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"Thank you, Cazzo."
Cesare chokes as I thank the concierge, and I end up grasping empty air when the concierge, now looking murderous, throws the bottle of coffee straight into the trash.
"Mi dispiace, Cassio."
I realize my mistake as soon as I hear Cesare apologize on my behalf, but I have no chance to say sorry myself with mymafiaboss is already whisking me out of the hospital like the concierge is about to shoot us dead.
"I guess it's a mortal sin to mispronounce afamiglia'sname?" I ask weakly as he walks me to my side of the car.
"Not generally, no—-" Cesare slides back behind the wheel before facing me. "But it is when you call him adick,which is what'cazzo'translates to in Italian."
Oh.
SHIT.
I groan, and being the ever-supportive owner that he is, Cesare throws his head back with a laugh.
"It isn't funny," I bemoan as his sports car blazes out of the parking lot. "I'll never live this day down. Everyone will remember me as that bitch who said—-"
"Fuck!"
I nearly drop an F-bomb myself as his tires screech under us, with Cesare abruptly making a hard turn to the right. Is it just me...or do allfamigliamen have this dream of shooting for the next Fast & the Furious movie?
Panic starts feeling like an old frenemy when I see Cesare keep one hand on the wheel while yanking his pistol out with the other.
I know I should've expected something like this because he'sfamiglia, but the moment his window rolls down, and he starts shooting at the car trying to crash into us from another lane—-
I scream and freak out like a headless chicken as chaos erupts all around us.
"W-What's happening?"
Cesare shoots me a look of disbelief...even as he keeps shooting at everyone else. "What the fuck do you mean what's happening? Didn't you fucking say you understood—-"
"No, I didn't!"
"You even told me I shouldn't fucking worry—-"
"I thought you were worried I'd get bored during the drive," I cry out. "I didn't know you were warning me about peoplewaaaaaantiiiiiing tooooo kiiiiiiiill uuuuuuuuus!"
I have no idea how Cesare is doing it—-
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!
But all the other vehicles have either flipped into the air or crashed into each other while we continue on our merry way, his Lambo unscathed, and mymafiaboss driver equally unscarred.
"Duck,"Cesare suddenly hisses, and I'm just so out of my mind with terror I have no idea what he's saying.
"Where?"I choke out. And are we talking about Daffy, Donald, the Mighty—-
"I said, fuckingduck!"
Cesare shoves my head down between my legs.
OH,so it'sthatkind of duck he was talking—-shiiiiit!
Tears prick my eyes when a swift flip of the lever has Cesare's seat instantly falling back, and just in time, too, with a bullet whizzing by and grazing the edge of his cheek. One second slower than that, and he could've—-
He could've—-
