Valentina #2
She looked away from him. “Did he work for you?”
“No,” Marco said.
“Did he work for the Camorras?” she asked.
“Not officially,” he said.
“Unofficially then?” she asked.
“I said I don’t know,” he answered.
Her frustration snapped. “Then what do you know?” Marco slammed on the brakes, and Valentina jerked against the seat belt. “What the hell?”
Marco grabbed her arm and pulled her down. “Stay low.”
Her heart jumped. “What’s going on?” He was staring into the rearview mirror. A black sedan had turned the corner behind them with no headlights on, and it was moving fast.
“Oh God,” she breathed. Marco accelerated, and Valentina stayed low. “Are they following us?”
“Yes,” he said.
“How do you know?” she asked.
“They’ve made the last four turns with us.” She hadn’t even noticed, but of course Marco had. He took another corner too fast, and Valentina grabbed the dash. The sedan followed.
“Marco,” she warned.
“I see them,” he said.
“What do we do?” she asked.
“We lose them,” he said casually.
“That’s your whole plan?” she squeaked.
“For now.” He reached beneath his jacket and pulled out his gun.
Valentina stared at it. “You’re driving.”
“I’m aware,” he said.
“And holding a gun.”
“Also aware of that,” he said.
“Fantastic,” she grumbled, throwing her hands in the air for dramatic effect.
Marco glanced at her. “You talk more when you’re scared.”
“I’m trying not to scream.”
“Talking is better,” he agreed. Something about his tone steadied her. It wasn’t gentle because Marco didn’t seem built for gentle. But it was certain. He knew what he was doing. At least, she desperately hoped he did.
The sedan accelerated, and Marco turned hard onto an access road. “Phone,” he shouted.
“What?” she asked.
“Get the phone from the center console—the black one,” he ordered. Valentina grabbed it and triumphantly held it up. “Call Dante.”
“Which number?” she asked.
“First contact.” She tapped it in, and Dante answered immediately.
“Marco,” Dante answered.
“We have company,” Marco said.
“Where?” Dante asked. Marco rattled off a location. Valentina barely caught it.
Dante’s voice changed. “How many?”
“One car,” Marco said. “Could be more, though.”
“I know,” Dante said. “I’m ten minutes out.”
“Make it five,” Marco said.
“Done.” The call ended, and Valentina stared at the phone.
“Ten minutes?” she asked.
“Five,” Marco countered.
“He can’t magically change distance,” she insisted.
“You don’t know Dante.” Apparently not. Marco took another corner, and the sedan followed. Then a second vehicle appeared ahead, and Valentina’s stomach dropped.
“Marco,” she screamed.
“I see it.” They were boxed in, but Marco’s expression didn’t change, and that terrified her more than panic would have.
“What now?” she asked.
He looked at her. “Trust me.”
She almost laughed. “I met you twenty minutes ago.”
“It’s still your best option.” Unfortunately, he was right.
“What do I do?” she asked.
“Get on the floor,” he ordered.
“What?”
“Get on the fucking floor, now,” he shouted.
Valentina unbuckled. Marco grabbed the back of her neck and told her to push her down, not really hurting her, but hurrying her along.
She crouched into the passenger footwell.
Her heart pounded so hard she could barely hear.
Marco accelerated, and everything seemed to happen at once.
The crash was followed by the sound of metal scraping against metal.
Valentina shouted as the SUV jerked violently. Gunshots rang out, and Marco cursed.
Another impact slammed her shoulder into the console, and then the engine roared. They were moving again—fast. “Marco!”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“I didn’t ask if you were fine!” she shouted.
“Yes, you did,” he said.
“I asked what’s happening!” she yelled.
“I hit them.”
She stared up at him from the floor of the SUV. “You hit a car?”
He shrugged. “With a bigger car. Plus, I hit a few of their men when they tried to flee.”
“That was your plan?” she asked.
“It worked.” She wanted to strangle him, or kiss him. No, she definitely wanted to strangle him.
Marco reached down without looking and pressed a hand against the back of her head. “Stay down.” That touch again—protective and almost automatic made something inside her shift. She hated that too. The gunfire stopped, and Marco drove another few blocks before finally slowing.
“Clear.” Valentina pushed herself upright. Her hair had come loose from the messy bun she had pulled it into, and her shoulder hurt. Her hands were shaking, and she noticed that Marco looked completely composed—except for the blood running down the side of his face.
Her stomach dropped. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing,” he insisted.
“Pull over,” she ordered.
“No,” he breathed.
“Marco, pull over,” she said.
He looked at her. “Are you always this bossy with people you just met?”
“You have blood on your face,” she pointed out.
“It’s just cuts from glass,” he said.
“You don’t know that,” she insisted.
“I do,” he challenged.
“How are you so sure?” she asked.
“Because I can still think, which means that I didn’t take a bullet to the head,” he said.
“That isn’t a medical diagnosis.” His mouth twitched, and she could tell that he seemed pleased with himself. The SUV turned into an underground parking garage and a gate closed behind them. Marco parked, and the second the engine stopped, Valentina unbuckled and turned toward him.
“Let me see your face,” she ordered.
“I’m fine,” he insisted, trying to shoo her away.
“Move your hand,” she said.
“I said that I’m fine,” he growled. Marco stared at her, and she stared back at him.
Finally, he sighed, and she could see some of the fight leave his eyes.
“Fine.” Valentina leaned across the center console to assess the cut near his temple.
It was shallow, and probably from glass, as he already guessed.
She exhaled. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she grumbled.
“You thought I’d been shot,” he guessed.
“Yes,” she admitted. Something in his eyes changed.