Vows and Vendettas

Chapter 16

Blair

The next morning, it is clear that there has been a significant shift in our relationship. Wait? Yeah, I just admitted that I am in a relationship with my husband. Not one out of convenience or because I was forced into it. One that I have chosen to accept, fully.

I turn over onto my side just as my phone lights up on the nightstand. I didn't remember putting it on the charger last night. Dante must have done it for me at some point. I had been so exhausted after we had s*x in the car. It was difficult to remain awake when he brought me inside and helped me into the bathtub. I pick up my phone and read the notification on the screen: Text message received from Husband.

Husband: Good morning, moglie. Wife.

Is it silly that a simple good morning message causes me to smile like a love-struck teenage girl texting her crush?

Me: Good morning, marito. Husband.

Three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen. They disappear and reappear multiple times as if Dante is having an existential crisis over the fact that I called him Husband. It's not the first time I've called him that, but it is the first time that I have called him that in a way that wasn't sharp or condescending.

Husband: I had to handle a couple of things this morning, but I should be finished by lunchtime.

I stare at the screen as those dots appear and reappear multiple times before another message pops up.

Husband: We have reservations at Mare Blu.

Me: Does this mean I get to drive myself?

Husband: No! Rocco will drive you.

Me: Ah, so we are no longer mad at him, so he now has to resume bodyguard duty.

Husband: *eye rolling emoji*

Husband: I already regret the decision.

Me: *laughing, crying emojis*

Me: See you then.

*****

When Rocco enters the penthouse near eleven thirty, I am quite happy to see the enormous man again.

“Glad to have you back?” I say as I slip my purse onto my shoulder.

I've opted for something flowy. A high-necked white sundress with blue florals in different shades, paired with a white pair of open-toed heels. I left my hair down for the first time in weeks, it seems. Soft dark curls frame my face and cascade down my back.

“Happy to be back, Mrs. Lazzari,” Rocco replies.

I shook my head at him but allowed him to lead the way down the elevators and then to a waiting SUV. The second the two of us stepped outside Dante’s hotel and into the private parking garage, the hairs on the back of my neck rose. My feet stumble as my eyes dart to every shadowed corner.

Rocco notices instantly. A crease forms between his brows. “What's wrong?” Rocco asks as his demeanor shifts to something more lethal. He is at my side as he ushers me into the waiting car. He closes the door and turns his back to me, and I catch the glint of his pistol that rests in his waistband.

Seconds pass before he rounds the front of the car, his eyes flicking to every corner before he opens the driver's door and slips inside. The car comes to life, and he peels out of the garage faster than he should have. The wheels of the car squeal as he hits the corner a little too fast and has to hit the brakes to keep from slamming into another car.

“Holy sh*t,” I breathed as I reached for the handle near the door and hung on for dear life.

Rocco is paying no mind to me as he pulls his phone from his jacket pocket. Jabbing his rather large fingers against the screen a couple of times before he raises it to his ear.

“Pull footage from the private garage for the last eight hours and send it to me and Cass immediately.”

He drops the phone in the cupholder as he whips the car around another corner. My shoulder bashes into the passenger door, and I hiss in pain.

“Sorry,” Rocco says as he finally slows the car back down to a reasonable speed that won't get him pulled over and arrested.

“Mind sharing with me what made you react as if we were about to be kidnapped?”

It was a joke. One that should have ended in the two of us both laughing about how ridiculous we had been. But the second Rocco looks at me, the seriousness on his face tells me that nothing about what he saw after putting me in the car was funny.

“Rocco?”

“Sh*t!” he mutters as the car starts to pick up speed once again. “Put on your seat belt and call Dante. Put it on speakerphone.”

My hands tremble as I fish my phone out of my handbag. Rocco cuts a corner sharply, and I turn to see what he sees. A dark SUV cuts the same corner and races to catch up. Oh, this isn't good. I dial Dante’s number and place the call on speakerphone. My husband's voice comes through the speaker a moment later, just as the car behind us rams into the back of our car. The sound of metal crashing into metal echoes loudly through the car. I screamed at the same time that Rocco cursed loudly.

“What is happening? Blair, are you okay? Rocco?” The warmth of Dante’s voice when he answered disappears so quickly it sends another shiver down my spine.

“Someone was waiting in the garage as we left. They are following us and trying to run us off the road.” Rocco growls as the car hits ours once again, causing the tires to squeal and the car to fishtail slightly before it straightens out once again.

“Where are you?” Dante’s voice boomerangs through the car.

“West side of Addison Street. Heading towards the warehouse district,” Rocco answers instantly.

His eyes flick from one side of the road to the other just as another car appears out of nowhere directly in front of us. Rocco barely manages to cut the wheel in time to avoid slamming into the back of the car.

“There’s two.”

My stomach drops to the floor of the car as realization dawns on me. We're not being chased; we're being herded. Rocco's grip on the steering wheel tightens as he attempts to move around the new car, only to be cut off before he can make it around. The new Suburban sideswipes into the driver's side door, causing us to swerve and my head to bounce off the side window.

“Oh f*ck,” I hiss as pain shoots its way through my head. My vision blurs; the license plate of the Suburban in front of us weaves in and out before finally returning into focus.

“Sorry, these f*ckers are crazy,” Rocco utters under his breath as he fights to keep the car steady.

“We’re heading your way. Tell me every turn you take.” Dante orders. “And Rocco.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t let them f*cking take her.”

Well, if I wasn’t worried before, I sure as sh*t was now.

