When he catches my stare in the rearview mirror, he stops moving his head and clears his throat. Gruffly, he says, “Thought you’d like this song.”
Okay, so Marco, the big, bad bodyguard, is a closet fan of Madonna,I think to myself while trying to suppress a giggle.
When the cars in front of us finally begin moving again, Marco turns down the radio and breathes a sigh of relief.
A few minutes later, he steers the car down a back alley that he always goes down so that he can circle around my building. But there is a car blocking the opposite end of the alley.
“What the fuck?” he growls. Putting the sedan in reverse, he places his thick arm on the headrest of the passenger’s seat beside him, turns his head and attempts to back us out of the alleyway the same way we came in. Suddenly, he slams on the brakes, and I’m jolted forward against my seatbelt.
Marco’s eyebrows dip in confusion as he stares in the mirrors at whatever is behind us. Turning in my seat, I glance out the back windshield and see that there is a black SUV blocking the exit. “What’s going on?” I ask.
Marco reaches for his cell phone, presses a few numbers to autodial someone — presumably my father — and then grips his gun that’s tucked under his jacket.
My stomach sinks when I realize these cars aren’t in this alleyway by accident. Something is going to happen.Something bad.
My father’s voice fills the car as he asks, “Marco, what’s wrong?”
“We’ve got company, boss. And I don’t think they’re invitin’ us to dinner.”
“Where are you?” my father demands.
“Near Victoria’s apartment. We’re blocked in the back alley.”
My father curses under his breath. “Try to stall ‘em. I’m sending reinforcements,” he says before ending the call.
Marco pulls out his gun and catches my terrified stare in the rearview mirror. “If you see an opportunity to run, you run. You got me?” he asks.
I give him a nod even though my brain is still playing catchup with what is happening.
“Get down!” he hollers.
I sink down in my seat with my hands over my head just a few moments before the back windshield explodes above me. My scream echoes in the small space as glass shatters down around me.
I push my body down on the floorboard between the seats as numerous gunshots are exchanged. Some are from Marco; some are from the other cars.
This goes on for what feels like forever, and I squeeze my hands over my ears, trying to block out the horrendous sounds.
And then, suddenly, everything is eerily still and quiet.
“Marco?” I whisper. But when I look up, he’s draped over the steering wheel, blood pouring from his wounds and mouth. His dead eyes are staring at the radio.
I cover my mouth as a sob threatens to escape, and I quickly tear my eyes away from his lifeless body as his words abruptly rush through me.
If you see an opportunity to run, you run.
I take a deep breath through my nose, trying to calm my nerves and build up the courage to do what must be done next.
My fingers find the door handle, and I gently pull it towards me. Swinging the door open quickly, I scramble out of the car, staying as low to the ground as I possibly can as I begin to run, looking for a place to escape or somewhere to hide.
I rush past our car and towards the other black car at the end of the alley, but there are five men standing there with guns pointed right at me.
Turning, I glance the other way and see my chances of getting out of here are nonexistent. They have both exits completely blocked with five men on either side. My head turns back and forth like it’s on a swivel trying to find a fire escape or a door oranything.
“There’s nowhere to go, girlie!” one of the men calls to me.
His Irish accent is like a hot fire poker straight through my heart.These are Nolan Farrell’s men.I don’t know what they want with me, but it can’t be anything good.
The last time I saw Nolan Farrell, he was in my father’s face at the charity gala, threatening him because of his youngest son, Teague. Teague must have been caught up in some Italian mob business, and Nolan wasn’t having it.
