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“While I think that’s so chivalrous of you, it’s not needed. I can at least pay for my meal, Ambros.”
I shake my head. “I know you can, but when you’re in my company, you won’t. Call me old school if you will, but I insist.”
Xava giggles and shakes her head. “Fine. I somehow think there’s absolutely no point in arguing with you.”
“You’ve got that right.”
The waiter comes up and grabs the check. In a short couple of minutes, he comes back with my card, and I leave him a hefty tip. Xava’s texting away on her phone and peers up to look at me for a split second.
“I’m having Rolando pull the car around the front for us.”
“Ah, the man who doesn’t seem to like me very much.”
“Rolando doesn’t like anyone he doesn’t know,” Xava points out, making me feel like he’s very protective of her.
“Is it anyone or just men around you?” I’m not coming off as a dick. I’m generally curious.
“Anyone. Unless you’re in the family, no one is to be trusted.” Xava’s eyes darken with seriousness as she says this.
“I understand. In these times, you can’t give out your trust to just anyone.”
“Exactly.” Xava nods, and her features soften. Right now, I’d kill to know what’s going on in her mind.
I rise from my seat, and Xava does as well. I slide my arm around her waist, and we exit the restaurant together. Rolando hasn’t pulled the car up, and the city seems to be hustling and bustling, even at this late hour. I’m sure he’ll be here momentarily, but while we wait, I’m going to enjoy my time alone with her.
I pull Xava a bit closer against my side, and she looks up at me. A sweet, happy smile crosses over her features just as the sound of gunshots rings out. I immediately go into protection mode and shield Xava’s body with my own as I get her on the ground.
I look around to see if I can figure out where the gunfire is coming from when I spot a man running across the street toward a car. Rolando pulls up in front of Xava and rushes out to make sure she’s okay. “Stay with her. I’ll be back,” I grit out, but my anger isn’t directed at him.
I run across the street, weaving myself in and out of traffic as I chase after her assailant. He’s trying his best to get to his vehicle, and there’s a man already behind the wheel. I’m watching them both, and the man in the car must decide his buddy isn’t going to get there fast enough, so he throws the car in drive and races off, leaving his pal who did the dirty work to face the consequences I’m giving him.
“Looks like you’ve been left to deal with this yourself,” I snarl at the man who dared to take aim at Xava. If this happened another time, I would automatically assume someone was trying to harm me. I don’t believe that is the case here since this trip was planned at the last minute. No one knew was leaving for Grozny or even that I’m here. If the circumstances were different, I’d say someone had enough time to plan something to harm or possibly kill me. Still, I don’t believe that’s possible in this situation.
He turns around and looks right at me before aiming the gun. I scoff at him. “If you’re going to aim, you’d sure as hell better shoot.”
He might be in his early twenties, possibly even teens. I want to shake my head because I know he’s practically a child and isn’t the person who ordered the job. No, he’s the pawn they sent to do it. It almost feels unfair to go after someone who has barely experienced life, but I don’t have a choice in the matter. I have to send a message.
I’m so used to killing, sure, but the men and women I go after are very bad people.
He fumbles with the gun, and as we reach the sidewalk, he trips over the edge of it, falling directly on his back. I’m on top of him in no time. I kick the gun away and grab him by the collar of his shirt before throwing him back on the ground. “Who sent you?” I roar my question out at him.
He doesn’t answer me.
“I said, who fucking sent you?” This time, I collide my fist with his face, hoping it will encourage him to speak up, but it doesn’t.
If anything, it only gives him more of a drive to get away from me. He squirms like a wild animal desperate to make his escape, but he won’t make it. I’m not going to let him out of my fucking sight.
“If you don’t talk, you’re going to die.”
“I’m going to die either way.” Mmm, I see it now. He’s afraid of us, and he’s terrified of his employer.
“Maybe, but maybe not. How old are you?”
“I’m s-seventeen.” His accent is thick, and he begins stuttering. I’m blown away by his age. Who in the fuck would send a child to do a man’s job?
I inhale sharply and then exhale. “What’s your name?”
“I… I’m Halil.”
