“We need to go,” I say. “Right now. Before more of them show up.”
She doesn't move.
“Adriana.”
Her eyes snap back to mine, her hand shaking.
“I just—” She looks down at the unconscious guy at her feet. “I hit him.”
“You saved my life. Now we move.”
I grab her arm and guide her toward the door. She moves like she's submerged in quicksand. Slow as shit, and we need to get far the hell away from here.
“Sonny.” I cast a look back at him. “You didn't see us. We were never here.”
He nods and doesn't ask questions. Old school. He knows how shit works.
I hustle Adriana to the car, help her inside, and peel away from the curb. Thankfully it’s dark and nobody expects Moretti’s to be open tonight, so the street is pretty quiet. No eyewitnesses means we’re safe… ish.
She doesn't say a word for six blocks. When she speaks, the words spew from her lips like they’re running a race. “People saw. They saw me… the boss… run away. While Sonny’s restaurant was destroyed. While those men?—”
“Nobody saw. You handled it.”
“I ran.” Her voice cracks. “Iran, Lochlan. The Russians know they can come for me now. They weren't scared. They weren't scared of me at all.”
“They should've been. You dropped their leader with a bottle of chianti.”
“That's not—” She shakes her head, her frenzied finger twisting the hell out of her ring. “This is going to get back to the capos. That the Russians hit one of our places while I was there. That I couldn't stop them.”
I put a hand on her arm. “You survived. You won. You took out the guy who had a gun to my head.”
“I ran.” Her voice is quieter now. My gut twists at the defeat in her voice. “I had to run. If more were coming, they might have done more than just destroy the restaurant. There were only two of us. I was… scared.”
I take a sharp right and pull over on some random side street. I look up and down but nobody is around.
She's hyperventilating. Her hands grip her knees so hard her knuckles are white, her eyes way too wide.
“Adriana. Look at me.”
But she can't. She's gone. Spiraling. Staring straight ahead with no idea of what she’s looking at.
I know the signs. I've seen this before.
My mind trips back to Gavin’s panic attacks after Mom died. Poor kid would be curled up on his bedroom floor, gasping for air, convinced his heart was exploding. I sat with him for hours until I could bring him back.
“Hey.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and turn to face her. Taking her hands in mine, I say, “You're having a panic attack. It's gonna pass, but I need you to breathe with me.”
“I… can't…”
“Yeah, you can. In through your nose. Slow.”
She tries. It comes out ragged. Broken. She sputters and chokes a little.
“That's okay. Try again. In... and out.”
We breathe together. In. Out. In. Out. Her grip on my hands is crushing. I don't give a shit. It proves she’s with me.
“Now tell me five things you can see,” I say.
