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I've got none of my own belongings on me. I look around the car and see Constantino's jacket on the passenger seat beside me. I shove my hand into the pocket, fingers brushing against something hard.
A burner phone.
Jackpot.
"Please, please," I chant, scrolling through the list of contacts with a thumb that’s shaking—not from fear, but from the cold that gnaws at my bones even inside the car. When Teddy's number pops up, I don't hesitate.
"Yo," Teddy's voice cracks through the speaker, oblivious to everything that's just happened. "Why you calling me from this phone?"
"Teddy," I say, keeping my voice level, "It's Evelyn. I need your help."
"Okay," he says, his tone shifting from jovial to concern.
"I've got Constantino with me," I murmur into the phone, my eyes flickering to the rearview mirror. "Declan's dead. By his hand. We need somewhere to lay low."
There's a rustle on the other end of the line, and I can almost picture Teddy running a hand through his blond hair, the way he always does when things are about to get real messy.
"Shit, Evie. Where you at?"
"Back Bay," I respond tersely, my fingers tightening on the wheel as the city lights streak past in a blur of indifference. It's late, or maybe it's early; time has lost all meaning when every second feels like a countdown to getting caught.
"Okay, okay," Teddy's voice holds a steady urgency that belies his usual levity. "Do you think you're being followed? Do they know the car?"
"No clue," I answer honestly. I never saw anyone follow us, let alone anyone at all when we left the warehouse, but just because I didn't see it, doesn't mean it isn't happening.
"Can I come to you? Text me your address?" My throat feels like sandpaper.
"No," he says. "Need to switch cars, just be safe. Give me landmarks and I'll direct you."
"Okay," I say, feeding him information about my surroundings and taking the turns as he shouts them out. "Take the next left, then straight for three blocks. Look for the neon sign, 'La Tavola Nostra.' It's a dive, but it's ours."
"Got it," I say, following the directions he's given me.
"I'm heading to you," he says. "Pull around back when you arrive. I'll let the boys know you're on your way."
"Thanks," I say before hanging up the phone. It's another five miutes of driving before I find the bar. Five minutes that feels like an eternity. I pull into the back of the restaurant just like he tells me to and there's a few guys waiting out back. Upon seeing them I freeze up. How do I know they're on our side?
I park the car but I don't unlock the doors. One of the guys taps on the glass and I look at him. He looks Italian, I think?
"Teddy sent us. You got Consty?"
I breathe a sigh of relief. I nod and unlock the doors. Everything in the next two minutes happens in a blur. The guys haul Constantino out of the back. He's still out cold. I grab Evan's sleepy form and hoist him over my shoulder, rocking him back and forth to coax him back to sleep. We head into the bar through the back door and one of the guys hops into the car, driving it off, likely to be hidden or destroyed.
I push through the door, letting it swing closed behind me with a definitive thud. The back of the bar is a hushed corridor lined with offices. The air is thick with the scent of marinara saucesimmering from the kitchen, its tangy sweetness vying with the musky cedar wood paneling lining the walls.
"This way," a burly guy murmurs, giving me a nudge toward a nondescript side room.
Inside, the room's spartan: a table and a few chairs. "Teddy'll be here soon." The guy nods once, firmly, as if to convince himself more than me.
"Where'd you take Constantino?" I can't help but ask, even though I know better than to expect a straight answer.
"Doc's lookin' at him," he grunts, thumb jerking over his shoulder. "They're tryin' to patch him up."
I press my lips together, stifling the sarcastic retort itching to break free. They're doing their best – which isn't saying much. “Here,” I say, voice steady as I turn to the nicest looking one among them. "Hold him," I gesture to Evan, deep in the oblivion of sleep.
The guy hesitates for a split second, then steps forward, arms open and ready. As the weight transfers, Evan stirs but doesn't wake, and I'm struck by a fierce protectiveness that clenches my gut. "And don't wake him. I'm a doctor. I'll treat Constantino. Lead the way."
I'm walked to the room across the hall. Glancing back, I catch a glimpse of the soldier rocking Evan gently, his bulky frame awkward yet oddly tender. My heart lurches, a motherly instinct flaring bright and hot. I'll be damned if I let anything happen to that kid.
