Page 75 of Stolen Vows
I squeak when he scoops me off my feet and stalks through the exit.My handbag bops against my butt as he walks, so I pull it into my lap and lean against Mario.The valet looks flustered when he notices us approaching.
Dread sours my stomach, but I push it away because it isn’t very often normal people see a muscular, tatted mafia boss in jeans and carrying his wife across the sidewalk.
“Um, sir,” the valet stutters.
Although always aware of potential threats while in public, my husband’s attention sharpens at the unexpected greeting.
“What?”he snarls.
The poor man blanches and looks ready to pass out.
“I’m sorry.It’s my first day on the job, and I pulled into the parking spot too far and bumped into the building.I don’t see any visual damage, but I submitted a report and now can’t move it until my supervisor—”
“Where is it?”
“Around the corner.Sir, you can’t—”
“Don’t be an idiot.I’m not walking down an alley with you.We’ll wait in the bistro on the corner.Call my cell when my car is ready.My wife is hungry,” Mario says.
He walks to the far side of the jewelry store doors before lowering my feet to the ground.The valet glares before turning away.The hairs on my nape rise.Mario tucks me against his side.
I open my mouth to tell him of my premonition, but he squeezes my hip and gives me a pointed glance before sauntering down the sidewalk.His lazy prowl doesn’t fool me.He’s alert and ready to face any threat to protect me.
We don’t visit the corner bistro.I hook my fingers into his belt loop near the small of his back and tuck my other thumb into my jeans pocket, placing both my hands near a weapon while securing my hold on him and appearing relaxed.
Mario knows there’s something wrong.I follow his lead, trusting him to keep me safe.
“Use your phone to call Noah,” he says a few blocks away.
He jaywalks us across the road several car lengths away from the intersection, but I focus on wiggling my phone out of my handbag.
By the time I find Noah’s name in my contacts, we’re on a side street out of sight of the jewelers.
I start the call.
A group of men steps out of the alley in front of us.More than four, less than ten.My brain refuses to count.Their expressions curdle my stomach.
Mario pushes me behind him and inches backward as the men move closer.
“Run,paperotta,” he snarls.
I can’t.I can’t leave him.He won’t survive against so many men.
“Keep that phone in your hand andrun,” he demands.
He grips my wrist and peels my fingers off his beltloop.
“Go to the store across the street and wait for me at the counter.Buy me something,” he commands.
Common sense snaps into focus.
He wants me out of the strike zone so he can focus on the threats.
I can’t leave him, but I can run into a convenience store ahead of him.
The men try to box us in against the brick building.
I dart between the parking meter and trash can as a cab passes.The back bumper almost takes out my shin, but I lunge out into traffic and play real life Frogger.
