"Boss! The Porsche is silver! It's not Miss Australia!" Enzo's voice broke through the suffocating tension like a sudden crack of thunder.
Raymond's head snapped toward the window, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as he locked onto the mangled wreckage of the car ahead. In an instant, the crushing weight on his chest evaporated. A violent wave of relief crashed over him, forcing a jagged, heavy breath from his lungs. "Thank God," he muttered, his voice a low, raspy whisper he rarely used.
"Yes, Boss. It's definitely not."
The vulnerability that had briefly consumed Raymond vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced instantly by his usual, cold efficiency. His fingers uncoiled from the leather of Enzo's headrest, though the self-inflicted cuts on his palms from his own nails still stung.
"We leave now!" Raymond commanded, his tone returning to a dangerous, icy rumble. "This incident has already cost us too much time.
*****
