Mr.Stamp

Previously

…“Get in the car, Boris!” I yelled, shoving Jacob towards the waiting sedan. Boris gunned the engine, the tires spitting gravel as we peeled away from the curb. The black sedan was right behind us, a relentless shadow. “They’re fast,” Jacob stammered, his knuckles white as he gripped the dashboard. “I know,” I said, my gaze fixed on the rearview mirror. The chase was on. And this time, the stakes were higher than ever. Corleone’s fury was a tangible thing, a dark tide rising, threatening to drown us all. And somewhere in the distance, I could hear the faint, persistent hum of the city, a lullaby for the damned. The whispers in the dark had become a roar.