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" All right. I've called you all here today to be a man. I won't hide or try to pretend that something didn't happen. I did what I did. Okay. I didn't want to marry this woman. I shouldn't have to marry this woman. And I think it's absolute bull crap. So, against my best instincts, I created a contract with Angelina. I paid her to stay home and be my pretend fiancee. All right? The jig is up. I take full responsibility when it comes to this whole mess. But now, after doing that, the next thing that needs to be done is to find a way to move forward. And that's what we're going to do. None of you have to worry about anything other than defending yourselves. Keep your eyes open. If you feel suspicious of somebody, trust your gut. This isn't a time to be soft. And this isn't a time to get relaxed. No one should be forced to marry anyone just to combine families. And I stand by that. I know it's not ideal that we are now in the midst of a war, but it is what it is, and we must deal with it. All right? The threats are not imminent. But it's not to be taken lightly."
Leaving a room full of mobsters was not easy. Most of them were stone-faced. They were always stone-faced. That was the nature of our culture. You weren't supposed to show emotion. You were supposed to do your job, shut up, and bottle up your emotions until you exploded. I watched each of them file out of that room until I was the only one left with myself and my desk.
Man, did the world feel heavy? It was a cliche to say that the world was on my shoulders. But it was. I didn't care about the war regarding my men or myself. I really didn't. It was all about Angelina. Every second that passed. I felt terrible that she was caught up in it. I sat at my desk, sulking. I was never someone who enjoyed beating myself up. I didn't like to throw pity parties, and I hated dwelling on things. This was one of those occasions where exceptions were made without my permission.
I didn't have much time to dwell. Not enough time at all, actually. Because my nerves were rattled by the sounds of gunshots. I had a few seconds where it all didn't register with me. I heard loud bangs. I could feel them in my chest as I sat in my seat. But they didn't feel real. They felt like some sort of mirage or dream. When those seconds of denial passed over me, I left for my chair and looked out the window. I could see a bunch of unmarked black cars right outside. The windows were super tinted. I couldn't get much of a good look because a bullet went flying right through the window. I could have sworn that I saw the hole enter the glass. It had been inching for my face. Now my body was surrounded by the raining glass all around me.
Even though it happened a moment ago, I didn't remember hitting the floor. But I was on the floor. And because of that revelation, I took a second to scan myself. I had to ensure I hadn't been hit by a bullet. I didn't see any blood or anything like that, so I was clear.
As gunfire rained down, I crawled across the floor. It was like I was at war, trying to avoid any damage. My breathing was fast. Never in my life had I worried about losing it so much. Usually, I didn't care. But as each elbow moved forward across that glass-sprinkled floor, my motivation was Angelina. I just wanted to see her one more time. I just wanted to kiss those lips again and wake up next to her in the morning. This was new. But it was keeping me alive. So how could I complain?
I used my fingertips to open the door. This was when I went into the hallway. I was still on the floor on my elbows and knees. The gunfire was increasing in terms of sound. It was getting closer. The only thing I could think to do was grab my pistol from my holster. It sounded like machine guns, though, so my gun would be nothing in comparison. In the building, a janitor's closet had a false back to a secret compartment that held guns. It was at the end of the hallway. I was, of course, at the very end. The fact that whoever was raining down gunfire on us knew where our hideout was, that was the scariest part.
I crawled and crawled until I finally got into that janitor's closet. I stood up for the first time since being in my office and did it myself. They were little bits of glass in my fingertips and palms. It looked like I had slammed my hand down on a plate of ketchup. There was so much red sprinkled out. I hadn't even realized I had crawled through the glass like that.
I moved the false back and took out the machine gun. That was all I needed to feel some confidence. I left that room and ran throughout the building towards the entrance. Yes, I was that crazy. I wasn't about to let my man go without seeing their leader come front and center to help out. But by the time I had run out there, the cars were driving away, a couple of my men were on the ground, they were alive but bleeding, and the damage had been done.
A message had been sent.
