“Somethings brewing. I feel it in me bones,” she muttered. “Better hurry, child.”
I fled as fast as my damned pumps allowed. I was done running from the mob. It was time I took my place in it. At the row of trucks, I pressed the automatic start. A fearsome looking F-150 revved to life. I took it as a good sign that the truck was yellow—a nod to the construction company’s graphics.
When I slid behind the wheel, I tried to find the place to put the key. “He’s alright. It’s going to be fine.”
But whatever nonsense Betty said about her bones rattled me.
Because I felt it too. In my gut.
“There’s no freaking key.” I slapped the fob in the center console. “New cars don’t have key slots, Amanda. Jeezes. You haven’t driven in ages. Get a grip.”
I slid my pumps off, adjusted the seat, and pressed the brake.
The truck lurched forward.
“Shit! That was the gas,” I gasped.
A group of men narrowed their eyes from where they were taking a break at the other end of the lot.
I inched the truck out of the parking spot, managed to maneuver through the lot, and when I turned onto the road, I let out a long breath.
“I’m coming, Enzo. Please don’t kill me.” I tapped my fingers on the wheel.
With the afternoon traffic, it took years off my life before I crossed the city to the active seaports. Driving along the frontage road, I had to control myself to avoid speeding. Morelli & Sons was tucked in between several large commercial ventures.
There was no guard at the gate.
Saying a prayer to anyone listening, I accelerated and broke through the flimsy wooden arm. At the stop sign, I glanced right then left. No one was about.
Vincenzo could be in any of the warehouses.
I turned and crept forward.
The sunlight glinted off the high windows of the tall brick buildings. The roads were freshly paved. This place never did feel like a creepy haunted attraction.
“I’m just being silly,” I muttered. “Nothing is wrong.”
But I couldn’t shake the look on Liam’s face. Plus, Betty’s prophetic tone echoed in my ears.
“She’s always saying ridiculous things,” I chided myself.
Through the windows, a muted popping sounded. It was soft and irregular, almost like firecrackers in the distance. My foot hovered over the brake before instinct took over and I pressed it hard. The truck jerked to a stop. My pulse thudded in my ears as I rolled down the window and listened.
The air filled with sudden bursts; the volume turned up.
Gunfire.
That was definitely gunfire. They were shooting in broad daylight.
My fingers curled into the steering wheel until the leather bit into my palms. No—no, no, NO!Where the hell was Vincenzo? In that mess!
I eased forward, barely breathing, creeping just enough to peek down the next row of buildings. Three large, blacked-out SUVs were parked in a line, doors flung open like broken wings. A few bodies were on the ground. They were still; their limbs twisted at wrong angles. Underneath the oil was a metallic scent. Something coppery that coated the back of my tongue.
But it was the figures moving around them, not stopping because their companions were dead that forced my immediate attention. They were covered head to toe in black, faces hidden behind masks. Their guns barked as they fired.
My heart dropped to my stomach. I thought I could handle the mob. Deals. Threats. The weight of it. But this—this carnage, this destruction—was a bitter test to my resolve.
From the freight door, a shadow poked out and returned fire. Muzzle flashes lit the dark mouth of the building in staccato bursts.
