I was trapped inside the wreck, the door crushed inward, my body pinned awkwardly against the seat. I tried to move, but even the smallest motion sent waves of pain through me.
My fingers trembled as I fumbled for my phone.
Out of instinct, habit more than thought, I called Dante.
The line connected quickly.
"What is it?" His voice was cold, flat, devoid of concern.
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.
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.