"Is everyone all right?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
Everyone answered at the same time, which made listening hard. Not that I was trying to listen anyway. My brain was moving a mile a minute. It was like I was planning everything step by step in milliseconds. And then, I realized that the most important thing to do at that moment was to not stand there asking questions but to care for them. The one that I love most. That was the first time I used that four-letter word in my head. I needed to make sure she was okay.
"I have to go check on Angelina." It felt like that sentence had negated everything that I had tried to do in terms of my leadership. But I didn't care. I left that building in haste.
Carrying my machine gun to my car out in the open like that was ridiculous, but I could care less. The police were probably on their way after hearing all that gunfire, but I was leaving regardless.
No one came after me. Not any of my men and not any of the police. That was the only solace as I drove. Everything else was pure chaos. I had the worst images of Angelina in my mind. I feared that she had been gunned down. I didn't want to walk into that house and look at her body in a pool of blood. And it was all because of a stupid contract. How could I be so naive? I shouldn't have wrapped her up in my world. Why couldn't I have been better? I was so selfish.
Beating myself up with the theme of that drive. I did run some red lights. I did drive faster than the speed limit. All I wanted to do was see my woman again.
I finally got there. My house looked alien when I looked at it. And this was because I had no idea what was happening inside. I could have been rolling up to an ambush. There were no cars parked outside. There was nothing out of the ordinary, on the one hand. That was a good thing. On the other hand, where was Angelina's car? Could this all be a setup?
I took my machine gun from the car. And I had my pistol. No matter what was on the other side of that door, I was ready for it. This time, guns would not surprise me; I would surprise them.
I put my key in the door because it was still locked. And when I walked inside, there was nothing. There was no one. I checked the house's interior and looked out the windows while I did that. Nothing.
Sure, it was nice that I didn't get shot at as I walked through the door. But where was Angelina?
Chapter 15
Angelina
FreshairwassomethingI did not take for granted anymore. It just turned out that when you were worried about dying or being killed, which were essentially the same thing, being cooped up in a mansion was torture. Even though it was a mansion, it was sheer torture.
This is why I opted to go for a drive. My other thought process was that no one could get me if I was on the move. How would the mafia know where I was driving unless I was being tracked? And as I pulled out of Tomaso's driveway, I saw no one tracking me.
I listened to pop music and drove way below the speed limit. I was trying to keep my nerves calm. I felt like this the second that I stopped. Every time I stopped, I was at Target. It was one of the few times in my life that I had ever hyperventilated uncontrollably. I didn't want to die. That was the thought that kept crossing my mind. Next to that thought was Tomaso. I had these grand visions of us having a life together. Every now and then, a new part of that future would pop into my head. Whether sitting at the dinner table with children or watching those children play in the backyard. Ordinary and domestic visions between us both. They were supposed to be happy visions, things you would hope for. But instead, they brought a tear to my eye because I felt like we both had a death sentence. No one would have my back because I signed a contract with the mafia. Who would stick up for me? Who would have sympathy for a woman who did such a thing?
Now the other stark reality that hit me was the matter of me going home. I was getting bored of driving. I wasn't hungry enough to go to a diner, nor did I feel like that was safe. And I didn't want to go anywhere near my family's house because they were the last people I wanted to get tied up in my little problem. This meant I had to go home and go to that mansion which didn't guarantee company. I had no idea when Tomaso would be home. But I couldn't be a chicken, and I knew that if something happened in the mansion, I would just call the police.
I started driving home, and getting there didn't take long. I had butterflies when I saw Tomaso's Cadillac out front. There were no other cars, which I told him he was alone. So hopefully, that also meant no trouble.
I imagined coming inside and just lying in his arms. But I knew that would probably not happen; we were both on edge. As I approached the door, I wondered what the news would be. Had he handled the situation? Was he ready to tell me what happened with his father behind that door? There were so many questions, and I just hoped I had answers.
When I walked inside, Tomaso was pacing. It wasn't long before he sent his angry eyes toward me. I knew that those weren't angry eyes over anything but me. Now came the question of what did I do? Why were those angry eyes directed at me?
Instead of asking, I said, " Hi."
