I turned my head slightly, wincing, and saw Luca Valente running toward me. Dante's closest friend. A consigliere-grade attorney from the allied Valente outfit, the one man in Dante's orbit who still treated me like a person rather than a position.
So this time, Dante hadn't even sent one of his own soldiers.
He'd sent Luca.
"I'm stuck," I said weakly. "I can't get out."
Luca's expression tightened immediately. He scanned the scene quickly, his eyes moving the way a man trained in crisis moved, cataloging damage, measuring risk, checking for the gasoline pooling under the wreck. Then he rushed back to his car without another word. Within a minute, he returned with tools, working efficiently and carefully to pry the damaged door open.
Metal groaned under the pressure.
Piece by piece, he created enough space to pull me free.
When I was finally out, my legs nearly gave way beneath me. Luca caught me instinctively, steadying me with one arm as he looked me over, his brows drawn tight with worry.
"Can you walk?" he asked. "I'll take you to the hospital."
He looked more panicked than I felt.