Chapter 51 – Amanda
Liam’s phone rang. He glanced at it and frowned. I continued to type on the computer as he answered, not paying much attention to him. Our daily meetings were constantly being interrupted with either phone calls or Betty’s withered knock.
It wasn’t until I felt the Irishman’s stare that I paused and met his gaze.
His brutal countenance blackened with thunderclouds. “Aye, consider it done.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” Ice coursed through my veins.
“There was an incident down at the docks,” Liam said smoothly. “V asked me to keep an eye on you, but I can’t let you work an hour over quitting time.”
Incident in the mob was code for anything ranging from bad to apocalyptic. I’d learned a lot in the last week. Liam didn’t hide the darker side of his business from me, and as his lawyer, attorney-client privilege kept that information safe.
“I didn’t know Vincenzo was back in town.” Let alone at the docks.
“Been there all night.” Liam stretched. “I wouldn’t worry about it, missus.”
The mobster rose, buttoned his suit, and walked to the office door. “Don’t be doing anything foolish now. You hear?”
“I hear.”
I obviously wasn’t going to listen. Liam had a lot to learn about women. Vincenzo was in trouble. There wasn’t much I could do; I wasn’t trained to fight. But I was his lawyer. If there was an altercation, if the law stepped in—
“Enzo,” I gasped.
I pushed to my feet, legs trembling, and tried to act casual as I left the office. Betty wasn’t at her post, so I went to the lock box on the wall. Copies of keys were labeled in neat rows. I selected the one that had a Ford logo on it before leaving the portable office.
“And where do you think you’re going?” the wizened secretary asked.
A pipe dangled from her lips, delicious smelling smoke curling like a wreath over her head. Not a cigarette, not a cigar or its smaller counterpart. A freaking pipe. This woman was bad ass, something I discovered earlier in the week.
“For a short walk.” I set my shoulders straight. “Any plans for your Friday night?”
“Cut the shite.” Betty nodded knowingly. “Ya don’t need that with me, lass. But…when it comes up later—and it will come up—I tried to stop ya.”
Her thin lips cinched over the pipe, hand cupping the base as she puffed like a steam engine.
“You tried your darndest,” I said with a grin that I didn’t feel.
“Aye, and ya didna listen.” She bobbed her head, pulled out her pipe, and tipped it in the direction of the vehicles. “These men, thinkin’ that we should just sit around and wait for news. It’s archaic is what it is.”
I gulped.
“Somethings brewing. I feel it in me bones,” she muttered. “Better hurry, child.”
I fled as fast as my damned pumps allowed.
I was done running from the mob. It was time I took my place in it.
At the row of trucks, I pressed the automatic start.
A fearsome looking F-150 revved to life.
I took it as a good sign that the truck was yellow—a nod to the construction company’s graphics.
When I slid behind the wheel, I tried to find the place to put the key. “He’s alright. It’s going to be fine.”
But whatever nonsense Betty said about her bones rattled me.
Because I felt it too. In my gut.
“There’s no freaking key.” I slapped the fob in the center console. “New cars don’t have key slots, Amanda. Jeezes. You haven’t driven in ages. Get a grip.”
I slid my pumps off, adjusted the seat, and pressed the brake.
The truck lurched forward.
“Shit! That was the gas,” I gasped.
A group of men narrowed their eyes from where they were taking a break at the other end of the lot.
I inched the truck out of the parking spot, managed to maneuver through the lot, and when I turned onto the road, I let out a long breath.
“I’m coming, Enzo. Please don’t kill me.” I tapped my fingers on the wheel.
With the afternoon traffic, it took years off my life before I crossed the city to the active seaports. Driving along the frontage road, I had to control myself to avoid speeding. Morelli the volume turned up.
Gunfire.
That was definitely gunfire. They were shooting in broad daylight.
My fingers curled into the steering wheel until the leather bit into my palms. No—no, no, NO! Where the hell was Vincenzo? In that mess!
I eased forward, barely breathing, creeping just enough to peek down the next row of buildings.
Three large, blacked-out SUVs were parked in a line, doors flung open like broken wings.
A few bodies were on the ground. They were still; their limbs twisted at wrong angles.
Underneath the oil was a metallic scent.
Something coppery that coated the back of my tongue.
But it was the figures moving around them, not stopping because their companions were dead that forced my immediate attention. They were covered head to toe in black, faces hidden behind masks. Their guns barked as they fired.
My heart dropped to my stomach. I thought I could handle the mob. Deals. Threats. The weight of it. But this—this carnage, this destruction—was a bitter test to my resolve.
From the freight door, a shadow poked out and returned fire. Muzzle flashes lit the dark mouth of the building in staccato bursts.
Those were my Italians.
My famiglia.
I didn’t think. Didn’t plan. My body moved.
I slammed my foot on the gas. The engine roared.
The truck shot forward as I clutched the wheel with both hands.
My knuckles went white. I aimed for the space between the first two vehicles.
The enemy there were trapped in what they thought was shelter, and they didn’t see me coming at them from behind.
The row rushed toward me in a blur. Shouts rose in surprise, then alarm. They came too late.
At the last second, I squeezed my eyes shut.
The impact was violent. A jolt that traveled up my arms and into my teeth.
I mowed over something.
More than one something.
The truck didn’t slow. It tore through an open SUV door, metal shrieking as it snapped off and spun away. I forced my eyes open just in time to see the cement barrier rushing toward me. I slammed the brake before I smashed into it.
The seatbelt caught my chest hard, knocking the air from my lungs as I lurched forward.
