“Yes, it is.”
“Is not.”
“Is.
“Not.”
“Is.”
“Are you seriously arguing with a five-year-old right now?” I ridiculed.
“I win.” Boyan tossed his little arms in the air. The sleeves of his size seven shirt on his five-year-old frame slipped downto his shoulders, exposing the wrinkled, scarred skin on his left shoulder and bicep.
Iannelli cleared his throat, his fist wrestling the steering wheel. “Get in the damn car.”
“Language,” I snapped back, mockingly covering Boyan’s ears before he wiggled away. Honestly, the little chipmunk probably knew more curse words than polite vocabulary at this point.
Renzo Iannelli’s jaw clenched, and the veins along his neck popped out. Totally worth it. Jerkwad. His eyes death-glared at me, a silent dare to continue defying him. I almost did. Pissing him off gave me the same high as a slice of black forest cake—so freaking delicious—but I wanted a car ride more. My body still hurt, and I was exhausted from staying up all night, wondering if drunk Charlie was going to try to break into Lou’s and my room again, like he had two days ago. So yeah, I wanted to get in Iannelli’s luxury car more than I wanted to aggravate him, but it was the principle of the thing. He killed my brother. I shouldn’t want anything from him, ever.
“We’re not getting in there.”
“Why the hell not?”
I sputtered for something to say. “You…you don’t have a car seat. It’s against the law.”
“There are no cops around.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“I promise not to get into an accident.”
“Pwease, Anzy, pwease,” Boyan pleaded with that little lisp of his as he tugged on my sleeve with pouty lips and big, round, honey-colored eyes.
I bit my lip. I shouldn’t accept. I really shouldn’t, but Ricco seemed on the verge of launching out of the car if Boyan and I made a run for it. Actually, he seemed to be begging me with his eyes to do just that. Poor guy looked absolutely cramped.
I opened the rear passenger door and waved Boyan to get in.
“Really?” Boyan asked, eyes wide and sparkling. He didn’t even hesitate to toss himself inside and let a stranger buckle him in. We’d need to have a talk about stranger danger after this.
“In the front, Ms. Burch. I’m not your chauffeur.”
“And I wasn’t in need of a car ride,” I snapped back.
“You know what I do to people who argue with me?”
“Pfff. You already said you wouldn’t.”
“Keep pushing it,piccola, and see exactly how far my patience goes.”
I sat and slammed the door shut behind me. “There. Happy now?”
“Ecstatic.”
In the back seat, Boyan talked up a storm with his seat companion, gesturing wildly to make his points. In contrast, the silence in the front seats as Iannelli drove consumed me. I didn’t understand what was going on. I was in my brother’s murderer’s car—being driven around, being blackmailed, and being treated decently by an adult for the first time in months, by him of all people. It was surreal. It made no sense, and quite frankly, it felt like at any moment someone was going to jump out with a big “sucker” sign.
“So…” I tried to find something to break this horrible goose-bump-raising awkwardness. “Why am I in the front seat?”
“We still have your foster sister to pick up, and she can’t ride in the front seat.”
