For one single second, my heart stopped.
I thought Rocco had discovered my duplicity and was letting me know I would pay the price for it.
But no.
The stupid oaf was only bragging about his evil deeds like some villain in a bad action movie. He was trying to rile me up, attacking the woman because he assumed I was the weak leak and a little provocation would reveal whether Dante had a revenge plan for him or not.
I blinked at him mildly, the fire in my soul hid entirely by my icy casing. “A mali estremi, estremi rimedi,” I said coolly as if I understand that he’d only been doing his job.
Literally translated it was an idiom that meant ‘to extreme evils, extreme remedies,’ or in English, desperate times call for desperate measures.
But I was referring more literally to the evil of the man himself and the upcoming remedies we were putting into place to end his tyranny.
Rocco grin was smug as he squeezed my hand, patting it the way one would a puppy’s head. “You’re a good girl.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Oh, Don Abruzzi, I promise you, I’m not.”
He frowned, but let go of me so Tore, Frankie, and I could filter out of the church with the rest of the guests. Everyone stood in a mass as they wished the happy couple well, calling to them as they made their way quickly down the parted line of guests to the car that awaited them.
Dante opened the passenger side door for Mira, but they were side tracked by Tore who had surged forward to speak quietly with them. Rocco frowned beside me, muttering under his breath.
“If you’re planning any funny business, I’ll shoot you and your wife straight through the skull,” he reminded Frankie and I before turning to one of his goons, ordering him to see Dante and Mira into the waiting car.
I watched with my heart in my throat as the thug powered through the crowd and grabbed Mira’s arm.
Cazzo.
A moment later, Dante was punching him in the throat, the man’s gurgling cry of pain discernable even over the noise of the partygoers. Someone screamed as the goon tried to swing at Dante, but missed.
He’d made a mistake going for the bride.
Dante picked the man up by the neck as if he was a sack of potatoes and threw him into the open passenger side of the car. He reached for Mira and pulled her behind his back as he faced down the struggling Italian still stuck in the car.
To this day, I don’t know what happened.
If he accidently pressed the gas pedal in his quest to get upright or if the thing was on a timer set to blow at a certain point after the door was open.
If Rocco saw the skirmish and decided to get it over with by pulling the trigger himself.
But one second later there was a mighty rip, like God tearing apart the heavens.
And seconds after that, the car exploded.
Seventeen
Elena
Heat rolled out from the explosion like a mushroom cloud, singing my eyebrows, burning my skin. Smoke followed quickly after that, obscuring the sight of the ruined car, setting everyone in the vicinity to a hacking cough as those uninjured struggled to get to safety. The fire was contained to the vehicle, but the air was waxy with heat.
Frankie and Tore both had their arms around me, shielding me with their bodies in a way that made my heart ache.
“Andiamo,” Tore ordered in a harsh rasp as he sucked in that acrid smoke. “Quickly, now.”
“But––”
“They be fine,” Frankie assured me when I clutched at him, paralyzed with fear. “He pushed her to the ground a second before it blew. He might be hurt, but he’ll survive.”
Still, I scoured the sight for signs of his black hair or her long, singed veil as Frankie tugged me along after him across the piazza and down a side alley.
“Did you know the car would go off?” I demanded as we came to an abrupt stop at a vintage red Vespa.
Tore was nowhere in sight, but I didn’t worry, the Don could take care of himself and he’d been with us, unharmed, after the crash.
“No, the stronzo obviously had it as a contingency plan if he felt Dante, Tore, and I were up to something.” He handed me a little red helmet and straddled the Vespa.
I blinked at him, maybe a little disorientated from the explosion. “You look ridiculous.”
He did.
Frankie wasn’t as tall or wide as Dante, but he was a big guy in a Prada suit on a tiny scouter tourists and university students used to get around the city.
“Dai,” he ordered. “Get on, Elena. We don’t have much time.”
I put on the helmet immediately, taking my place behind Frankie and wrapping my arms around him.