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My rear view mirror reveals a sinister black sedan weaving through traffic, its intent clear as it gains on us. Panic grips her. “They’re following us!” she cries out, her voice cracking under the strain.
“I can see that. Hold on.”
I press the accelerator harder, the engine of my car roaring like a caged beast desperate for escape.
I navigate through the dense traffic of midtown Manhattan, each turn and swerve a calculated risk to lose our tail.
Sirens wail in the distance, but they’re background noise, drowned out by the urgency of our situation. I take a sharp left onto 42nd Street, narrowly missing a taxi. Horns blare in protest, but there’s no time to acknowledge them.
“Who are they, Dominic?” Her voice trembles, her hands clutching the armrests. “Talk to me, please.”
I glance at her, my jaw set. “It’s complicated,” I say, focusing on the road as I weave between cars, my mind racing as fast as the vehicle. I wrench the wheel, turning back the way we came, shooting past the pursuing cars.
We barrel back past Bryant Park. Another sharp turn, and we’re speeding down Fifth Avenue.
I take a quick glance at her, seeing her face etched with anxiety and confusion. “I’ll explain everything, I promise. Just not now. Right now, I need to get us out of this.”
I steer into a narrow alley between two buildings, barely wide enough for the car. The black sedan hesitates, losing precious seconds.
“We’re going to get stuck,” she yells, glancing behind her at the pursuing car. “They’ll catch us.”
“No, they fucking won’t.” I push the car to its limits, the sound of scraping metal hitting my ears. “Their car’s wider than ours.”
Ejecting out of the alley, we find ourselves on a quieter street in the Lower East Side. I check the mirror – the sedan is gone, for now. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my heart still racing.
She looks at me, her face a mix of relief and lingering fear. “I don’t understand any of this. Who wants to kill me?”
I park the car in the shadow of an old, brick building, turning off the engine. The silence that follows is deafening. “It’s my fault. There are people in my life, shitty people, who wouldn’t think twice about using you to hurt me.”
Her eyes search mine, looking for an anchor in the storm. “But why? What did you do?”
I reach for her hand, the contact a small comfort in a world turned upside down. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you the whole thing later. But I swear, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
Before she can bombard me with any more questions, I pull out my phone, dialing Marco.
“We had a sniper on us,” I say when he answers, my voice low but tense. “Roof by Bryant’s Park. You were right. Son of a bitch was waiting for me to meet up with her. And there was a car, a black sedan, tailing us.” I give him the license plate.
His voice is sharp, urgent. “Got it. Any description of the sniper?”
I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “No, but it’s got to be Marconi or one of his hires.”
“Where’s Isabella now? Tell me you didn’t send her away again.”
“I’m taking her to the safe house. And Marco,” I add, a decisive edge to my voice, “the wedding needs to happen.”
Ending the call, I turn to face Isabella. She’s staring at me, a mixture of shock and bewilderment in her gaze. “What was that about a wedding?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “What wedding?”
I take a deep breath, my decision made. “We have to get married, Isabella. It’s the only way to keep you alive.”
Her reaction is instant and fierce. “Marry you? I hardly know you!” she exclaims.
“You’ll only be safe as my wife,” I explain, my voice firm.
“How does marrying you make me safe?” she demands, skepticism lacing her words.
“Because I’m not just a businessman. I’m a mafia boss. There are rules in the mafia. Marry me and you’re protected by my name.”
“That shooter didn’t look like he was following the rules.”
