“Fuck!” I yell, slamming my fist into the dash. The cars finally start moving.
“Take me back. I need to get back to my girl,” I tell him, feeling sick to my stomach. The fact that those bastards got away from me pisses me off. But I know who they are. And they’re going to fucking die. Every last one of them.
Just as we park in front of the restaurant, my phone goes off.
“Vince.” Dom sounds somber and I don’t like his tone. My heartbeat slows and my vision seems to blur.
“Becca alright, Dom?” I ask first. I know my sweetheart’s okay. I stayed with her until those cowards took off. I close my eyes and pray his baby’s alright. I hate that I think the worst. But the way he said my name has my mind going crazy.
“She’s alright.”
“The baby?” I ask.
“She’s good too. Got a good view of her sucking her thumb right now.” I feel a little bit of relief at this. “Your girl...” He trails off, as if he's unsure how to say what comes next.
My heart skips a beat, and my lungs feel empty. That’s what he called about. Elle. My sweetheart. She’s okay. I know she is. She'd better be safe. I told him to take her. “What about her?”
“She’s been picked up.”
“No.” I shake my head. No fucking way.
“We tracked her phone, Vince. And it was on the cameras. Two undercovers, not ours.” I lean back against the side of the car. The sound of sirens is getting louder and louder, but I can't begin to process what that means.
“Vince, we gotta go!” Tommy's screaming in my ear, but his words barely register with me.
I look at him jumping in the driver’s side as Dom talks away in my ear. I don’t know what he’s saying, and I don’t care. I thought we had something. I thought she loved me. Loved what I did to her. Loved being mine.
The red and blue lights flash down the road ahead of us. They’ll be here soon.
I turn off my phone and put a hand over Tommy’s, stopping him from moving the car. We won’t make it. They’re gonna be here before we can get away. They’ll see us. It’ll be a chase. They don’t have anything on us right now. Questioning. It’s gotta be questioning about the shooting. It’s not my girl, I say over and over in my head. Not Elle. This isn’t about my sweetheart. My world feels like it’s collapsing around me, but I refuse to believe it. There’s been a mistake.
“Get out, and get low.” I hand him the gun in my hand and push his shoulder toward the door of the car. Tommy doesn’t waste a second, and I hop over the console to sit in his seat. As the cops roll up and park their car in front of mine, blocking me in, I get out of the car through the driver’s side, making it appear as though it was opened for me. The fucking sirens and bright lights piss me off.
“Good evening, officers.” I shut the door and walk to them as the uniformed men get out. Another car pulls up and Detective Anderson gets out. I narrow my eyes at him. I fucking hate that prick. He’d lie, cheat and steal to see us all behind bars.
“Vincent Valetti, you’re under arrest.”
My brows shoot up in surprise, but I don’t fight them. It’s foolish to put up a fight. That would just give them something they can actually charge you with. I mentally check off every possible thing in my head. No concealed weapons on me. Nothing they can pin on me. I can’t think of a damn thing that they would be able to find in the car.
I try to breathe in and out calmly as I turn around and put my hands on my head. I know the drill. I lean my stomach against the car door. This isn’t the first time it’s happened. As they slam my head into the roof of the car, I see Tommy walking down the alley. He catches my eyes and nods. He knows the drill, too. My lawyer will be there faster than I will.
I’ll be out in no time.
As long as this isn’t about my girl.
Chapter 29: Elle
“Elle, my baby!” My mother stands in the brightly lit front room of the police station. The place is mostly deserted, save for me, the two cops behind me and the one at the desk. And my mother.
I don’t answer her. I don’t know what to say. I’m still pissed off about how she dropped me from her life the second I had no money to give her. Her nose is bright red, and her eyes are watery. I’d say it’s from crying, but it’s not. She’s drunk. I bite my bottom lip as the cops walk me closer to the front desk. They leave me standing there as my mother comes closer.
“Baby girl, are you alright?” she asks, with both hands grasping for mine. Baby girl? My mother has never called me that. I pull my hands away from her.