Chapter 7

Reinaldo

“Fuck,” I roared as bullets soared our direction through the falling snow. The windows of the limestone building splintered, raining shards down on the sidewalk. Kneeling behind the rental car, I scanned the other side of the street. Darkness filled the lanes of a drive-thru bank. My gun was out of the holster and cocked in less than three seconds.

Em shoved Jasmine into the back seat, telling her to lie down before screaming at me. “Entra en la m****a del coche.”

Get in the car.

It went against my instinct to run. I was a fighter and a winner. I didn’t walk away from a battle. Scanning the darkness in the direction I knew that the shots originated from, I aimed my gun. There was a flash or a reflection a millisecond before a bullet hit the car. I emptied a magazine, unsure what or if I hit someone. 

“Dame la llave,” Em yelled.

As I started to load another magazine, my gaze caught Jasmine, lying on the car floor in a fetal position. Her eyes were closed, dark makeup ran under her eyes, and she was trembling. Snowflakes still clung to her long hair, the white standing out against the red.

“Fuck.” This might be a usual day for me and Em, but it wasn’t for her.

I patted the key fob in my pocket before jumping in the front seat. My pistol was reloaded by the time Em started the car and hit the accelerator, driving us away from the battle I longed to finish.

Cursing in two languages, Em and I watched our mirrors and checked the side streets for more Russians. Once we were at least a quarter mile from the club, I turned. Jasmine was no longer on the floor. She looked as if she might be praying. Her face was buried in her hands on the seat, and her knees were on the floorboard. I reached for her shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head and pulled away from my touch.

“Fuck.” I laid my head back against the seat.

The capo would know about this. He might already know. That’s what his soldiers were for, to update him on the happenings in his city. Probably before we returned, he’d get word of cartel and Russian gunshots.

I wiped my face with my hands and shot Em an oh-fuck glance.

“Jasmine, please talk to us,” Em said.

“I’m fine.” Her words were clipped as she moved to a seated position, wiped her face with the back of her hand, and gasped for air.

Turning back, I looked at her in the strobing light from the overhead streetlights. Her complexion was pasty white.

“Stop the car,” I said to Em. “Stop the car before we get on the highway.”

“I’m already—”

“Fuck,” I growled as I climbed between the front seats and over the console. It wasn’t easy to get my long legs bent and my loafers through the space. Finally, I made my way to the back seat, lowered my tone and softened my timbre. “Jasmine, let me look at you.”

She nodded, her lips pale.

I reached for her wrist. Beneath my fingertips, her pulse thumped rapidly. Looking in her blue eyes, I noticed her dilated pupils. Feigning calm, I smiled. “I need you to breathe for me.”

“I’m breathing.” Her words came out in gasps.

“Deep breaths.” I sat tall and inhaled. “Come on. Do what I do.”

“This is silly—” She looked past me to the rearview mirror.

Em spoke, “You could be in shock or going into shock.”

Her hand went to her chest. “I can’t get enough air.”

I held both of her hands in mine. They were like holding ice cubes. “You can. Look at me.” Slowly, her gaze met mine. “We’re safe. You’re safe. Now, deep breaths in…”

Jasmine complied.

In.

Out.

We breathed together as Em drove us back to the penthouse.

“You did great back there,” Em said.

Jasmine blinked and exhaled. She retrieved her hands and pulled the zippered sweatshirt from the floor before putting it on. Once she had her arms in the sleeves, she rested her hands on her lap.

I, once again, took her hand in mine.

Her beautiful blue eyes slowly met mine. “I was scared.”

“Good,” I replied, “normal people should be scared.”

“Were you?”

I shook my head. “We aren’t normal, Jasmine. That’s what we do.”

She inhaled, her nostrils flaring. “One time” —she seemed to be on the verge of tears— “a man broke into my apartment. We think he roofied Piero.”

I tightened my grip of her hand. “What happened?”

“He beat me up—wanted to scare me, but Piero woke, and he shot the man in the arm. We got away. That all came back to me at the sound of the shots.”

More questions came to my mind—was she injured? Did he violate her? I knew now wasn’t the time to ask her to relive either trauma. Pink was returning to her lips, and her hand was warmer than it had been minutes before.

I settled on the seat beside her and wrapped my arm around her shoulders, tugging her closer. It took a moment, but slowly, she began to relax. The tension eased from her muscles as she rested her face against my shoulder. “You’re safe and the capo will probably kill Em and me on sight.”

Jasmine lifted her head. “No, he won’t.”

My gaze met Em’s in the rearview mirror. If we were smart, we’d take her home. Get her safely to the elevator. Ensure she’s ascending to the penthouse and head straight to California. There were a few problems with that plan.

Number one, mí padre and madre are staying in the Ozarks, at the capo’s mother’s home.

Number two, I meant what I said when I told Jasmine I wanted to marry her.

Once again, Jasmine rested her head. “It’s okay if you didn’t mean it.” Her voice was almost too soft to hear.

Reaching for her chin, I turned her face until I could see her gorgeous eyes. “Mean what?”

“What you said at the club. El Patrόn will want his son to marry someone better than me.”

“Marry?” Em questioned from the front seat.

She craned her neck, bringing her sapphire-blue eyes into view. “By Mafia standards, I’m now spoiled, having been out unsupervised with the two of you.” She shrugged. “My sister wasn’t interested in their traditions, but I can tell Dario respects them.”

“That’s bullshit,” Em said. “We went for a drink. You weren’t ravaged.”

“No,” she said, “just shot at.”

My teeth were about to crack from the pressure.

“You’re not spoiled,” Em reiterated. “What the fuck about marriage?”

I repeated what I’d told Jasmine. Mí padre and the capo were in negotiations.

Em struck the steering wheel with his hand. “So is my father.”

“M****a de toro. That’s not possible.” My volume rose. “Andrés would need to go through mí padre first.”

Jasmine sat up, pulling away from me. “Stop it. I’m not coming between friends. After all, you both saved me tonight.”

For the next few minutes, silence prevailed. Not in my head. In my thoughts, I was challenging Em to a duel to the death. And then I remembered Herrera and the Russians. Our cartel didn’t need infighting. We needed to be what the capo said: one family.

No longer resting her head on my shoulder, Jasmine sat pensively looking out the window. She wasn’t currently an open book. Her expression was neutral in a way that would make the capo proud.

Em broke the silence. “We also got you into the mess.”

Jasmine twisted her own hands in her lap. “Once Dario learns about tonight…”

She didn’t finish her sentence, but we both knew upsetting the capo dei capi wasn’t the way to win Jasmine’s hand.

“The pass for the garage is in the console,” I said as we approached the entrance to the capo’s building.

As Em reached for it, Jasmine asked, “How did you get the pass?”

“Dante gave it to me.”

She shook her head. “As soon as you scan that card, they’ll know we’re entering the garage.”

“Maybe they’ve been too busy to notice we were gone,” Em said hopefully.

I reached for my phone and turned it on to see eight missed calls. If that wasn’t enough proof, the gathering of suited men near the elevator as we turned into the private garage let us know that they noticed.

“Fuck.”