“He’s safe, boss,” Umberto hollers.
“This way, Don DiPietro,” an unfamiliar male says. “They’re fleeing toward the southern woods, heading for the back road, but we can cut them off.”
“Go, Cristian,” his father says. “I’ll call for backup, but don’t let them get away.”
“Sloane.” My hands are peeled back from my face. Cristian peers over me. “Go with my parents. Clint and Umberto will take you to their place. You’ll be safe there.”
Terror has shackled my tongue, and I can only nod.
“Protect my family with your life,” Cristian snaps before he takes off with a gun in his hand.
Pounding footsteps resonate behind us as I push myself into a seated position on the ground. I’m still trembling, and my heart is racing like crazy.
“Over there.” Josef points in the direction Cristian and a few other men have already gone. They are in hot pursuit of three blurry forms running toward the woods. At least ten men, all wedding guests, run around us. In the commotion, I dig out my cartel cell, switch it off, and smash it repeatedly against the asphalt before stuffing it in a nearby bush.
“Here, let me help you up,” John Angelo says, materializing at my side.
Mr. DiPietro helps his wife to her feet. “Sloane and Elio are coming home with us,” Josef explains as I extend my hand, letting the bodyguard help me to stand.
My left side throbs with pain I’m only now feeling. John Angelo rushes me to the SUV, climbing in beside me, while Josef and Beatrice get into the second vehicle.
“Buckle up,” Clint says from the driver’s seat when I lean over to check on Elio. “He’s still sleeping. The vehicle is soundproof,” he adds, answering my silent question.
“It’s also bulletproof,” Umberto confirms, slamming his door shut as I fumble with my seat belt.
“I’ve got it.” John Angelo places my hands gently on my lap before clicking my belt into place. He nods at the front seat.
“Hold tight, Sloane,” Clint warns, putting the pedal to the metal as we floor it out of there. Looking over my shoulder, I spot two similar SUVs following hot on our heels.
Adrenaline is coursing through my body, my ears are ringing, and my heart is pounding like it wants to escape. “Will Cristian be all right?” I ask, pressing my nose to the tinted windows as we pass by the field where all the men are. Cristian grabs one of the assailants and slams the butt of his gun into his temple. The guy crumples to the ground as the other mafia men round on the other two, pummeling them with their fists.
“The boss will be fine,” John Angelo says. A smile creeps over his mouth as he watches things going down outside. “They have it under control.” He turns to look at me. “Try not to worry. Cristian knows what he’s doing.”
* * *
“Feeling any better?” Beatrice asks when I enter the homey kitchen of the old castle-type mansion she calls home, ninety minutes later.
“A little,” I lie. Though soaking in the bath helped to ease my aches and pains, I’m sick to my stomach with worry for Cristian and fear for my mother. Ditching my cartel cell might not have been the smartest decision. Pablo probably already knows where this house is, but I reacted on instinct, fear for Elio and Cristian’s family driving my actions. Now, I feel sick with guilt because there’s no way Pablo will not punish us for this. I plan to lie and say it got smashed in the shootout. It doesn’t even matter if he believes me. He’ll still take it out on us.
“Is Elio still sleeping?” I helped her put him to bed before my bath.
“Josef checked on him again. He’s fast asleep. Don’t worry. He’s fine.”
“I’m so glad he slept through everything.”
“That is a blessing,” she calmly replies, and I can see where Cristian gets his unflappable manner from. “Come sit.” She gestures toward the long, solid wooden table. “I heated up some chicken broth for you. It cures all ails.”
Oh god. I don’t think I can stomach anything right now, but I don’t want to be rude.
“I’m glad the clothes fit.” Her warm smile settles on me like a security blanket as I claim a seat. She places two bowls on the table. “Sabina isn’t quite as tall or thin as you, but a close enough match.” The silk pajama top is a little loose, the matching pajama shorts a little tight, but I’m grateful for them. My beautiful dress is ruined, dirty and torn in a few places. Not that I’m complaining. I’d rather a ruined dress than a bullet in my body.
A shudder works its way through me. Beatrice notices, leaning down to hug me. I sink into her embrace as the magnitude of everything that’s happened tonight fully hits me. A sob rips from my throat before I can stop it. I could have died. Elio could have been hurt. Or Cristian’s parents or Cristian. “We could have died,” I whisper as I shiver and shake.
“Cristian would never let that happen.” She rubs her hands up and down my arms. “I’m sure you are frightened, but I promise you’re safe here. We have the best security, and no one is getting near us.” With one last squeeze, she lets me go, sliding into the seat beside me. “Drink up. Trust me, it will make you feel better.”
I surprise myself by drinking it all, and she’s right; it helps to settle my stomach. Though my nerves are still on edge.
We wash and dry the dishes side by side in quiet companionship. After, she hands me a hair tie and a tub of aloe vera from the refrigerator. “That will help with any soreness.”
