amazing.
He walked farther, feeling more secure. His Cadillac was shot up pretty bad. It was also boxed in by two of Gambino’s vehicles, one of which was the van on fire.
A police siren wailed in the distance.
Gotta get the fuck out.
Not a single vehicle was available to use. They were either on fire or shot to shit. He knew he had to hustle. In minutes, the area would be littered with cops, and dogs would search every square inch. At least a ten-mile radius would be shut down.
He looked up at the sound of a car approaching. Not a cop car. No flashing lights. He walked up to the shoulder of the road. The car was coming fast, but slowed as it approached the flames. A Ford Mustang with the interior light on.
That’s weird. Why’s the interior light on?
When the Mustang was fifty paces out, Vincenzo stepped from hiding and, with his legs spread, aimed the gun two-handed at the driver of the vehicle.
It didn’t slow. In fact, in the last few seconds before the vehicle was upon Vincenzo, it sped up.
Vincenzo fired a bullet into the windshield as a warning.
“Pull over,” he shouted. “I need your car.”
Vincenzo didn’t have time to jump. He’d waited too long. He’d just walked out of a hangar full of dead men, surrounded by dead men, the only survivor. Surely a car would stop for him, or at least veer away from an invincible mafia leader. When he shot a warning at the vehicle, he thought for sure the driver would lose control. All it caused the driver to do was hit the gas pedal.
The Mustang hit Vincenzo at the knees, knocking him onto the hood of the car at forty-five miles per hour. Vincenzo rolled up and smashed into the windshield, and then tumbled over the car, clearing the trunk on his way to the ground.
The driver slammed on his brakes and pulled to a stop on the side of the road.
The pain was intense and all-encompassing. He lay at an odd angle. His hips weren’t meant to twist that way. Only his right eye still worked. In his peripheral vision, the back of his left foot rested near his shoulder.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He lay there, breathing slower and slower.
A young man ran up and stood over him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you. I was watching the fire over there. Then something hit my windshield. I panicked and then you jumped in front of my … Oh, man, I’m in so much trouble. I’m sorry, mister. I’ll call an ambulance.”
The young man moved away from Vincenzo’s vision, crying, whispering crazy things. Then he was talking on his phone to someone.
“Rosina, it’s Darwin. I’m sorry. I couldn’t see him in the dark, honey” he paused, then, “I don’t have to call the cops … I see a ton of them coming now. I’m sorry, Rosina. I’ll call you when this is over.”
The man didn’t hang up. He sounded angry and distraught. The guy asked whoever he was talking to how things could get messed up so bad, and what would her parents think of him since they’re engaged.
Hey kid, I’m dying here. Can you worry about your fiancée and her parents later? Call a fucking ambulance.
Vincenzo closed his one good eye. He was tired. Breathing became a serious chore. He fell asleep. The blood oozing out of all his open wounds stopped flowing.
His heart had stopped.
Chapter 1
Darwin handed the key to the man at the desk. He took a good look around the room for anyone watching them in any way beyond normal suspicion, but the small lobby was deserted. It was only his new wife, Rosina, himself, and the clerk, who didn’t look suspect.
“How was your stay?” the clerk asked in his accented English.
“Great,” Rosina answered him. “We had a fabulous time in Rome. Loved the Coliseum. Thanks.”
Darwin grabbed his backpack, slipped both arms through the straps, and grabbed their one suitcase.
“Let’s go, hun. We
He walked farther, feeling more secure. His Cadillac was shot up pretty bad. It was also boxed in by two of Gambino’s vehicles, one of which was the van on fire.
A police siren wailed in the distance.
Gotta get the fuck out.
Not a single vehicle was available to use. They were either on fire or shot to shit. He knew he had to hustle. In minutes, the area would be littered with cops, and dogs would search every square inch. At least a ten-mile radius would be shut down.
He looked up at the sound of a car approaching. Not a cop car. No flashing lights. He walked up to the shoulder of the road. The car was coming fast, but slowed as it approached the flames. A Ford Mustang with the interior light on.
That’s weird. Why’s the interior light on?
When the Mustang was fifty paces out, Vincenzo stepped from hiding and, with his legs spread, aimed the gun two-handed at the driver of the vehicle.
It didn’t slow. In fact, in the last few seconds before the vehicle was upon Vincenzo, it sped up.
Vincenzo fired a bullet into the windshield as a warning.
“Pull over,” he shouted. “I need your car.”
Vincenzo didn’t have time to jump. He’d waited too long. He’d just walked out of a hangar full of dead men, surrounded by dead men, the only survivor. Surely a car would stop for him, or at least veer away from an invincible mafia leader. When he shot a warning at the vehicle, he thought for sure the driver would lose control. All it caused the driver to do was hit the gas pedal.
The Mustang hit Vincenzo at the knees, knocking him onto the hood of the car at forty-five miles per hour. Vincenzo rolled up and smashed into the windshield, and then tumbled over the car, clearing the trunk on his way to the ground.
The driver slammed on his brakes and pulled to a stop on the side of the road.
The pain was intense and all-encompassing. He lay at an odd angle. His hips weren’t meant to twist that way. Only his right eye still worked. In his peripheral vision, the back of his left foot rested near his shoulder.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He lay there, breathing slower and slower.
A young man ran up and stood over him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you. I was watching the fire over there. Then something hit my windshield. I panicked and then you jumped in front of my … Oh, man, I’m in so much trouble. I’m sorry, mister. I’ll call an ambulance.”
The young man moved away from Vincenzo’s vision, crying, whispering crazy things. Then he was talking on his phone to someone.
“Rosina, it’s Darwin. I’m sorry. I couldn’t see him in the dark, honey” he paused, then, “I don’t have to call the cops … I see a ton of them coming now. I’m sorry, Rosina. I’ll call you when this is over.”
The man didn’t hang up. He sounded angry and distraught. The guy asked whoever he was talking to how things could get messed up so bad, and what would her parents think of him since they’re engaged.
Hey kid, I’m dying here. Can you worry about your fiancée and her parents later? Call a fucking ambulance.
Vincenzo closed his one good eye. He was tired. Breathing became a serious chore. He fell asleep. The blood oozing out of all his open wounds stopped flowing.
His heart had stopped.
Chapter 1
Darwin handed the key to the man at the desk. He took a good look around the room for anyone watching them in any way beyond normal suspicion, but the small lobby was deserted. It was only his new wife, Rosina, himself, and the clerk, who didn’t look suspect.
“How was your stay?” the clerk asked in his accented English.
“Great,” Rosina answered him. “We had a fabulous time in Rome. Loved the Coliseum. Thanks.”
Darwin grabbed his backpack, slipped both arms through the straps, and grabbed their one suitcase.
“Let’s go, hun. We
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