Page 137 of Cara
“If I don’t sign ‘em, the world willactuallystop spinning.”
She eyes the work strewn in front of me with repulsion. She’s been here long enough to understand that what’s on the page holds no meaning. The truth actually exists in the fine line between, penned in the blood of us damned.
“The empire will still be standing if you take a few bites of food, Xavier.” She hands me the chilled glass, then crosses the room to gather up her belongings. “Anything I can help with before I go? I have a talent for forging signatures.”
“Go home, Vi.”
Viola grins, slipping into her coat. Summer has come and gone. When dusk falls, the temperature drops. “Don’t stay too late.”
I’ll do justonemore contract. One more sealed envelope.
While taking bites between page flips, the last of the staff leaves. Without them as a distraction, I sign my name on the dotted line, sighing when it’s finally finished.
As I stuff the ledgers in the safe for Dario to review in the morning, the back door swings open and Dante’s frustrated voice resonates through the empty halls. “It’s fucking freezing out there, man.”
“I'm coming.”
“Sophie’s called me twice already. You’re worrying that girl for no good reason.”
I close the safe, locking it. “Why don’t you come here and do my work then?”
Dante appears at the door, leaning against the frame with a teasing grin. “Hellno.”
“No, really?—”
He throws up his hands. “Okay, okay. I take it back.”
Only too eager to get the hell out of here, I grab my coat and wallet, squeezing his shoulder as we head out. “We’ll stop for flowers on the way.”
“Good thinking.”
As we step onto the sidewalk, the wind slices through the tall buildings, battering us both. Dante laughs and zips up his coat while I lock the door.
“How’s Mimi?”
When I receive no an answer from him, I shift my eyes to where he stands, tracking his gaze to a car parked a block away. The headlights are off, but ashen exhaust is pouring onto the empty back street. Shadows in the driver and passenger seats have me gripping his shoulder, urging his legs to move.
“Get in the car.”
Dante doesn’t object when I slide behind the wheel of his Dodge, watching the headlights illuminate in the rear-view mirror. He’s already flinging the glove compartment open, grabbing a pistol and a box of bullets. “Recognize the car?”
“No.”
We merge onto the street, weaving around parked cars.
As anticipated, the Mercedes follows suit.
Both of us are obeying traffic laws until the light turns red just before I can cross it, and I know there’s no way inhellI’m going to slow down.
Dante grips the door as my foot dips onto the accelerator, launching us into traffic. The Mercedes squeals, horns blaring as someone is forced out of their lane. The skyrises blur as our speed soars well beyond what Dante’s old vehicle can handle, wheels sparking as I navigate streets I’ve owned for longer than I can remember.
When a bullet strikes the back of the vehicle, Dante drops down. The following bullet shatters the rear window. My eyes widen, glued to the road, as I hear his buckle unclip while he turns to aim his gun at the car tailgating us. “Dante, don’t.”
“Just keep driving.”
Dante fires a round, hissing when the potholes disrupt his aim. Every second he’s on his knees, unstable and vulnerable to any mistake I might make, it becomes harder to breathe and think clearly.
You know these streets.
