Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Emily’s pale and trembling. “I told you not to look. Can you start moving again?”
She works her mouth. Then she says, “Why didn’t you just let them keep running?”
“Now there are two less people trying to kill us. Come on, we have to move.”
I don’t know if she likes that answer, but it’s better than the total truth. I killed them because I wanted to kill them. Because Santoro and his whole crew have been nothing but a pain in my ass and I’m so far from destroying them that it’s maddening, all because my father can’t get his shit together.
I killed them because it felt good and because I’m a selfish prick. I probably shouldn’t have done it in front of Emily, but oh, well. She should know what I am.
Welcome to the mafia world, baby.
Down on the ground floor, we walk across the lobby like we’re in a hurry but not freaking out. I’m squeezing Emily’s hand hard to keep her from running outside at a flat-out sprint. That would only draw attention, and right now we want to slip away like a couple of ghosts drifting through walls. Outside the night is muggy and warm.
“We can’t go straight to the truck,” I say to her and drag her to the left and into the parking lot. I put the cars between us and the windows. “They’ll have somebody watching.”
And I’m right. They have two guys in a sedan parked catty-corner from my spot just sitting and smoking cigarettes in the darkness. The cherry glow brightens their faces every time they inhale.
“Are you sure?” Emily whispers. We’re crouched behind a van slightly behind the pair and neither of them knows we’re there.
“I’m sure,” I confirm. It’s possible I’m wrong. It could be these two thuggish-looking men are a couple of bored civilians out for a smoke in their car together, but I highly doubt it, and if I’m honest with myself, I’m not in the mood to find out.
I go right up to the window, tap on the glass, and start shooting.
They’re dead pretty fast. The guy in the passenger seat nearly gets his gun drawn before a bullet clips his nose off and another screams through his temple. The car’s interior is a charnel house of blood and flecks of human detritus. One cigarette’s still burning a hole in the driver’s pants. I think about putting it out, but he won’t mind. He’s very gone.
Emily doesn’t say much when I get her in the truck and we pull out. That whole fucking hotel must be swarming with men right about now, and I picture it like a beehive, and all the bees are rushing toward the exits, coming to swarm whoever’s trying to hurt them. But it’s too late as we reach the main road and drive away.
We don’t talk for a while. I’m deeply paranoid by now and start to drive erratically, run a few stoplights, pretend to slow at a yellow before I gun it through at the last possible second, that sort of thing.
“Did you recognize those men?” Emily finally asks. It’s the first thing she’s said to me in the last hour.
“No.”
“Does that mean they weren’t from your father?”
“Not necessarily.”
“You should call someone. Tell them what happened.”
She’s right. I’ve been busy thinking pissed-off murder thoughts and haven’t taken a minute to plan ahead. I pull onto a quiet neighborhood street and park in front of a house with its outdoor lights off. I get out of the truck and lean against the hood, leaving Emily alone inside. She huddles into herself. I’ll do my best to comfort her later, but for now, I’m all business.
Elena answers her phone on the first ring. “I was wondering when I’d hear from you,” she says.
“Did Dad just send a hit squad after me?”
She doesn’t answer right away. It’s the kind of quiet that follows an abrupt question like that. “I don’t think so,” she says, and her voice sounds shaky. “I haven’t heard anything.”
“A bunch of men found me and Emily. We’re fine, we got away, but there are a few bodies back there. We’ll have to do some cleanup.”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll talk to Davide. We can handle that.” She starts to find her footing now. “I don’t think it was Dad. He’s pissed at you, but I don’t think he wants to kill you. Emily though—”
I look at my wife through the windshield. She’s looking back and, fuck, she’s so beautiful. I could climb in there and kiss her, but I’m not sure she wants to kiss me right now, not after what I just did to four human beings right in front of her. Emily’s not a part of our world and that level of violence isn’t something she’s used to, which means she’s still processing. I have to let her brain do its thing for a while.