Agent 7. The Shadows: Part I

▪️◼️Chapter Thirty Four◼️▪️

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ALINA
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"You've been shot..." The words trail off in disbelief as I blink at the blood staining my skin. Again, Matteo doesn't respond. I scowl at his arm where the onyx material of his suit is becoming a mushy wet pool of blood. The glistening cardinal is dripping down his arm, underneath the material of his shirt sleeve and suit jacket, to his wrist and thick fingers—causing his hand to slip every-time he jerks the steering wheel right and left. He's bleeding so profusely it's dripping from the opening of his sleeve at his wrist to his lap. "Matteo! You're bleeding really bad!" I reach for him once again but he snatches his arm away before I have a chance. It needs to be tended to, we need to stop the bleeding. There's absolutely no way he will make it another hour or two with how severely the small wound is seeping.

"Don't touch me," Matteo growls menacingly. I freeze my movements mid-air.

Even though I should be used to his gruff demeanor, I'm not.

"Not yet." He begs gently, eyeing me from his peripheral.

My scowl softens. I don't like it, but I understand. He's in pain and frantic to escape. I nod and pull my hand back into my lap. He turns away from me to focus back on the road. We enter an outlying district of Moscow that I've never been to and make our way toward a bustling city center. It isn't nearly as big as the capitol, yet it's alive and pulsing with people.

"With every minute that passes The Agency is getting closer to discovering our whereabouts." He tells me with forced breaths, if we don't hurry they will find us, it's simply a matter of when." His words are clipped. Urgent.

"How can you be so sure?" I ask.

"You need to understand Alina, The Agency-" He begins to explain, gritting his words out through clenched teeth. The pain of his wound beginning to consume him. "Has connections with every government agency and task force world wide. Not to mention government level hackers for every security camera in and out of the city. One wrong move and we will be espied and taken into custody." He throws me a glance. "That's if we're not shot dead first."

We.

I meet his emerald green eyes. I see nothing but truth when I gaze into them. It's the closest thing to concern I have yet to witness in his demeanor.

Back at the hotel the agent that had broken into our hotel room had given Matteo an ultimatum. To move aside and allow him to kill me, or Matteo would die a traitor.

My pulse quickens.

Does that mean that Matteo has gone rouge?
Is The Agency after him now too, the way they're after me?

I search Matteo's features. His forehead is pinched and creasing. He doesn't have wrinkles, he's too young, but his skin is lined with tension. I allow my gaze to drop lower. His eyes are ablaze and dancing with vigilance. I watch as they snap to and from every passing car, every street light, every security camera, and every person milling about.

We speed for a few more kilometers until Matteo pulls the car to a screeching stop in a packed parking lot. People bustle in and out of a large modern building constructed of sparkling silver and glass at its anterior.

I turn to him. "A train station?"

Without answering me, Matteo opens the driver side door with an aggressive shove and pulls himself with the hand of his uninjured arm out of the car. He sticks his head back in to snap at me. "Let's go." He says before slamming the door in my face. The car rattles with the effort. I quickly scramble for my own door handle and push the door open. By the time I'm out of the car, I have to run to catch up with Matteo's hurried pace.

I'm suddenly hyper aware of my surroundings.

There's something oddly terrifying about the way the sun is gleaming so bright against a cloudless sky, it's shining down on us like a spotlight. It's rays caress my skin and tease me with the way it illuminates my every step. Every tilt of my head and sweep of my gaze is on full display.

I check over my shoulder every few seconds in fear of deadly men from The Agency close behind. I don't see anyone but—according to Matteo—that doesn't mean they aren't there or close on our trail.

Warm air hits me in the face as we enter the packed vestibule of the train station. There's a large crowd of people purchasing train tickets, sitting in small groups on benches looking onward for an incoming cart, and strung along the trains platforms, waiting.

I look around the vast space. Did Matteo take us here in the hopes of losing The Agency in the throngs? Or are we more at risk being out in the open in such a busy and public place, not knowing who is an innocent pedestrian and who in the crowd is out for our blood?

Matteo comes to a halt, grabbing my hand with his own, stopping us in front of the large ticket counter. People are lined up, one in front of the other, at each teller window in front of us.

He tries to hide it but I catch him wince with the movement. I trail my eyes up from our linked fingers to his arm. He's holding his injured bicep with his good hand. His thick fingers are squeezing tight around the sopping wet material in a shoddy attempt at a tourniquet. The blood has now completely soaked the entirety of his upper arm and can be seen seeping out between his pinched fingers.

The hot air of his breath can be felt against my hair as he leans into me. "Go to the ticket counter and purchase two tickets to Montepulciano, Italy."

I frown. "Montepulciano?" I question, trying to pronounce the city's name the way he did.

Matteo nods sternly. "No more questions, Alina." He slips a few crisp bills into my sweaty palm. "Buy the tickets and then meet me right back here. Do not talk to anyone other than the ticket attendee and do not stop, no matter what. Capiscimi?"

My eyes widen but I don't argue. I nod my head in understanding, grasping onto the crisp bills he's slipped into my hand. Slowly, he pulls away from me, eyes never straying from mine.

"Brava ragazza."