Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Don't get your hopes up, dude!
We stop by the concierge on our way out, and I see the other man look at me while Cesare is busy re-arming himself like he's John Wick. "Signorina?"
I feel like a student being called to the dean's office, and my back automatically straightens as I nervously meet his gaze. "Yes, sir?"
"Thank you for your visit. We look forward to being of service to you again."
He takes something from the shelf behind him, and I can't help laughing when I realize he's giving me a bottled frappe from Starbucks.
"Thank you, Cazzo."
Cesare chokes as I thank the concierge, and I end up grasping empty air when the concierge, now looking murderous, throws the bottle of coffee straight into the trash.
"Mi dispiace, Cassio."
I realize my mistake as soon as I hear Cesare apologize on my behalf, but I have no chance to say sorry myself with my mafia boss is already whisking me out of the hospital like the concierge is about to shoot us dead.
"I guess it's a mortal sin to mispronounce a famiglia's name?" I ask weakly as he walks me to my side of the car.
"Not generally, no—-" Cesare slides back behind the wheel before facing me. "But it is when you call him a dick, which is what 'cazzo' translates to in Italian."
Oh.
SHIT.
I groan, and being the ever-supportive owner that he is, Cesare throws his head back with a laugh.
"It isn't funny," I bemoan as his sports car blazes out of the parking lot. "I'll never live this day down. Everyone will remember me as that bitch who said—-"
"Fuck!"
I nearly drop an F-bomb myself as his tires screech under us, with Cesare abruptly making a hard turn to the right. Is it just me...or do all famiglia men have this dream of shooting for the next Fast & the Furious movie?
Panic starts feeling like an old frenemy when I see Cesare keep one hand on the wheel while yanking his pistol out with the other.
I know I should've expected something like this because he's famiglia, but the moment his window rolls down, and he starts shooting at the car trying to crash into us from another lane—-
I scream and freak out like a headless chicken as chaos erupts all around us.
"W-What's happening?"
Cesare shoots me a look of disbelief...even as he keeps shooting at everyone else. "What the fuck do you mean what's happening? Didn't you fucking say you understood—-"
"No, I didn't!"
"You even told me I shouldn't fucking worry—-"
"I thought you were worried I'd get bored during the drive," I cry out. "I didn't know you were warning me about people waaaaaantiiiiiing tooooo kiiiiiiiill uuuuuuuuus!"
I have no idea how Cesare is doing it—-
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!
But all the other vehicles have either flipped into the air or crashed into each other while we continue on our merry way, his Lambo unscathed, and my mafia boss driver equally unscarred.
"Duck," Cesare suddenly hisses, and I'm just so out of my mind with terror I have no idea what he's saying.
"Where?" I choke out. And are we talking about Daffy, Donald, the Mighty—-
"I said, fucking duck!"
Cesare shoves my head down between my legs.
OH, so it's that kind of duck he was talking—-shiiiiit!
Tears prick my eyes when a swift flip of the lever has Cesare's seat instantly falling back, and just in time, too, with a bullet whizzing by and grazing the edge of his cheek. One second slower than that, and he could've—-
He could've—-
He—-he—-
"Gluck," Cesare grates out.
Sobs threaten to spiral out of my throat. Is that his way of telling me we're vastly outnumbered, and it's only a matter of time before one of our enemies shoots us dead?
"Good luck," I say fiercely even as my whole body is now quaking in terror. I'll be by his side through thick and thin—-
"Fuck, tesoro."
I wonder if Cesare's finally snapped, with the sound of strained laughter tingeing his voice.
"I'm asking you to hand me the fucking gun in the glove compartment, tesoro—-"
Oh.
"It's called a fucking Glock—-"
OH!
"You should have told me that in the first place!" I feel like laughing and crying at the same time as I scramble to open the glove compartment and get his stupid Glock. Maybe I'm the one who's lost my mind—-
"Now!"
The snap in his voice makes me bump my head and jump in my seat, and I'm all thumbs as I fumble with the gun in my hand—-
Shiiiiiiiiit!
Its weight takes me by surprise, and just as the gun starts to slip out of my fingers, another car slams into us on Cesare's side, and BAAAAAAAANG!
Cesare falls back against his seat in the nick of time once again—-but the other guy isn't as unlucky, and the gun I'm holding drops to the floor as I watch a bloody hole slowly form right in the middle of his head.