8. Rowan #2
“I can carry my bag and my food,” I say as Samson and I make our way out of the restaurant.
He doesn’t so much as smirk. “No.”
I make a face at him, but he’s walking ahead of me, the streetlights flickering slightly. It’s evening now, dusk having come and gone.
“Should talk to the city about fixing those damn things,” he murmurs as I move to his side. “They’re lazy fuckers at the best of times.”
“Do you know the city officials?” I ask, knowing my question is kind of silly. Of course he does.
“Yeah, unfortunately. If they did their jobs, this part of the city would look much better than it does and crime would be far less.”
We turn a corner into an alley and both come to a halt. A figure is before us, like he’s been conjured up by Samson’s words. Dressed all in black, he almost melts into the shadows. That’s not what has my chest tightening and heart racing.
It’s the gun pointed straight at Samson’s chest.
Oh fuck.
What do we do? I’ve never had someone point a gun at me. Do we run? Do we roll over? Or is that for bears?
Fuck. I don’t know.
The gun shakes as the man throws out a shaky order. “Give me the bag!”
I don’t move, my brain trying to catch up with what I’m seeing unfold before us. I’ve decided I’m going to follow Samson’s lead. It seems the safest.
Samson gives an irritated laugh. “Fuck off.”
Maybe not the safest.
Oh god.
The man wavers but the gun doesn’t lower. “I mean it. The bag. And the food.”
Samson’s tone is calm but lethal. “Nothing in here but dance shit. So go away before I cut your tongue from your mouth.”
“Fuck. You. Give it to me.” The man’s words are awkward and stilted.
Samson sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly before handing me the bag of food. “Take this. Guard it with your life. Nonna will kill me if it ends up splattered across the dirty pavement.”
I do as he says and watch as he pulls the bag from his shoulder and holds it out toward the mugger. My breath catches in my throat, but I’d rather replace my pointe shoes than see Samson bleeding out on the asphalt.
The mugger doesn’t hesitate, his fingers closing around the strap.
But Samson doesn’t hesitate either.
His hand flies out to grab the guy’s wrist—the hand holding the gun. The mugger gives a garbled scream as a sharp snap echoes through the alley. He drops the gun on reflex.
I spring into action, kicking it as hard as I can. Don’t even know where it goes, just know it’s far enough away now.
The man is wailing in terror, but Samson isn’t finished. My grumpy lumberjack descends on him like a tornado, ripping my bag from his grip and tossing it in my direction. I catch it deftly as Samson’s hand wraps around the thief’s neck.
He shoves him roughly against a brick wall, lifting him up, making the man claw at his hands.
“You should have left when I said, because now I’m going to have to cut out your tongue.
” It’s said calmly as the man gasps, his legs kicking out.
But Samson doesn’t let go, his gaze laser focused as if this is just another day at the office.
“You chose someone in the wrong family today, my friend.”
I’m frozen in horror, unable to move. To speak. To do something.
It takes me back to another time. One when I failed to act.
And the consequences of that.
Samson pulls something out of his pocket—not his dagger, but a switchblade. He flicks it open and presses it against the man’s lower lip.
The man’s face contorts into Adam’s and back again. It has me finding my voice. “No! Don’t hurt him.”
Samson pauses, slowly turning his head to look at me. In any other circumstance, his incredulous expression would be comical. Adorable, even. “Are you shitting me? This fucker tried to rob you. He aimed a gun at you.”
“Technically, he aimed it at you.”
“It was in your vicinity, so it counts,” Samson growls.
“No one was hurt.” Well, the mugger was, but he did aim a gun at Samson. Maybe a broken wrist will have him rethinking his current career path. People can have a change of heart, right? “Please, Samson. Just let him go.”
Samson sighs. “What if he talks? Just because you didn’t know who I was doesn’t mean my face isn’t recognizable.”
I sigh, meeting the eyes of the man who is now a deathly shade of pale. “You’re not going to talk, right? You’d be stupid to tell anyone about this, considering you were the one to commit the crime first.”
The man shakes his head as much as he can under Samson’s grip. “No. I swear. I’m no snitch.”
Always makes me laugh that that’s where criminals draw the line. Happy to threaten, mug, and assault innocent people. But snitching? Absolute hard pass.
Samson still hasn’t released him, so I step forward until I’m at his side. My hand doesn’t shake as I raise it to Samson’s arm. The one holding the knife. “Please. Let him go. For me.”
It’s a risk. I don’t mean anything to Samson other than a fun time in the bedroom, but he likes me enough to sit through a meal with me. To let me meet Nonna.
To my surprise, his muscles relax. He nods, finally releasing the man, who falls to the ground, choking down air. My heart leaps into my throat as Samson crouches next to him and holds out the knife, this time pressing it against his neck.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he growls. “Do you hear me? Because next time, he won’t be with me and I won’t stop at your tongue.”
Samson waits until the guy nods in confirmation before removing the knife. He gets up slowly, never looking away from our would-be mugger. The man scrambles to his feet, cradling his broken wrist as he hurries out of sight.
I watch him go, my gaze oscillating between him and Samson, who is picking up my dance bag and brushing it off. He places it over his shoulder and sweeps a hand down his shirt.
His gaze settles on me, sliding over my whole body once, like he’s checking me over. When he’s satisfied I’m fine, it goes to the bag of food in my hand. “Good. You saved the cannoli. It’s to die for.”
I can’t help but laugh at the horror of it all. He can’t be serious, can he?
But as he leads me forward, my legs trembling slightly, I think he just might be.
That should scare me off. It really fucking should.
But, strangely, I’ve never felt safer in my life.