BURIED ALIVE AT SEVEN: The Billionaire Locked His Pregnant Wife In The Safe Room, But The Handwriting On The Wall Proved His Dead Sister Was In The House!

“Dante, go,” Isabella cried out, clutching her abdomen as a violent tremor shook her body. “You have to save her. Go!”

Dante didn’t move. He stood over Cross, his expression cold as granite, before firing one clean shot into the wall an inch from the lawyer’s ear. Cross flinched violently, crying out in panic.

“I don’t choose,” Dante said, his voice chillingly calm. “I take everything.”

He turned to Marco. “Get the black Suburban out of the private hangar beneath the guest lodge. Bring the trauma kit and the portable oxygen. We aren't splitting up. We take Isabella with us.”

“Boss, Whispering Pines is three hours north in a blizzard,” Marco said, pressing a fresh gauze pad to his wounded side. “If she goes into active labor on the highway—”

“Then you deliver my child, or I do,” Dante cut him off, scooping Isabella effortlessly into his arms again. “Because my family stays together. No one gets left behind. Not again.”

Five minutes later, the reinforced black SUV tore out of the underground maintenance garage, shattering the wooden service gate into splinters. The massive vehicle surged onto the storm-swept coastal highway, heading north toward the Adirondacks.

Rain turned into blinding sleet, hammering against the windshield as the wipers struggled at maximum speed.

In the back seat, Dante held Isabella against his chest. He had wrapped her in heated blankets from the emergency kit, monitoring her contractions with the timer on his phone.

“Four minutes apart,” Dante murmured, brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead. “You’re doing incredible, bella. Look at me. Just breathe with me.”

“It hurts so much, Dante,” she whispered, her fingernails digging deep into the leather of his jacket. “What if… what if we get there and she’s already gone?”

“She won't be,” Dante said fiercely. “Elena survived twenty-seven years in that hell. She isn't dying tonight. And neither are you.”

Marco’s voice came tense from the driver's seat. “Mr. Moretti. Rear mirror. Three o’clock and six o’clock.”

Dante glanced out the tinted back window.

Through the thick curtain of falling snow, two sets of heavy LED headlights were tailing them. Black Dodge Rams, lifted suspensions, heavy brush guards—the signature vehicles of Victoria’s private security contractors.

“They tracked the GPS transponder in the engine block,” Marco cursed, slamming his foot on the accelerator. The SUV’s 6.2-liter V8 engine roared, surging past eighty miles per hour on the slick, icy asphalt. “They’re trying to run us off the road before we hit county lines!”

The lead truck accelerated violently, pulling alongside them on the two-lane mountain pass. The passenger window rolled down, revealing an operative raising a semi-automatic shotgun.

“Get down!” Dante shouted, throwing his entire body over Isabella to shield her.

*BOOM!*

The buckshot slammed against the passenger side, but the reinforced ballistic glass held, cracking into a dense web of white lines without penetrating.

“Hold on!” Marco roared.

Marco slammed the brakes hard. The heavy Suburban lurched, tires screaming against the slush. The attacking truck, carrying too much momentum, shot forward. Marco immediately cut the wheel hard to the right, slamming the Suburban’s heavy steel bumper directly into the pickup truck’s rear quarter-panel.

The PIT maneuver was flawless.

The pickup truck spun out of control, tires losing purchase on the black ice. It careened violently sideways, smashed through the rusted highway guardrail, and rolled down the steep embankment, vanishing into the snowy ravine in a shower of sparks and snapping pines.

“One down,” Marco grunted, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Second one is backing off, waiting for backup.”

“Don’t slow down,” Dante ordered, checking Isabella. She was breathing in short, shallow gasps, her eyes half-closed. “How far to the facility?”

“Seven miles,” Marco replied, peering through the blizzard. “Gate entrance is off Route 9.”