Bile rose to the back of my throat. My stomach rolled, hot and sour. I stared at the murky seawater in front of me.
Did I just—
Behind me, through the open window, gunfire rattled.
They hadn’t stopped. The danger was present. They weren’t safe.
My whole body shook as I peeked into the rearview mirror. The Italians surged from the building, weapons raised. Chaos reigned behind me.
“Oh, hell no!” I threw the truck into reverse.
Adrenaline narrowed my vision. The world tunneled. It took conscious effort to breathe, to keep my thoughts from spiraling into panic.
This was not what I set out to do when I decided to become a mobster.
It was what I had to do.
Driving backward at full speed made the truck rock violently. My teeth clacked together as I fought the wheel that didn’t want to stay straight. It wanted to jerk. To go anywhere but the narrow trajectory between the SUVs—the other gap that I hadn’t hit.
I plowed into the other pair of doors, metal crunching, glass shattering. Away from the Italians. Toward the narrow space where their enemies hid.
The sickening bumps came first.
Then the heavy thumps beneath the wheels.
This time, I did retch.
A humiliating spew of liquid went everywhere. Lunch, which I’d eaten happily, covered the passenger seat. It burned my throat. Tears streamed down my face as I gagged again, the smell of smoke and blood and vomit overwhelming.
Mid-heaving, something snarled through the open window.
I choked and twisted toward the sound. I hadn’t backed the truck far enough away before the sickness overpowered me.
A man in a balaclava came at me. His gun was already raised. Pointed at me.
There was no time to think. No time to duck. He was going to shoot me. And my stupid stomach was still trying to puke.
Before I could draw my last breath, a pop rent the air.
The man jerked sideways. Where the balaclava had been, a jagged hole gaped. A chunk of skull was missing. His body crumpled and hit the pavement.
That sickening sight made me retch again.
Madness ensued. I should have moved to safety, but I barely registered anything. I puked until there was nothing left, until my stomach cramped and I was dry heaving, gasping for air.
The truck door wrenched open.
I tensed, but that only made me cough violently.
“Porco Dio, fiore!” someone shouted—furious, blasphemous, alive.
Strong hands clamped around my upper arm. I tried to protest, but Vincenzo tugged me against his body. He was solid. Warm. Real. Wheezing, I closed my eyes.
He’s safe.
I helped.
It took a long time, or so it seemed, before I was breathing properly. The trick was to shove what I’d done to the back of my mind. I focused on the scent of leather and smoke and him. It grounded me. His body steadied me.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Vincenzo finally growled.
“That you might need your lawyer,” I hiccupped.
Garh! My mouth tasted foul. I moved to wipe it on the back of my hand.
The hand that had been clutching Vincenzo for dear life and was now sticky. Sticky and crimson. A fresh wave of fear shot through me.
“Enzo!” I screamed.
He winced. “Hush, it’s fine. Just a scratch.”
Scratches didn’t bleed like that.
I pushed at him, hands scrambling to find the wound. The damn seatbelt was in the way, so I ripped it off and launched at him. Pushing back the leather jacket, which made the monster hiss, I found the bleeding cut on his upper arm.
“You need to go to a hospital!” I protested.
Vincenzo shook his head. “We have to clear this shit up. Then I’ll go see Joey.”
I gaped at him. “Who?”
“Joey’s our medic,” Vincenzo explained, though his voice was strained. He cupped my face with his hands and stared at me. “I am going to fucking kill Liam.”
“No,” I croaked. “You can’t hurt my boss. I love my new job.”
Vincenzo went to protest, but I cut him off.
“Wait—Joey is the owner of the Seventh Street deli.”
“He is.” Vincenzo’s lips flattened. “Dio dannato, do you have any idea what you just did to me?”
My heartbeat slowed. The danger had clearly passed if he was comfortable standing in the open like this.
“Do you have any idea what you did to me?” I countered, focusing on those twin pricks of midnight so I didn’t look and see the carrion littering the cement.
“I saw men aim guns at you! If I hadn’t run them over, you would have died, Enzo!
Don’t you ever do that again! I can’t even think about a future where you aren’t in it. ”
The lines near his eyes softened. But only a fraction.
“I get that you’re angry,” I added. “But I am too.”
“I’m not angry; I’m terrified.” He leaned forward, but I avoided his kiss. With a snarl, he gripped my cheeks and pressed his lips against mine. They were hot and…trembling. “I was so fucking scared when I realized it was you. No one gets to scare me. Yet you do.”
“Ditto,” I breathed.
A long pause passed between us. It was filled with our heavy breathing as we tried to reassure ourselves that everything was alright.
“It’s really just a scratch?” I whispered, risking a glance at the spot right where his tee ended and the flesh began.
“Yes,” he rasped. “Yes, you beautiful woman, it was.”
“Can you—” I gulped. “Can you lead me out of here? I don’t want to move the truck, and I sure as hell don’t want to go out there and look around.”
“You and your fucking driving.” It was the teasing note that helped bring warmth to my numb extremities.
“Hey! My driving saved your life.”
Vincenzo lifted me into his arms. “I love that you’d burn the world for me. I hate that you’d burn yourself. You will never—ever—do that again.”
I snorted, keeping my eyes squeezed tight. “The fight looked pretty desperate until I turned the tide.”
“You’re reckless.” Vincenzo kissed my forehead. “Brave.” Another kiss. “And mine. That combination will kill me.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t get to be brave without my permission.” I tightened my grip around his neck. “I won’t lose you.”
“And I can’t lose you,” he agreed.