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It's just a matter of waiting for the right time to run.
"She's really hot," the younger mobster shrugs. "Maybe they were just going to—"
Nico gives him a look that shuts him up. Then he turns from me and stops in front of Pascal. The bloodied man winces when Nico squats until they're at face level. Then it's my turn to wince when he reaches out and twists the man's already-broken nose.
Pascal screeches and swears colorfully, rearing back. Nico is calm, unbothered by the blood he wipes onto Pascal's shoulder.
"You were unwise to involve her. Where did Mad Blood go?"
Pascal spits to the side and leers up at me. "Like seeing her again, Undertaker? We've kept her nice and unsullied for you. But the boss has a problem. He's tired of the stalemates and handshakes. He's ready to move. You kill me, and we'll punish this pretty little bitch's family again by—"
Nico moves fast, and I gasp and turn away before his fist connects with Pascal's face again. I hear it though—the sickly crunches and meaty thuds of the beating and the mobster's pathetic shouts and whimpers. Nico's voice is so quiet, I can barely hear it, and I don't doubt he's right in Pascal's face.
"He's not the only one tired of stalemates. But his problem? He's afraid of getting his hands dirty doing something about it." Pascal yelps sharply, and I can only imagine why. "See, I'm not. Last chance. Where were you taking her, and where the fuck is Mad Blood?"
I don't want to see any of this. I need to get away before he turns that petrifying fury on me again. I glance at his lackeys, who are paying more attention to their boss's terrifying display of violence than they are to me. I check over my shoulder. I can just see the road from here. If I back up a little, I won't be in their peripheral vision anymore….
I take a step back silently. Then another. I've seen too many movies not to check for anything that might crack under my boots before setting my foot down. Over and over, I creep back until I know they can't see me anymore. Then I pick up speed, backing away.
Pascal has croaked out a few things, but Nico must be crushing his throat or something because I can't understand him. The Undertaker hisses something else, but by now, I'm far enough away that I don't have to hear his viciousness.
Until another gunshot rings out. I'm out of time.
Heart clamoring in my chest, I turn completely and race to the road. Cars pass by in flashes, stirring dead leaves in the cold autumn air. I look around quickly, getting my bearings. It's dark, and I doubt the cars blurring past can even see that I'm gagged and tied like this. There are no toll booths, just an endless stretch of road and trees. On one side of the road nearby, two cars are parked.
I almost run to them before realizing that Nico and his men had to drive here, too.
And they didn't leave their rides alone. Another mobster steps out of the driver's side of one parked vehicle. His eyes drift to me and narrow. But even lightheaded with adrenaline and fear like this, I could get away. I could flag down someone else. I could—
Strong arms clamp around me, pulling me away from the road's edge. I let out a muffled scream, kicking and flailing. It's useless.
Then warm breath brushes against my ear. Nico's words are quiet but still biting.
"Stop fighting,monella. You'll cause a scene, and you don't want to drag other civilians into this.Omertà, remember?"
Omertà. He told me about it four years ago. Their code for "humble silence" in the face of questioning and the rule that keeps unfortunate civilians from going to the authorities. I laughed when he explained it back then, saying it's ludicrous for them to expect people to just shut up and let them do whatever they want. I said it was bullshit.
But now, I get it. I go still, no longer hoping any of the cars passing will notice something is up. I want them to go along with their lives, blissfully unaware. I don't want them to meet Nico and get hurt because of me.
And that just makes me hate him more. Four years ago, I never would have thought he would prey on my fear and morals like this. I can still remember how it felt to laugh and reach out to fix his hair. How warm his presence was. He'd seemed like a walking paradox then—the soft-hearted mobster. The gentleman enforcer.
He's still a paradox. I can sense his impatience as he walks me over to his waiting pals and their rides, but something about his movements is patient, too. He's an unreadable medley of hot and cold.
He's going to kill me.
"Brave, this one," the driver notes.
“Should've grabbed her the moment you saw her, Giovanni," the massive lackey huffs.
"It’s not my job to clean up after you and Ace," Giovanni says indignantly.
"Yourjob," Nico snaps, quieting them all. He's directly behind me, and when I step forward to get away from his warmth, he moves forward to press against me again, gripping my arm tighter. "Was to tail Mad Blood. Tell me what the fuck went wrong."
They exchange glances. The younger one, "Ace," clears his throat.
"I thought that was Mad Blood…."
His voice fizzles out as Nico wipes the blood off his chin, exasperated but controlled. "That was his brother. They looked alike."
