Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I’m at a loss for words and she knows it. Satisfied with her advantage over me, she stands.
“Find Thiago, and I’ll tell you what your mother won’t—although you may not want to hear it. Truth is often a bitter pill to swallow, isn’t it?”
She walks toward the door, and I walk after her, capturing her arm and spinning her to face me.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Get your hand off me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Is that Italian place any good?” she asks casually. Her words turn the blood in my veins to ice. I tighten my grip, but she only grins wider. “It’s so hard when the innocents are hurt because of us, isn’t it?”
“Val!” He opens the door in an instant, and I toss her at him. “Get her off my property!” I order, not looking back but stalking out the front door and back into my car. I call Madelena’s cell phone as I peel off the driveway and drive like a bat out of hell back to the strip mall.
23
MADELENA
I am thanking the waiter who has just set my panna cotta down when the glass door of the restaurant slams against the wall so hard, it cracks. I jump, along with everyone else in the place. Odin mutters a curse under his breath and two big guys, Maria’s brothers, come out from the kitchen. One of them reaches under the counter to grab what a quick glance at the black shiny metal tells me is a gun before Maria puts a hand out to stop him.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Odin says, standing as Santos steps into the restaurant, forehead creased in worry or rage, or both, and only when his eyes land on me does he exhale. He takes in the room of panicked patrons, several of which are hurrying to get their coats and bags and leave. Four soldiers follow Santos in, and I see more outside. They look so completely out of place in the strip mall as they fan out, peering into every shop, every cafe.
Santos makes way for those slipping out, then looks at Maria and her brothers—one of whom still has the pistol in his hand, while the other is coming around the counter with a baseball bat in his.
I stand, my napkin slipping to the floor, as Santos stalks toward me.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask as he takes my arm and hands me off to one of his men.
“Take her to the car,” he tells him, not bothering to say a word to me. I resist, and as I’m marched out, I see Maria and her brothers getting in Santos’s face.
“What’s going on?” I call as I’m marched out by one of his goons, who plants me in the backseat of the SUV closest to the trattoria and locks the door. He fucking locks the door! I can see from here the conversation they’re having and when Santos comes nose-to-nose with one of the brothers, I bang on the window to get his attention, but he doesn’t hear me. Or if he does, he doesn’t turn. Odin looks toward the SUV, but no one moves. More minutes pass, and I watch as conversation continues until, eventually, Santos takes his wallet out and hands a wad of cash over to Maria. He says something to the remaining patrons in the restaurant. He and Odin have words before Odin picks up my purse, which Santos snatches from him, and they walk out.
“What the hell?” I scream at Santos when he opens the SUV door.
“When I fucking give you a phone, you fucking answer!” He rummages in my purse for the phone, drops the bag to the ground when he finds it and holds it out to me. “Do you fucking understand?”
“I understand that you’re insane! You knew where I was. You had a soldier at the door!” I snatch the phone from him and look at the screen, seeing the dozen or so missed calls.
One of his soldiers comes toward him, talking into his earpiece like he’s the fucking FBI. “It’s clear. If they were here, they’re gone,” the soldier says.
Santos nods, jaw tightly clenched as he scans the lot.
“What’s going on?” I ask, glancing at Odin, who is looking a little pale.
Santos looks at me. “Nothing. It’s fine.”
“Nothing? It’s fine? You don’t just break the fucking door of the restaurant, scare the patrons half to death and drag me out before I’ve even finished and then get to tell me it’s nothing!”
“What? You want dessert?”
“No! Fuck you! You owe me answers, Santos!”
“I’ll pay for the door. I covered all the meals.” He closes the door, and my mouth falls open that he just did that mid-conversation, but then he steps into the SUV from the other side. He checks his watch. “Move,” he tells the driver then turns to me. “Why didn’t you answer my calls?”