That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia (Accidental)

Chapter 11

“ T hey’re catching up,” Luca mutters, his voice calm but deadly. “Grab the larger firepower, Jax.”

Jax shifts in his seat, twisting to open a long black crate in the back. His large frame moves lithely as he pulls out several semi-automatic guns, and my jaw nearly unhinges.

“What the fuck do you guys do for work?” My eyes widen as Jax hands a gun to Enzo and retrieves something that looks suspiciously like a small machine gun.

Are those grenades? Are these men Rambo? Why can’t I stop asking myself questions? I clutch the handle of my spatula so tightly my knuckles ache, blinking rapidly to calm my racing mind. Enzo watches me take in the arsenal of weapons that they handle with practiced ease and his smirk is near deadly.

…For my panties that is because holy shit. If I were wearing any that look would make my undies combust on the spot.

“Welcome to the mafia, Delaney Caputo.” He winks as he unbuttons his shirt, revealing a thin white undershirt that clings to every ripple of muscle. Then, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, both he and Jax lean out of the SUV’s windows, guns in hand.

My. God.

My ovaries are planning baby registries. Her Vagesty has declared open season, rolling out the red carpet for fertilization.

Simultaneously, Jax and Enzo hurl small, heavy objects toward the first two cars pursuing us. I don’t know what the hell they’re throwing, but it’s definitely not good news for the other guys. The objects land just ahead of both vehicles with deadly precision.

A heartbeat later, twin explosions erupt in fiery chaos. Flames billow into the air like a scene ripped straight from a Michael Bay movie, hurling the cars skyward. The shockwave rattles our SUV, and the heat washes over me, making my spatula slick in my grip.

“Holy shit,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the roar of destruction.

One car crashes nose-first into the pavement, flipping dramatically before landing on its roof. The second vehicle slams into one of its companions, crumpling like a soda can and sending the car behind it veering wildly off course.

Three down. The highway behind us is a graveyard of flaming wreckage and twisted metal.

Jax and Enzo don’t miss a beat. The moment the debris clears, they line up their next shots, their weapons steady, their focus unnervingly calm.

“I need another clip,” Enzo calls out, his voice casual, like he’s ordering coffee. As Jax fires out the passenger window, I fumble in the back, rummaging through the arsenal.

Gunfire erupts in a deafening barrage, making me flinch as one car swerves violently, its tires screeching against the asphalt. The second car doesn’t stand a chance—bullets rip into its side, and it careens into the guardrail with a satisfying crunch.

I blink at the sudden silence, my heart pounding against my ribs. My mind struggles to catch up with what I just witnessed.

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” I mutter under my breath, still dazed, as I hand fresh clips to Jax and Enzo.

Jax glances back at me with a smirk, his finger hovering near the trigger. “Thanks, baby.”

I sink into my seat, my fingers gripping the seatbelt like a lifeline. This is real. I’m actually in the middle of a goddamn high-speed car chase. The absurdity of it all almost makes me laugh—or maybe cry. I can’t tell anymore.

“We’ve got two left,” Luca says, his tone steady yet urgent. His hands tighten around the wheel as he maneuvers through traffic with precision. “Enzo, check the sky.”

The sky? What the actual fuck is in the sky?

My gaze darts to Jax and Enzo, who seem eerily at home in this chaos, like apex predators in their natural habitat. There’s something about the adrenaline, the sheer thrill of it—it’s intoxicating in a way I’m not sure I want to admit.

Luca slams the gas, the SUV growling as it lunges forward. I glance out the window, trying to spot what Luca meant, but Jax pulls me back into the center of the vehicle.

“Stay put, Peach,” he says sharply, his frustration cutting through the chaos.

I clutch my trusty spatula, and I look behind us and see what Luca was pointing out. It’s a fucking helicopter.

Sure, why not.

Perhaps a submarine will rise out of the fucking highway next. That would just be the cherry on top of this shit-show sundae.

“Get the rocket,” Luca calls back, his voice a cold command.

Ex-squeeze me?

Jax moves quickly, opening a second case and retrieving pieces of a weapon that, when assembled, will undoubtedly launch us onto a government watchlist. He passes the parts to Enzo, who begins assembling them with unnerving precision.

The remaining cars surge closer, flanking us. Everything happens in a blur. Enzo pauses his assembly—the rocket launcher—as Jax fires at the car on the passenger side.

On the driver’s side, a blue Mustang surges forward, its driver firing through his own windshield at Luca. Before I can scream, the Mustang’s passenger door flies open, and a man leaps into our SUV through the busted window.

I shriek, swinging the spatula with all my might. The man recoils, clearly bewildered by my retaliation, but it gives Jax the second he needs.