“Didn’t plan on it, boss. Just hurry and catch the f*ck up so we can handle this.”

Another violent impact rocks our car from behind, causing both Rocco and me to lurch forward into the back of the other Suburban, and they begin to slow down. No. No. This isn't happening. I’ve only been scared like this once before in my entire life, and I never wanted to feel so helpless. I yank open the center console and shove every piece of paper inside it to the back seat. Nothing.

“What are you doing?” Rocco questions when he sees what I am doing.

“Looking for a gun. What does it look like?” I snap.

There is no way that there isn't another gun somewhere in this car. As a part of the mafia, it is always good practice to have a backup for when sh*t gets wild. I pull the lever to the glove compartment, and it falls open, revealing a black barrel inside. I reach in and remove it from the compartment and examine it. Your standard 9mm handgun. I press the release on the side of the grip and pull the magazine down.

Hollow points. Those should do.

I return the magazine to the well, and I pull the slide back and chamber a round. The motion is smooth as butter. My fingers close around the grip tightly as I glance back at a surprised-looking Rocco.

So me knowing my way around a handgun is what shocks him at this moment and not the fact that we are currently boxed in and being forced to stop. Noted.

“What? The last thing I’m going to do is make this easy for them.”

I glance out of my side mirror. I can see one person in the passenger seat, and at least another shadow somewhere in the back. So, that means that there are at least three of them inside.

“Almost to the end. They are boxing us in and forcing us to stop,” Rocco growls as he relays the information to his boss. His hands squeeze the leather wheel until it groans, and his knuckles turn white.

“Cass and I are just a few blocks away.” Dante’s voice is cold as it comes through the speaker of my phone.

“You know how to use that thing?” Rocco asks just as we are finally forced to a complete stop. One car in front, another behind us. The doors on both vehicles fly open, and several men step out.

I tighten my grip around the pistol as I tuck the barrel under my left thigh so that it isn't immediately spotted before I turn to my bodyguard and smile. “After the last kidnapping attempt, I took several handgun training classes.” The metal is cool against my palm. I smile as they rush to my side. “A girl needs to be prepared.”

I flick the safety off just as one of the masked men from the SUV behind us smashes the passenger side window. The impact is deafening as shards of glass explode inward, raining down across the seat, my lap, and anywhere else the tiny shards can hide. I turn my head to at least protect my face and eyes, but refuse to let the sting that peppers my arms slow me down. I take a deep breath to still my shaking hands. All those hours of training at the range I did finally paid off as I pulled the pistol up from under my leg and aimed for center mass just as the man reached inside to unlock the car.

He doesn't notice the barrel sticking out of the shattered window until it's too late. I squeeze the trigger, and the gun goes off. The sound is painfully loud, and my ears instantly begin to ring thanks to the confines of the car and no hearing protection. A high-pitched whine drowns out everything else.

The masked man flies back before he crumples to the asphalt. Multiple shots ring out around me — some close, some distant — followed by cursing and shouting that is muffled by the ringing in my ears. My heart is hammering against my ribs from all the adrenaline and fear that is coursing through my body right now. Rocco isn't in the driver's seat anymore when I glance in his direction; his door hangs open, swaying slightly like he got out in a rush.

A second masked man approaches from the car in front. “F*cking idiots, we don’t get paid if she’s f*cking dead!”

My breathing is short and shallow as I scramble over the center console and into the back seat, tiny pieces of broken glass digging their way into the palms of my hands and knees. My heel catches on something near the console, and as I try to pull free, my hand slips and I lose my balance. The pistol slips from my hand and disappears somewhere beneath the seat.

Fuck.

I don't have time to look for it.

His hand lunges through the broken window as he closes in, fingers hooking beneath the lock. He yanks it upward. The door flies open a second later, more glass scattering across the ground and leather seats.

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” he sneers at me through his mask.

His hand wraps around my ankle, and he yanks me back through the opening of the seats. I rear back with my free leg and slam my heel into his face. Of course, today would be the day that I opted for a chunky heel instead of a stiletto.

The man rears back as blood begins to pour from his nose. “F*cking b*tch is more trouble than she is worth,” he roars.

Now that both of my legs are finally free, I scurry towards the door. I rip at the handle, but the door doesn't budge. I lean into it, putting every bit of my weight to push the door open. Then I remember the car that now sits in front of ours swiped us on this side. That's why it won't open. The impact must have damaged the door.

Fingers tangle in my hair and pain erupts across my scalp as I am yanked back across the backseat so hard my vision goes black.

“Come here, you f*cking b*tch,” the masked man growls.

How I found the gun again, I don't know. Maybe my mom was looking out for me or something. But just as he drags me out of the other side of the car, I close my hand around the grip of the gun. I raise the barrel and fire off another round that doesn’t strike anything before my hand is wrenched up. Pain shoots through my wrist a moment later, and the sound of the gun clattering to the ground registers in my ears.

My hip slams into the ground a second later and I wince from the impact. “Let me go!”

“Ought to make him pay extra. Said this was going to be an easy job. My ass,” the masked man grumbles while completely ignoring me as he yanks on my hair even harder.

The asphalt bites into my bare legs as I’m dragged across the roadway toward the Suburban at the front. It tears at my skin and shreds the fabric of my dress. My entire world tilts, spins, and narrows to the burn of concrete and the pounding of my heartbeat.

The rear door of the Suburban hangs open ahead of me as he drags me closer, and that is when I realize:

No amount of preparation is going to save me now.