“Oh, you should see your face,” I cackled, pointing at the poor girl. “Don’t worry, you didn’t hurt my feelings or anything. I’m not going to sic my husband on you, I promise.”
“You…” Celeste’s eyes bulged out. Her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish’s. She finally recovered and pouted. “That wasn’t very funny.”
“Come on, what’s good for the goose and all that.” I waved her objections away. “Your reaction was pretty damn priceless.”
For a moment, her expression remained unchanged. I wondered if I had taken it too far. She’d been joking about my relationship with the man. My line went right at the man’s dangerous reputation. Thankfully, she rolled her eyes and let out the breath she’d been holding.
“You win that round,” she grumbled. “I’ve heard the rumors about that Russian husband of yours. He’s got a body count, you know.”
“He’s just a businessman, like your father and mine,” I replied, eyes darting around the small boba tea shop.
“Of course,” Celeste agreed, nodding, but then rolling her eyes and picking up her tea again for another sip.
Good, she understood my intention. Crime followed Fight Club rules. First rule: don’t talk about it, especially in public. The FBI had their eyes and ears out for any information on the Mafia families. You never knew when they were listening.
Paranoid, sure, but was it really paranoia when there were people out to get you, throw you and your loved ones in jail and take all your ill-gotten gains? I didn’t think so.
I took the lull in our conversation as an opportunity to order my own tea. When I returned from the counter and stuck the oversized straw in the cup, we moved on to fluffier subjects. I even found myself enjoying my time with Celeste. Maybe we could become actual friends.
Bubble tea never really did it for me. I didn’t see the appeal of sucking up slimy balls with a huge straw. The first time I tried it, I kept worrying I’d choke on the damn things, but the tea tasted good and once we stopped talking about my husband, the company was enjoyable. When I slurped the last of my tea, we stood to leave, still chatting about nothing in particular.
“I’m parked right out here,” I said when we stepped into the sun, pointing to my car down the street. “Where’s your car?”
“The whole block was full,” she groaned, waving in the other direction. “I’m in a garage a few blocks that way.”
“I can give you a ride, if you’d like,” I offered.
“Of course,” she replied and joined me in the short walk to my car.
The engine came to life with a touch of a button on my key fob while we were still a few cars away. Celeste’s eyes fell to the fob, narrowing. Okay, I might have pulled it out and been dramatic with pressing the button. I had no idea what she drove, but chances were it wasn’t as nice as my Cabriolet.
Behind us, an engine revved and tires squealed. Not exactly unusual, it still caught my attention. I twisted my neck around toward it. A panel van flew up the street. That was rarer. The type of people who slammed their foot on the gas were usually idiot kids trying to impress other idiots with their recklessness, not work vans… unless they were driven by idiots.
The driver of the van wore a ski mask. I reacted the moment I noticed that. Even though he hadn’t let me take over the family when he’d passed, my father made sure I was ready anyway. That included surviving some of the pitfalls of a life of crime, from informants and keeping secrets to the potential for assassinations.
Before the van even reached us, I snatched Celeste’s hand and dove to the pavement. She tumbled down with me, scraping her palm and knees. Another tug dragged her behind the wheel well of the nearest car. Dad always said they were the best place to take cover behind a car.
“What the he—” she cried out before the air exploded in a chorus ofbap bap baps.
Two guns at least, small and automatic from the rate of fire and the sound. Glass shattered above us and in front. The large windows in the storefront there cracked and smashed to the ground.
As soon as the deafening shots started, they stopped. The van’s engine roared and its tires squealed, quieter before the only sound remaining was falling glass and screams, Celeste’s at an ear-piercing volume so close to my ears.
I felt no pain. When my eyes opened, the only blood I saw on Celeste was from the scrapes. We’d survived. Celeste’s screams faded, leaving my ears ringing. She clung to me. I didn’t even mind the blood on my blazer from her palm.
“Were they aiming for us?” she whimpered, breaths coming shallow and quick. Her tears ran down my neck.
“Probably,” I replied.
My own voice wasn’t a font of confidence. I controlled my breath, but my pulse thundered in my ears faster than during a workout. Already sirens sounded nearby. Just great, we’d have to deal with the damn cops.
…
Over an hour later, I finally made it back to the mansion. The uniformed cops at the scene didn’t recognize my name, thank God. Their questions would have turned a hell of a lot more pointed if they had.
I made a beeline to the kitchen and had a glass of wine poured in record time. My whole body relaxed after that first gulp. Never a good idea to rely on drink, my father always said, but after an assassination attempt? Everyone needed an exception to the rule.
All the way on my drive home, I pondered the attempted hit. Sloppy, really damn sloppy. Had they just driven down the street and fired, they could have taken us without much difficulty. Those squealing tires and roaring engine had clued me in.
