Page 18 of Mafia Heiress
“Fuck. I…” I try to think of the next thing my father would do. How he would get out of this, but it slips past me. I keep replaying the images of Annette getting shot. It’s like on a loop.
“Jack, you need to leave,” Marcello says, taking my hand and placing it in his gloved one. I look at the black latex and the dried red blood all over our hands and I snap out of it.
“Right, let me get my to-go bag and you can drop me off somewhere.”
I rush into my room and drop to my knees once I get into my closet. I lift up a shoe box and punch in the keycode to my safe. I pull over one of my Louis Vuitton travel bags and shove cash and passports inside. Clothes go in next and a bunch of documents that I could need if I can never come back to this house.
“I’m taking you to Dante,” Ciro says, from the closet door.
I snap the safe shut, push back the box, and flick off the lights. He follows me down the steps. I bend and pick up my SIG from where I threw it and secure it in the back of my jeans.
“Why Dante?” I ask, moving another painting by the door. I place my finger on the scanner and it clicks open. I pull out the few boxes in there and pick up another piece, this one is my father’s Smith & Wesson. I always envied this gun. I throw it and another stack of papers into the suitcase and am out the door in less than ten minutes.
Ciro hands me my pocketbook that I chucked next to the stoop and we make our way to his car. I can hear the sirens in the distance, and when we pull out of the parking spot, lights shine behind us. We made it out just in time.
“Because he’s safe.”
“What?”
“You asked why Dante. I said cause he’s safe. You need to go somewhere and let us handle this. You can’t be in the middle, as much as you want to be.”
“I’m sorry, for a second I thought you said you were dropping me off with Dante so he could babysit me.”
He opens his mouth and closes it, but his jaw ticks. “It’s not like that.”
“No? Then tell me how it is,Mr. Mafioso.”
“Jack…”
“Ciro…”
“Fuck, you’re a pain in the ass. How are you ever going to be my wife?”
I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. I’m covered in blood, guns and cash in my vintage Louis Vittoun bag, my SIG strapped on my back, and this asshole wants to know how I’m going to behiswife.
“I’d shut up before that foot of yours goes deeper down your throat.”
He turns to continue arguing, but I ignore him, ripping off my tank top. I have to change in order to get past the doormen at my building. My bra is covered in blood too, it’s got to go.
I chuck the shirt and the bra in the back, before I rifle through my bag to grab a clean white t-shirt. I don’t have another bra, so this will have to do. The car swerves to the right and I’m jostled into the window.
“What the fuck, Ciro?” I say, righting myself before tossing my shirt on.
“Your tits were out!”
“So? You had to drive into the sidewalk?”
“Your. Tits. Were. Out.”
“You’re starting to sound like you've never seen boobs before,” I say, clicking off my seat belt and shucking my pants off. I’m wearing a thong, so I can only imagine what he’s going to think when he sees all this nakedness.
“Jack, you're giving me a raging hard on right now. You’re getting naked in my fucking car. You’ve got a gun in your waistband and you’re hot as fuck. My dick can’t take much more of this.”
“Any other day, Ciro, and that would have sounded poetic, but right now I gotta get the blood off me so we can get into my building. There’s no way those Upper East Side snobs are gonna let me in covered in blood.”
I slip on my leggings and tuck the SIG into the duffle. There’s no way my leggings are going to hold it in place. I grab some baby wipes out of the side pocket and wipe the blood as best as I can from my neck and chest.
The air conditioner is cold in the car and with the added wetness, my nipples pebble through the shirt. A groan comes from the driver’s seat and Ciro is slumped over with his knuckles in his mouth. He’s biting down pretty hard.
