Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
“Sir”—one of the guards enters the front seat of the vehicle, slightly out of breath—“we need to leave. There is word that the full force of the Sidorovs are arriving tonight to ambush you for canceling the wedding and going back on the deal. Sidorov just called for it. We need to get you to safety immediately.”
Bryant looks outside the window as if expecting to see his enemies with blazing guns, already attacking. “I don’t give a fuck what Sidorov does. Let them come and see my wrath.” He’s slurring his words as whatever he’s been drinking tonight has clearly taken hold. He should be thinking clearly right now, and it’s obvious he isn’t.
“Sir, I must respectfully insist. We aren’t strong enough to hold them off,” his driver says, agreeing with the man in the front seat. “We don’t have enough manpower of our own if they do plan to throw everything they have at us.”
“Let’s save this battle for when we can show them how mighty the Morellis truly are,” the other Bryant lackey pipes in.
“Please, can we go?” I begin. “I’m scared.” Morelli has kept an army around us since coming back from Italy. And he upped security even more after the explosion that ruined his classic car. But the visible show of guns and threats is too much for me. I’m actually terrified of what comes next.
Without warning, my father backhands me across the face, causing me to see nothing but a mixture of blackness and tiny silver lights. “I didn’t ask you. Shut your fucking mouth!”
As I regain my vision, I swipe at the blood trickling in the corner of my mouth, noticing that not one of Bryant’s cowardly men say or do a thing. Apparently seeing a woman getting struck is an everyday occurrence in their fucked-up lives.
“Sir”—the driver clears his throat before continuing—“what are your orders?”
Not being able to resist the urge any longer, I look out the window toward the restaurant to see if I can spot Nick. Scanning the people, I quickly conclude he’s gone, or not interested enough to follow us. Like a punch to the gut, I realize that my opportunity of rescue is truly over. Have I just made the worst mistake of my life?
I can see that all the men in our car have pulled out their weapons in preparation of being attacked before we can leave. There are four other cars that drive behind us, full of armed men, no doubt.
“Sir,” the driver calls over his shoulder again, “where to?”
“Home.”
“Are you sure, sir?” the driver asks. “Maybe we should go to one of your other houses just in case they are planning something.”
“I said home! I’m not going to let some fucking weasels chase me from my home. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”
The engine starts, and the caravan of black vehicles begin their journey through the streets of New York like on any other night. But as I stare out the window of the car, I have a sickening premonition that this night is far from ordinary. I can sense something. The roads as we get closer to Bishop’s Landing seem… quiet. That is until I hear the first gunshot.
It takes everyone in the car a moment to realize what is happening when we stop behind a car that has suddenly slammed on its brakes. A rain of bullets fall upon our car as blood from the driver splatters the leather interior.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
The shattering of glass, the shouts of men, the warning of death screaming through the air. As I duck onto the floor, protecting myself from the spraying of bullets and flying shards of glass, I look between the seats and can see the driver slumped over the steering wheel as bullets continue to puncture his lifeless body. The guard in the front seat is firing his gun at rapid speed, bleeding from his own bullet wounds.
Facing death as it marches toward us, I know now that I have made a horrid mistake. I should have gone with Nick. God, I should have gone. And now because of my foolish pride, I am going to die.
Chapter Twenty
Nick
I whip the steering wheel hard to the left, careening around the corner. I’ve been following the caravan on a parallel street, but when the sound of full-out war explodes in the evening air, I know the threat of attack I’d overheard one of Morelli’s men discussing has become reality. I’ve had my chance to save Lyriope, and now it could be too late.
“Fuck!” I yell, twisting the wheel yet again in order to avoid colliding with a car that has pulled perpendicular to the road, effectively blocking the path of Morelli’s vehicles.
Bullets whizz everywhere, puncturing metal and splintering glass, ricocheting off the pavement and bricks of buildings lining the street.