Chapter 8

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I can barely see through the smoke and dust. My lungs feel like they're on fire as I desperately try to take in air. Strong arms wrap themselves around my waist and I'm hauled out of the mansion. Utter panic washes over me as I kick and scream before I realize that Luca is the one who had grabbed me. He helps me into a black SUV and before I can put on my seatbelt he's already driving.

He speeds out of the estate and takes off further north, further from the city. Driving with one hand, the other holds a handgun. My heart is pounding in my ears and I now have even more questions than before.

"Luca?" I ask quietly, after more than an hour of speeding on remote highways.

"Possiamo parlare sul jet," he replies, finally glancing over at me, "I need to think right now. We are under attack."
(We can talk on the jet)

I nod my head in response, too afraid to go against his wishes. While he hasn't hurt me, I'm not foolish. I know what he's capable of and I know the stories of his temper. Just because I haven't provoked him yet doesn't mean that I won't in the future.

His kindness has to have a limit.

We pull up to a secluded airport and park right on the tarmac. There are two other black SUVs, littered with bullet holes, when we arrive. Gio and Antonio lean against one of them in deep conversation.

Luca gets out of the car and hurriedly opens the door for me, offering me a hand. I take it, grateful for the steadying presence as my legs shook from fear. His hand finds the small of my back and he leads me to a huge jet. He ushers me up the steps but falls back a few paces to speak to the pilot.

The jet is exquisite. Creme leather seats and oak tables line the sides of the plane. I sink down into one of the couches and close my eyes.

If I close my eyes I can pretend that I'm not here, that I didn't just almost get blown up, that I'm not being carted around by mobsters. I can hear the heavy footfall of men filling the plane but I keep my eyes shut.

"Are you okay?" Luca's voice snaps my eyes open. He is standing less than a foot away from me and I finally am able to get a good look at him.

His typically flawless appearance is disheveled. His hair is messy, tie crooked and loose. His suit is dirty and wrinkled and his Italian leather shoes have creases.

"What just happened?" I ask, hoping that just this once he will answer my question to its entirety.

"It's the Russians," he sighs, sitting down next to me.

He takes my hand in his and interlaces our fingers. I watch as he leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes.

"It's always the fucking Russians," he mumbles to himself.

"Where are we going?" I ask, turning my body to face him fully.

He opens his eyes and glances down at me, "Italy."

The overhead speaker turns on and the pilot gives his little speech. I tune it out for the most part having been on a plane before it's all the same.

"...and please make sure to secure any small items for take off." The speaker clicks off.

"Do you feel secure?" Luca cheekily asks me, a glint of mischief in his eye.

"I'm not small," I huff, crossing my arms. 

"I'd beg to differ, il mio piccolo angelo," he muses, a smile gracing his face.
(My little angel)

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