I forced myself to speak, each word dragging through the pain. "I was in a car accident… I'm stuck… I can't get out."
The smell of gasoline filled the air, sharp and suffocating. I could hear it dripping somewhere nearby. If a spark caught…
Before I could finish, another voice came through the line.
Liliana.
"Mr. Falcone, you must be tired. Let me give you a little massage."
Dante didn't hesitate.
"I'm in the middle of something," he said, almost impatiently. "I'll send someone."
And just like that, the call ended.
He never handled things himself.
Maybe, in his mind, this was responsibility. Delegating, ensuring things were taken care of. Sending a soldier, sending a driver, sending anyone but himself. But to me, it was always the same.
There was always something more important.
A sit-down.
A trip to meet the associates upstate.
A shipment to oversee.
Anything.
Everything.
Even now, even when I was trapped in a wrecked car with gasoline leaking around me, I wasn't important enough for him to come in person.
"Adriana! Are you okay?"
A man's voice cut through the chaos, urgent and breathless.