I clenched my jaw, trying to lessen the throbbing in my ribs, but it was no use. The tattooed area caused me discomfort, forcing me to sit sideways on the seat, avoiding putting pressure on it.
“What do you want to eat?” Dominique asked, humming a song that played softly on the radio.
I wasn't hungry, I just wanted to go home and put ice on the tattoo, and then lie down and wait for the discomfort to pass. However, we were getting married in a few days and I wanted to spend more time with him, live more, get to know him better.
“There's a very nice cafeteria on Broadway. It's called Prince Bakery and they serve wonderful coffee.”
I used to go there when I went shopping for clothes. With a slightly rustic atmosphere, it was one of my favorite coffee shops.
“So let's go to this place,” said Dominique, turning the corner.
I held onto the dashboard to keep my body sideways and avoid rubbing my tattoo against the leather of the seat. I looked in the rearview mirror and noticed that there was a black vehicle following us closely. The windows were dark, preventing me from seeing who was inside.
I frowned and felt my heart race with the adrenaline that shot through my veins.
“Did you bring your men?” I asked, without taking my eyes off the vehicle.
Until then, it didn't seem so suspicious, but considering who we were, even a shadow could be dubious to walk through.
“No, why?” Dominique retorted.
I narrowed my eyes, my head spinning in search of an immediate solution, or an enlightening answer.
“Turn left,” I instructed.
“But Broadway is straight ahead.”
I shook my head.
“We'll go around it later, just turn.”
Without further ado, Dominique did as I had instructed. The car disappeared from view, staying behind, and my heart slowed down, as I began to feel a little calmer.
“Are you going to tell me why you made me stray from our route?” he asked.
The glare of the headlights against the sun came on at the corner as the vehicle turned onto the street we were on. All the calmness I felt vanished like smoke, the pure adrenaline injected into my blood prepared me to attack and protect myself, just like I had been taught my whole life.
“We are being followed,” I warned, biting my lip hard.
Frowning, Dominique peeked in the mirror, observing the same vehicle I was suspicious of.
“How do you know it's not someone from your father?”
I shrugged.
“He wouldn't go against your orders. Dad wouldn't send anyone here just to annoy you.”
My father was impatient, but not insane. He knew that patience was not one of Dominique's virtues, and besides, he trusted me to know how to protect myself enough from both my fiance and any enemy.
He sighed and pulled a gun from his waistband.
“What are you going to do?” I asked, pressing my fingers firmly on the dashboard.
“We're going to do a test. If it's one of ours, there will be no retaliation.”
“Wow, what a magnificent idea,” I scoffed, tilting my head to the side.
“What if they're just innocent people?”
He chuckled, his eyes meeting mine through the reflection of the rearview mirror.
“I think the only innocent one here is you, little girl,” he murmured, running his tongue around his dry lips.
Well, what a rascal!
I arched a suggestive eyebrow.
“Then give it your worst, Dominique Venturelli,” I challenged.
Like a complete lunatic, Dominique rolled down the window and pointed the gun out of the car. He aimed at the vehicle that was following us and pulled the trigger, hitting one of the headlights. The car lurched to the right before returning to the center of the street.
I let out a breath through my nose, thanking heavens it wasn't civilians.
“No shots and no one freaking out. I think we got rid...”
His words died when our rear end was hit.
Our car skidded sideways, the tires squealed on the asphalt, and I had to brace myself in the seat, ignoring the throbbing of the tattoo as my body was jerked hard and abruptly.
“Son of a bitch!” Dominique roared, pulling his hand in and gripping the steering wheel tightly. He dropped the gun onto his lap and rolled up the window, his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscle jumped.
More shots hit our car, forcing Dominique to keep his eyes fixed on the avenue and not loosen his grip on the steering wheel, or we'd crash.
I folded my knees onto the seat and turned around. I watched the men leaning halfway out of the windows, their weapons pointed at us. People were running and screaming in the streets, hiding inside buildings.
“What are we going to do?” I asked in a whisper.
“I'm going to rip each of those bastards’ spines out through their mouths,” he shouted, punching the steering wheel hard.
“I can’t believe they’re wrecking my car!”
I snorted.
“What about us, you imbecile?!” I retorted, and Dominique stared at me wide-eyed.
“There are more of them and they are heavily armed. How are we going to get rid of this?”
New York was Camorra territory, but we were a long way from the neighborhood where our houses were located and well guarded by soldiers. If they kept shooting at us like they were doing, the car's armor wouldn't last halfway there.
More shots hit us, the clinking of metal caused a bang in my ears. I gripped the sides of the seat so tightly that my knuckles turned white.
“Do you know how to shoot?” Dominique asked, turning the corner sharply, which kept the shots from hitting us for a few seconds.
My God, what should I answer?
I forced my head to shake from side to side.
“I've never touched a gun,” I lied, wanting to laugh.
We would die, but I would keep the secret with me, under lock and key.
Dominique picked up the gun from his lap and handed it to me.
“There are more bullets in the glove compartment. Load the gun, pull the trigger, and shoot them, no matter where, just shoot. Meanwhile, I'll figure out how to get us out of their sights.”
Explaining, he removed the partially empty magazine. I collected the cartridges from the glove compartment and reloaded the pistol, pretending to have difficulty due to supposed nervousness and inexperience.
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