pulling out a gun, the barrel aimed at Ethan. Ethan rolled to the ground, just as a car's headlights lit up the street. The loud roar of the engine drowned out the rhythm of the rain, and the tires screeched on the asphalt. Elena was behind the wheel, opening the door.

"Get in, idiot!" she shouted, her voice sharp and commanding.

Ethan leaped into the open car door, slamming it shut just as Moretti yelled curses at them. "I'll find you!" he screamed, but his voice was drowned out by the car's speed. The tires slid on the wet road, and Ethan slumped into the seat, gasping for breath. His heart pounded in his chest like a hammer, his hands trembling. As the rain slid down the window, the blurry image of the street disappeared from his view.

"We almost missed him that time," Ethan said, his voice shaky, a mix of anger and exhaustion in his tone.

Elena smiled, her eyes fixed on the road, her hands steady on the wheel. "We didn't miss him," she replied, her voice unnervingly calm, as if everything was under her control. "This is a trap, Ethan. Moretti is going to panic now, make a mistake. There's one last move to make to end him. Are you ready?"

Her words carried the calm certainty of a hunter cornering its prey.

Ethan glanced at her sideways, the rain trickling down the window, her face dancing in the shadows. Her red hair was damp, but she still looked flawless—elegant as a killer, dangerous as a serpent. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, a mix of exhaustion and suspicion in his voice. "You could have killed Moretti at the casino yourself. Why drag me into this chaos?"

Elena was silent for a moment, the only sounds were the hum of the engine and the rhythmic tapping of rain on the window. Then she turned her head slightly, her green eyes locking with his. For a brief moment, something flickered in them. "Because this is a game," she finally said, her voice soft but threatening. "And you're part of the game. You need to kill Moretti, Ethan. To prove my power in my father's eyes, I need to be stained with blood through your hands. I'm not just the one pulling the trigger; I'm the one designing the game. Do you understand?"

Ethan said nothing, his gaze fixed on the window. The city lights blurred as they sped past, the streetlamps flickering in the rain. Elena's words echoed in his mind; a game, a chessboard, and was he just a pawn, or a king? The adrenaline he'd felt chasing Moretti still coursed through his veins, but now it was replaced with a cold determination.

"Alright," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "Let's make the final move. But when this is over, our business will be finished."

Elena looked at him, a small smile appearing on her lips, but it wasn't warm—it was calculated. "If it's over," she whispered. "But let's bring down Moretti first. Rest up, Ethan. The night is long, and tomorrow everything will end."

As the car sped through the dark streets, Ethan leaned back in his seat. The sound of the rain was like a lullaby, but sleep was a distant dream. Moretti was still out there, and Elena's shadow seemed larger than ever. She gripped her gun tightly in her pocket, her fingers finding comfort in the cold metal. It was a trap, yes, but for whom? He didn't know yet.