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“I’m sorry?—”
“Don’t be. He needs a good beatdown, and I hope one day you’ll be able to deliver it yourself.”
“Me too,” I say quietly.
We drive in silence, me mulling over why I’m so comfortable being an accessory to whatever crime this is. I mean, I shouldn’t be comfortable, right? I’ve always tried to be good for Nonna’s sake, but look where that got me: getting my ass kicked on the regular. Weak, as Darius put it. A fucking victim by circumstance, yes. But now I’m realizing I’ve chosen to remain a victim, and I vow, here and now, that changes.
“Fabio, there are two choices in this life: be a victim, or leave a trail of victims in your wake.” Darius interrupts my thoughts.
My mouth falls open. “You reading my mind?”
“Don’t think so loud next time,” he instructs me. “If you can’t be the biggest motherfucker in the room, be the baddest. If you can’t be the baddest, be the craziest. If you can’t be the craziest, be the most calculating. I have a feeling you, my friend, are going to be the most calculating.”
“You’re like a life coach for lost souls,” I tell him, and he throws his head back with laughter.
There’s a thumping sound coming from the trunk. Darius hears it too, because he slams on the breaks. “Let’s see what the problem is,” he announces, and I hop out and follow him to the back of the car.
He unlocks the trunk and lifts it open. Before I know what’s happening, the man who was bound pops up with a knife, and he rams it into Darius’ face.
Darius curses, stumbling toward me. I dodge out of the way before I’m taken down to the ground with him, all the while the asshole’s getting away.
Sprinting to the driver’s seat, I hop in and examine the gear shift before throwing it in R, which I assume is reverse. Tires screech as I barrel down the street backward, my foot pressing the gas pedal so hard my leg shakes. The man looks over his shoulder, his eyes wide as he tries to dodge out of the way, but watching him in the rearview, I cut the wheel, hitting him square on. He goes flying in the air, landing with a thump in the ditch.
I slam on the brakes, and the car squeals to a stop, the smell of burnt rubber filling my nostrils. It takes me a second to put the car in park, but I get it and hop out. Darius stalks toward me, his face is covered in blood. He smiles like a deranged lunatic while he’s brandishing the knife in his hand. “I’m sorry, did I not do right?” I stutter, backpedaling.
“You did right; Matteo’s the one who fucked me over.” He sticks the bloody knife in his waistband as marches to the ditch, dragging the man by his feet back to the car.
“Is he dead?” I ask quietly. Fuck if that didn’t feel…good.
“No. He’ll wish for death when I get my hands on him,” Darius says in a tone that sends a chill down my spine. He pats the man down before rummaging through his trunk, producing zip ties. Binding the man’s hands and ankles with ease, he grumbles, “I’m doing what fucking Matteo should have done in the first place.” Closing the trunk, he orders, “You drive.”
“Um, I’ve never driven a car before. Well, except for a few seconds ago.”
Darius laughs in disbelief. “In that case, I’ll drive. No need to add two teeth.”
“I’m sorry?” I ask, confused.
He shakes his head. “Get in. You can practice driving another day.”
I get back in the passenger seat, my body buzzing with adrenaline as Darius slides behind the wheel. “Should we go to the hospital?” I ask, eyeing the huge gash in his left eyebrow.
“Nah, I’ll get patched up later.” Grabbing his gym bag, he pulls out a bandage and places it over the gushing wound; the bandage quickly turns from white to crimson, but at least Darius can see to drive now. “You did good, Fabio. I owe you one.”
“Thanks,” I say, my chest puffing with pride as we travel down the deserted highway.
We reach a warehouse, and Darius parks and hops out, unlocking the padlock with a set of keys from his pocket and opening the door. He hustles back and drives us into the huge warehouse filled with construction equipment.
Darius opens his door, and I follow him out of the vehicle.
“What the fuck happened to you?” A guy moves from the shadows, power rolling off him like a violent storm; to his right appears another intimidating guy.
“Fucking Matteo, that’s what happened.” Darius growls.
“And who is this?” The guy turns his cold eyes to me, adjusting his silk tie.
Darius says something long-winded in Greek, and the guy responds, all the while both of them eye me; I try not to squirm. I have no idea what they’re saying, but I hear “Fabio Mazza” and recognition flickers in the powerful guy’s eyes.
“Fabio. It’s good to see you. It’s been a while.” He addresses me.
