Graveside Reprieve

The moon's pale light filtered through broken glass, casting fractured shadows as Nico crept through the narrow alleys behind a battered truck. Tires screeched around tight corners, his instincts primed for any unseen pursuers stalking his wake. But Palermo's streets pulsed oblivious under the moonlight, no out-of-sync rhythms hinting at another's presence.

Alex had been family once, brothers-in-arms rushing headlong toward questionable teenage rebellion, bonded by pacts and camaraderie only possible in youth's secret circles. Though years carved out separate fates, Nico knew Alex's mechanical brilliance could supply vital resources, with hostile forces now circling his bloodied trail.

The shop loomed up corpse-like, fossils of steel and chrome littering its abandoned acres—an elephant graveyard remnants of Detroit's expired glory. As the grumbling engine settled into silence, tomb-like stillness flooded Nico's senses, listening for any echoes in the mechanical ossuary.

Nico edged forward, spine prickled with unease. "Alex...you still kicking around this crypt?"

A figure emerged, backlit by nameless threat, haloed in shadows. Alex raised oil-stained hands casually as recognition reshaped his grubbily bearded face beneath the tilted brim of a vintage Phillies cap.

"Well ain't you a resurrection I never reckoned to see. Heard you got that uptown heat chasin' ya now though." Alex's gaze raked over Nico's ravaged state. "So what unfinished business you draggin' in here anyway?"

Nico attempted a cynical half-grin at Alex's familiar bravado. "Hey, just paying respects to you and the Hot Wheels homies here." His hand brushed a fossilized fender as he passed, trailing drips of crusted blood behind.

Faint concern tempered Alex's chuckle. "Damn, someone got you leaking pretty good eh. Get on downstairs 'fore you stain my cement, I'll crack the med kit."

Descending creaking stairs to the underground warren, Nico scanned generations of automotive arcana lining the rough walls, cobbled together in various states of undress. Shadows concealed Alex's hidden living quarters tucked amongst the mechanical corpses - a safehouse far from hostile streets.

Peeling away tattered clothing revealed flesh wounds still seeping, the bloody marks of his narrow escape. As Alex irrigated gashes, Nico recounted the anonymous betrayal.

"They knew I was coming...set a tailor-made trap designed to snap closed," Nico explained through clamped teeth. "Bait got me cornered, nice and tidy almost before I even caught a whiff."

Alex pondered silently as he staunched torn skin. When he spoke, voice dropped low and chill. "So...this mystery Judas wants you out the game real permanent-like eh."

Nico met Alex's hooded eyes. "No...whoever pulled those strings wants me alive. For now." Unspoken possibilities hung swirling in dead air between them.

Nico braced his palms on the scarred worktable, head bowed beneath the weight of revelation. "I wanted only to confront my dad in this bloody vendetta—make the old man pay his karmic debts from the secrets he tried burying."

He met Alex's shuttered gaze, almost pleading. "But Vito raises the stakes. That sly devil leaves no loose strings in his web. He'll run me down without mercy if he can't find what he's probably been seeking"

Alex perched silently as a carved saint, face obscured by the grease-stained brim of his vintage Phillies cap. Ever the stoic monk, content to let his resurrected machines voice passions while he bore quiet witness. In Alex's zen-like presence over the years, Nico found an anchor against the storms.

Shrugging on a fresh button-down to replace tattered rags, Nico felt nova-hot urgency crackling through his veins. "Nowhere's safe anymore with hellhounds on my trail. But I can't risk them catching your scent too, old friend."

He gripped Alex's shoulder fiercely. "You've kept me breathing this long, brother. May need you watching my blindside again before the end."

At the hidden exit, Nico met Alex's inscrutable eyes, tension hanging.

"I still have promises to keep out there...oaths written in blood." Thoughts of Vixen, of justice not yet wrought, fueled Nico's thrumming purpose.

In answer, from an old wooden box, Alex pressed euros, car keys and a cellphone into Nico's palm. Clipped words cracked the gloom: "New ride. Extra muscle this trip. But watch your back... One more thing - the phone needs these digits - 460i4."

Alex's strong hand at his shoulder arrested Nico's momentum. "You know the strip club downtown's still secure. We'll meet there at twelve, for old times. I'll detail the route once you're rolling, incase you've forgotten."

Nico clasped his friend's hand tightly in thanks, then vanished into the shadows' embrace, swallowed by hungry darkness.

But specters of the past stalked his wake, cold dread whispering Lord Vito had once more marked his steps—the unfinished reckoning of history chasing Nico down familiar streets yet again.

A block away, curtains in a parked sedan twitched back. Behind glass, a smile curved like a razor's edge while glacial eyes tracked the sleek car now sliding past.

In the soundproof quiet of his idling notorious gangster car, known as "The Cerberus." Guiseppe nodded to himself. "The seeds take root. The game's like the Old Testament & The New Testament tease."

He pondered the true prize still awaiting at the end of this elaborately prepared chase.

After a meditative moment, he tapped into his mouthpiece. "Track this call, I need five of you here." With that command, he prowled off in leisurely pursuit of a blossoming checkmate.