Roman crouches so that his back is closer to mine. I can see that he's got the stringy guy by the scruff of the neck and the driver pressed to the ground under his boot heel. The dark metal of a pistol gleams in his hand, but then he moves his arm away so I can't see it anymore.
“Close your eyes, goddamnit!” he snarls again.
I yank the hood back over my face and jam the heels of my hands against my eye sockets as two soft pops echo briefly in the concrete garage. Heavy sounds follow immediately, and I can almost see in my mind’s eye the driver and the stringy guy falling to lie still on the oil-stained concrete.
A hand circles my elbow and jerks me roughly to standing. Arms surround me and the hood slides off my head. I’m being carried or dragged in the opposite direction, swiftly.
“What did you… Did you do that? Did you have to kill them?!”
Roman gives me a disgusted look yet keeps guiding me through the maze of cars to an idling Jeep near a pylon. He opens the door and practically hurls me into the passenger seat, but then stops to take a second to strap the seatbelt over my waist.
My breath is coming out in short, explosive gasps as he rushes around to the driver side and then gets in. In seconds we're out of the parking garage, barreling down the exit ramp toward the interstate.
Just as I’m about to start asking what the fuck again, his hand comes up into the space between us, silencing me.
“Not one word, Princess,” he growls. “Not one single word.”
“Don't you tell me not to say a word! What the fuck was that back there?”
“That was handled,” he says slowly, as though I'm an idiot.
“Handled?! Handled?? Is that what you call handled? That was fucking murder, Roman!”
He cuts his eyes toward me and then shakes his head in disgust. “They had a lot worse in mind for you, Princess, I assure you.”
“Daddy’s men would never hurt me! I can't believe you just… How could you!”
“I protect what's mine,” he mutters dangerously.
“I am not yours!”
He scoffs, sucking his teeth and sweeping his eyes across all four lanes of traffic, looking for more trouble I guess.
My heart is racing like a crackhead jackrabbit through my chest. My hands tremble as I hold on to the handle over the window. Roman drives like a maniac, cutting in and out of lanes, slamming on the brakes and shifting violently.
“Slow down for chrissakes! You’re going to get us arrested!”
“Getting arrested should be the least of your concerns.”
“I already told you! Daddy's men would never have hurt me!”
“You think those were your father's men? You seriously believe that?”
My jaw drops open silently. Words stall on my tongue. “Well… Of course they were.”
“Oh, of course they were. Because you know so much. Right.”
“If they weren't Daddy's men, who the fuck were they?”
Roman takes a deep breath and holds it, still swiveling his head constantly to look around us. Nobody seems to be following us, but I have to admit it is nice to have him on the lookout.
“This doesn't make any sense,” I mutter under my breath. “This doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“What doesn’t make any sense is that this some kind of surprise to you,” he sneers. “This never happened before? You’re some kind of Mafia royalty and this has never happened to you?”
I shrug. Has it? I don't think so. "Well, there's always somebody there… I mean Nuncio or Jimmy or somebody. I mean…”
He chuckles cruelly. “My, what a fairytale life you've led, Princess.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“That’s how you talk to me? When I just saved your life?”
“Whatever,” I say, but it sounds thin and unbelievable, even to me. “So then who was that?”
“That was your wake-up call, Princess,” he says slowly. "That was real life. How do you like it so far?”
CHAPTER 9
ROMAN
Zadrota. This little idiot keeps huffing and puffing in her seat, trying to take some kind of attitude with me. Unbelievable. I just saved her ass and what's left of her honor and all she can do is sit there and growl at me.
After a few minutes on I–90 I think we’re probably in the clear, not seeing anybody. Anyway this Jeep is practically an armored tank. Anything less than a drone missile strike and we’re going to be fine.
She keeps chattering on and on but I can't even listen to her anymore. I punch the power button for the radio and then turn it up loud, too loud for me really but at least I can’t hear her nagging.
It would be funny if it weren't so sad. This little princess has no idea what's going on. And for that matter, I'm also curious about this incident. I surely didn't expect to be popping three guys in a parking garage when I went out to find her.