Before I know what is happening the handle of a knife is sticking out of the man’s eye socket and the other one rolls back into his head. “Cocksucker.” Jax growls as he pushes the body out of the car. The SUV jolts as we roll over something heavy. I’ll just pretend it’s a pothole. Definitely not a body.

“You okay?” Jax asks, his eyes scanning me for injuries.

I intend to answer him, but Luca uses the SUV as a battering ram against the car on the passenger side and it steals my breath. I answer with an unflattering grunt while Jax holds me in place with his large arm across my body.

Luca catches the car on the front panel, and it spins wildly. The tires catch and the car is sideways. It lurches up, spinning again and again. Enzo throws another projectile and hits the car perfectly sending another fireball into the air.

If this whole mafia thing doesn’t work out, I wonder if he would join a pro baseball team because the man has an arm on him.

Luca somehow turns time into slow motion.

He wields the SUV like a fucking scalpel. Slamming the brakes and spinning the wheel, the SUV turns on a dime. As we begin our 360-degree rotation at top speeds, Luca’s arm points out the window. His forearm muscles ripple as he grips the gun in his hand.

Pointed for the driver of the final car, Luca lined himself up perfectly and pulls the trigger. I don’t see the bullet hit but the drivers head jerks back, and he’s dead before I can blink. The last of the cars in pursuit of us barrels across the highway and slams into the wall at full speed.

Our SUV completes its rotation, having spun in a full circle and Luca smashes the gas pedal to the ground again. All of it took place in a matter of seconds.

My breaths are shallow and ragged. My knuckles are white from grabbing onto the seat beneath me with everything I have. Fast and furious, eat your fucking heart out.

Jax hands grab each side of my face, making me look at him.

I think I’m going into shock because the edges of my vision turn to static.

“Delaney,” he says, his tone low and commanding. “You’re okay. Look at me. You’re okay.”

I nod, the movement jerky as though I’m trying to convince myself as much as him. His thumbs stroke my cheeks in a soothing rhythm, though his body remains tense, coiled like a spring ready to snap. “Luca’s not going to let anyone touch his girl.”

His girl.

The words send a shiver down my spine, both thrilling and unsettling. At breakfast yesterday, it was “our Delaney.” Now, it’s “his girl.” The possessiveness is maddening—and maybe just a little intoxicating.

I catch Luca’s gaze in the rearview mirror. His piercing blue eyes are a storm of fury and focus, his jaw tight as his hands grip the wheel with no mercy. He glances at me briefly, a silent question in his eyes.

Are you okay?

The static fogging the edges of my vision begins to clear. I draw in a deep breath, finding my anchor in the controlled chaos that is Luca.

“The chopper,” he says, his voice clipped. “That’s all that’s left.”

His tone sends a chill through me. This isn’t the Luca I knew back in college, the tech genius with a quick wit and a soft smile. This Luca is lethal, a weapon honed and ready to strike. And yet, he still glances at me with an unspoken promise of safety.

“Get the launcher,” Luca orders, his voice calm but unyielding.

Jax moves with practiced ease, grabbing the remaining pieces of the rocket launcher and handing them to Enzo, who assembles the weapon with methodical precision.

Sure as shit, the helicopter looms behind us, its blades slicing through the air like a mechanical beast. Men dangle from its sides, their guns trained on us.

Jax leans out of the window, unleashing a barrage of bullets at the helicopter. The responding gunfire slams into the SUV, metal meeting metal in a deafening cacophony. I flinch as sparks fly, and Jax’s broad frame shifts, shielding me instinctively.

The sunroof slides open with a hiss, and the wind howls into the cabin. My heart lodges itself in my throat as Enzo stands, the upper half of his body fully exposed. His white undershirt clings to him, already damp with sweat, and I swear the man has nerves of steel.

“Enzo!” I cry out, my voice cracking as he raises the rocket launcher. He braces himself, the weapon perched on his shoulder. The kickback from the launch jerks his body, and my heart stops, frozen in sheer terror.

A beat later, the missile finds its target.

The helicopter erupts in a spectacular explosion, fiery debris raining down like confetti. The wreckage plummets to the ground in a twisted heap, another explosion marking its final demise. Heat surges around us, and the SUV bucks slightly under the force of the shockwave, but Luca doesn’t react. His focus remains razor-sharp as he steers us out of the danger zone.

There is nothing but destruction behind us for several miles. Plumes of smoke rise into the sky periodically marking the locations where the pursuers didn’t survive my men.

My men.

I slump in my seat, my hands relaxing the death grip on my trusty spat. Enzo’s gaze locks onto mine, his usual hardness absent, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. He leans forward, his forehead resting against mine. His hand cups my cheek, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the chill still coursing through me.

“We’ve got you, okay?” His voice is low, almost a whisper, and I don’t know if he’s saying it for me or for himself.

I nod, my own hand rising to cover his. “I know you do.”