Page 15 of Moretti Captive
I wouldn’t know. My mom has always been… complicated.
When the waitress comes in, I realize that I haven’t even looked at the menu. That doesn’t matter, though, because Vin just orders for the both of us. I order a soda, and he orders a Japanese whiskey. Then he smiles at me once the waitress leaves, “If you don’t want to drive home, I can call my driver to pick us up.”
I smile and shrug, “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I took you for a drive.”
He laughs, “Yeah. To be honest, though, I’m kind of glad that it happened. We got to meet you.”
Okay… Something in me is definitely broken. Why the hell does that make me happy? Maybe I should book the room next to my mother in the mental hospital.
Our drinks are brought in shortly before the sushi. I realize that he mostly ordered rolls with cooked fish or crab. I try a bit of all of them. The fish is fresh, and I would hate to see the bill for a dinner like this.
When we finish, we both sit back in our seats with a sigh. “That was really good. Thank you for dinner,” I tell him.
A small, shy smile spreads across his lips. “You’re welcome. Now, do you want dessert?”
I shake my head, “I’m so full I might literally explode if I try to eat anything else.”
Vin laughs, “Okay then. Let’s head back home.”
He stands from the table, and I do the same but then pause, “Don’t we need to pay first?”
He waves his hand, “Nah. We own the place, so they’ll just subtract it from our net profits for the month.”
My mouth opens at that, but nothing comes out. I don’t know much about their ‘organization’ from what I do know, it’s some kind of mafia or criminal network kind of thing. If it’s passed along down the family, that makes me lean toward mafia.
What the hell have I gotten myself into? I seem to be asking myself that question a lot lately.
Secretly, a part of me just wants to get a look at their books. I want to see how they’re making all their less-than-legal income look legit. They’ve got to be cooking the books somehow, and I just want to see if I can spot the lies.
I follow Vin out into the cool night. He holds the keys out for me, and I accept them. Grabbing my hand, he stops at the curb. We have to wait a few minutes to cross for cars to pass. Next to the car, I reach for the handle of the door at the same time Vin does.
We smile at each other. We’re too busy smiling at each other like fools to notice the car slowing with their window down. Vin notices first, glancing over as a hand sticks out of the window holding a handgun pointed directly at me. The world seems to slow down, and I can’t seem to make myself move.
Vin yells something before he grabs me by the shoulders and takes me to the ground. The noise of the gun is still loud in my ears. Nobody really tells you that a silencer doesn’t completely silence a gunshot.
“You’re okay. You’re okay. It’s all going to be okay,” Vin practically chants as he continues to hold me.
I don’t feel any pain besides where my back hit the pavement. Vin’s hand is holding the back of my head to protect it. I feel a warmth trickling down my arm. I pull it free from between us to find blood smeared all over me. Oh shit! Did I just get shot?
Vin winces, and I realize that I’m not the one that was hurt; he is. Running my hands over him, I realize his shirt is soaked with blood. I roll him off of me and onto his stomach as gently as I can to find the bullet wounds. He was shot at least twice. I don’t even think about it as I rip my T-shirt off over my head and press it to the bleeding wounds over his left shoulder.
“Fuck. It’s gonna be fine,” I tell him.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I dial 911 while keeping pressure on the wounds with my other hand. I put the phone on speaker and put it on the pavement next to us so I can use both hands to put as much pressure on his shoulder as I can.
“911, what is the nature of your emergency?” a man’s voice says from the speaker.
“Please help! We need an ambulance. He was shot. There’s so much blood!” I don’t even know what I’m saying, the words are just coming out of my mouth.
“What is your location?” he asks, and I can hear typing in the background.
“We’re in front of a restaurant.” I look up and read the sign. “It’s called Oishii. I don’t know what road this is. I can’t see any signs from where I am.”
“Are you in Manhattan?”
“Yes!” I shout, still putting all my strength into keeping pressure on Vin’s shoulder.
“Okay, ma’am, help is on the way. Have you administered any CPR? Is he breathing?” I take a deep breath to calm myself. Someone was coming to help. “Ma’am?” the operator calls out when I don’t answer right away.
