Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
“Some of us don’t have a choice where we live. If it’s all someone can afford,” I say tersely, striding away. But as soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize that I’m not angry at Rocco for getting me in this situation.
Hell, it’s Rocco who’s helped me out of my horrible boring old life and rescued me from certain danger in the process.
As well as melting my heart.
And a couple of other places I can think of. Still tender as I try to briskly walk away.
But I don’t get far, only to the bottom of the stairs really. And Rocco gives me all the space I need, for a few minutes anyway, before he comes down, casually remarking it’s time to go.
“I didn’t mean…,” I start, trying and failing not to become emotional about it.
And his warm mouth over mine tells me how much he knows. How much he understands.
Not everyone from Easy Street has had it so easy either.
Not him, and not Maria Portello.
They are the only two real gangsters I’ve met up close and thought that about so far.
All the others?
I think Rocco’s right when he says we need to keep moving.
I don’t want to run into any more of his family’s enemies.
No, thank you.
It’s not like we have a ton of belongings to get together, but once we have everything and have made our way back to the car, I dare to ask him if he’s heard anything.
Figuring he’d be keeping a close watch on the news, his phone, or radio. Anything.
But he only shrugs and looks up at the sky.
“Might rain again,” he grunts, and putting the car into gear, he starts to back out the way we came in.
And without any protests from him, I volunteer to check my phone. Then, I greedily start to search the net for updates on what surely must be a national story by now.
Crime boss daughter kidnapped, chubby loser girl missing in unrelated case…that sort of thing.
But I’m a little more than disappointed, as well as surprised.
My usual lack of calls or messages is nothing. But to see absolutely nothing about the past twenty-four hours on any news anywhere makes me wonder.
Rocco asks, “Well?” looking like he’s expecting there to be something too, but I shake my head, and he frowns.
“Ah well. It’s not like Don Portello would have called missing persons or anything.”
And I know he’s right.
The gravity of the world Rocco’s from hits me hard again, and although I can’t help it, I worry.
I worry about the man I’ve fallen for, but I also worry about our future. The family I know he wants for us both.
“Will we be safe?” I hear myself asking him. And I don’t just mean for the rest of today or even tomorrow.
I want to know if we’ll be safe forever. Together.
His arm is around my shoulder while his eyes meet mine.
“You’re my number one priority, Jasmine. From now on, it’s you and me. Family. Got it?” he calmly says as if he’s reminding me of something so basic I shouldn’t even have to think about.
I nod, but I know I won’t rest easy until all this is put to rest somehow.
And if the little I do know about his world is any indication, I don’t see any of it ending anytime soon.
And that’s what’s making me so damned edgy.
“Where to from here?” I ask after we’ve driven as far as the highway, reaching our first major crossroads for the day.
“I’m thinking south. Mexico,” he replies dryly, not sounding very convincing.
“You?” he asks, meaning what I think.
I don’t have the confidence to say anything aloud yet, but my belly ripples with nerves when he says south.
Every part of me screams to go north, not just because I burn easily.
“South it is,” Rocco rumbles, listening intently to my silence before taking the turn South.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rocky
I say south only because it’s the only way I know I’ll be able to access people who can help us get out of the country.
My instincts are screaming North, but Jasmine’s not mentioning it surprises me a little.
I thought we were on the same page here….
Either way, I gotta go south, at least for a while. Lose this car and then get us both some new faces. New IDs. Some new clothes and maybe a haircut wouldn’t be such a bad idea either.
But it’ll be impossible for me to blend in.
Almost seven feet of Italian mobster isn’t always easy to hide with a change of pants and a little off the sides.
“You’re quiet,” I say after we drive another half hour without anything from Jasmine.
“I’m not really a morning person,” she mews, stretching a little and making another sound before gripping my arm and snuggling closer.
That’s better.
“We can grab some breakfast, but I really wanna ditch this car. Get us in something that isn’t so….”