Instead of waiting for him to drive and then maybe crash us into the side of the road, I scooted over, taking the driver’s seat. Without so much as a pause, I started the car, and it vibrated under my hands, ready for the surge of adrenaline to flood its motor.
“Get in!” I shouted. My ears were cracking from the gunshots.
Luca’s mind was only on the war.
He marched up to the man who’d been shooting at him, and taking him by the hair, started to impale his skull into the cement. The other man on the ground had been playing possum, and seeing his comrade being smashed like he was nothing but a fruit against the pavement, aimed his gun at Luca.
The conclusion didn’t even register—it just happened.
I hit the gas pedal, running right over the man before he had the chance to get a shot off. The passenger side door still hung open, and after blinking at me, Luca put two rounds into the man before he took his seat beside me.
Before he could even shut the door, I took off, the speed bump underneath us getting rolled over a second time.
Luca glanced in his side mirror, nodding to himself. “I am impressed,” he said in Italian, almost in awe. “You used him as a bump!”
“Luca,” I said as calmly as I could under the circumstances. “Where are you hit?”
He made a growling noise as he moved his shoulder. That alone answered my question.
“You need a tourniquet,” I said.
“I need nothing. This is nothing. I will be fine.” Then he howled, smiling. “I have missed this! Count on the ballerina to make life worth living again! I feel alive!”
“Ha, effingha,” I said, reaching over to hold my hand over the wound. “Help me!”
The car swerved and he made awhoa-whoanoise at the back and forth.
“Keep your hands on the wheel, daughter,” he said, then made a deep noise in his throat.” I can hold pressure. I have done this before.”
“Ah!” I almost screamed. “What isITwith you men?”
“You have done this before as well?” He started to laugh, really laugh. “Thebastardishot me.Che palle!”What balls!
Glancing at him, I didn’t like the pallor of his face. His usual vibrant tan was turning to a sooty ash. The smell of blood coated the inside of the car. My pink dress was saturated in his blood, as well as my hands.
I also didn’t like the fact that he was singing to himself and then laughing at…I didn’t even know what. I had never seen anyone else laugh during a crisis—it was usually me.
It was freaking me out, perhaps more than the gunshot wound.
In my case, it was usually from being sent overboard by a rush of stress, but Luca? It seemed like he reallylikedit.
“Sick bastards,” I grumbled to myself.
“Let us call your husband!” Luca almost sang in Italian. “We shall see what he has to say about this.”
“Good idea. He’s going to have to alert Uncle Tito.”
“Ah, Tito,” Luca said affectionately. “He is such a good doctor.”
Leaning forward, grunting as he did, he pressed some buttons, and no more than a second later, our call connected to Brando.
He answered on the second ring. Not hello, not my name, no, he answered with, “Tell me,” as if he’d sensed something was wrong.
“How much do you love me?” I asked.
Luca laughed to himself.
“Scarlett.”
