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Benny and Gio look fine except there’s pasta and glass everywhere. Everyone else in the restaurant doesn’t seem to be hurt either. A sharp pain rips through my cheek and I wince, touching the area with shaky fingers when I pull my hand down red coats my fingers.
“It's just a small cut, I don't think it’ll need stitches,” Enzo says, pulling me closer and examining the cut.
I start to laugh. I think I may be in shock. Luca joins in, however, Enzo looks furious. He looks like he’s about to murder someone. Raff’s on the phone shouting a mix of English and Italian so fast I can’t understand any of it.
Luca's laugh fades and his face turns stormy as he squeezes his arm just under where a bullet has taken a chunk of flesh from his shoulder. “Those fucking Russian bastards!” He spits on the floor.
Enzo grabs the phone from Raff and takes over, his jaw ticking as he speaks in Italian switching back to English.
“Benny take Casimira to the house and stay there with her.” His voice is a total command, it’s hard to ignore. He points a finger at his youngest brother as he holds the phone with his other hand. “There’s glass in that cut, make sure you clean it.” Enzo looks at me one last time, his expression dark and menacing.
Benny puts his arm around my waist to support my weight and pulls me off towards the kitchens. When we get out back out he gently helps me into the passenger seat of a blacked-out Range Rover.
“Can you just drop me home?” My voice has a slight shake to it but I think it's the adrenaline still coursing through my body.
He shakes his head firmly as he climbs in behind the wheel. “We can't risk being followed, what Enzo says goes.”
I can't quite process what has just happened. I mean guns are illegal in nearly every sense of the word back in the U.K. Of course, it doesn’t mean people don’t have them. If you run in certain circles, or you know, you’re a farmer. They're readily available. But I’ve never experienced anything on that level. I should be terrified, I should be crying surely?
But I’m not. I’m shocked. A bit shaken up but I’m not scared.
It was exhilarating. Like driving fast. That adrenaline
Shit.
10
Casimira
Nine Months Earlier
Brixton, London
It's nearly 1 a.m. and Tom still hasn’t come home. I haven't slept and I won't until he walks through the door. I never do. I may not be in love with him, but I care about him, a lot. He was my friend for a long time before we got together and I’ve known him forever. He can be so kind and generous and I know he loves me like he really loves me. I see it in his eyes.
Maybe that's why I stick around because it's nice to feel loved. Do I wish he was a better person? Of course. Do I wish he treated me better? Without a doubt. But I've never had anything to compare him to. I've never been in a serious relationship before, he's my first proper boyfriend. And it's not like I'm perfect? I have my fair share of issues.
I've watched 6 episodes of The Real Housewives, eaten two Chicago Town pizzas and chewed half my nails off.
Fed up of waiting, I pick my phone up to ring Tom and see if he's okay but it buzzes the moment I pick it up with an unknown number. I wouldn't usually answer to an unknown number but at one in the morning, it must be important.
“Mira, it's me.” My twin says, his voice tight. “Don't panic, but me and Tom were arrested.” My heart drops into my stomach. My skin goes cold. If they were caught with the burner phone and the drugs they are both looking at serious prison time.
My voice comes out quiet. “Prosze, powiedz, ze zartujesz.” Please tell me you're joking.
I can't say much as these phone calls are monitored and I don't want to incriminate them both further if the police weren't already aware of the drugs.
“Mamy sie dobrze.” We are fine. He says firmly.
“Is it serious?” I ask, choosing my words carefully.
He ignores the question completely. “Pamietasz, o czym rozmawialismy?” Do you remember what we spoke about?
Iimmediately know what he's referring to and I nod even though I know he can't see it. “Tak, pamietam.” Yes, I remember.
“Good. We should be out tomorrow.” He says. “They’ll probably release me under investigation. You know how it is.”
I let out a shaky breath whilst trying desperately to keep it together. Just because he’ll be out tomorrow doesn't mean anything. They could remand him at any point and if he is out, it's only until his court date. Then who knows what his sentence will be? It could be fucking anything depending on what he had in his possession.
