Page 94 of Seeking Vengeance

“Lay flat,” Matthew demands. “Straight against the ground.”

I don’t comply. I can’t. I cling to him instead, wrapping my arms around his neck, burrowing my head against his shoulder as splinters of glass dig into me from all angles.

The bike grows louder. So close I feel the vibrations in every nerve.

I’m going to die.

I’m going to be shot while plastered to the cement, and my daughter doesn’t even know where I am. I’ll never get to speak to her again.

“I’ve got you.” Matthew keeps me pinned, every inch of him holding me in place as the gunfire recedes, the hacking rumble of the engine speeding into the distance.

Then silence.

There’s only the rasp of my fractured inhales against the ringing in my ears.

“Are you okay?” Matthew inches off me, his gaze frenzied as he scans my face.

“Yeah… I think so.”

“I’m getting you out of here.” He raises to his haunches. “Don’t get up until I tell you.”

I nod, but nothing fully penetrates the shock.

Men snarl and snap above me, the Italian words attacking with none of the beauty they held before.

I turn onto my side and hiss from the broken glass poking through my dress to my ribs, quickly discarding the hazard only for it to be replaced by ten more. I brush my arms, the shouts and screams from strangers rising above the bell tolling in my ears.

Diners slowly drag themselves to their feet in the distance. Others peer over the waist-high hedge from the bike track to take in the destruction. There are offers for help. Calls for the police.

Matthew. Is he okay?

I rake my gaze over him as he snaps words in Italian, scrutinizing the way he stands, how he holds himself, the way he moves his arms, needing to make sure he’s uninjured. Then I focus on Bishop who clutches a gun at his side, and Lorenzo’s guards who do the same, their weapons at home in their grasp as they shield their employer.

The show of defense brings another wave of apprehension.

I assumed they were armed. It’s their job to protect.

But the air of calm under pressure is far too familiar, enough to inspire déjà vu. This snapshot is like so many others in my life. The shattered glass. The screaming women. The men with guns poised to retaliate on an unseen enemy.

“Were you shot?” Matthew demands of his mentor.

My attention snaps to the parting guards who expose Lorenzo sitting on the ground behind them, his hands clutching at his chest.

“No,” he wheezes. “I’m good.”

I push onto shaky hands and knees, needing to see for myself.

“Stay down.” Matthew steps closer, towering over me as he plasters his phone to his ear then barks foreign garble.

“I’m fine,bella.” Lorenzo gives an unconvincing smile, his face starkly pale. “It’s nothing more than the temperamental heart of an old man.”

“We need to leave.” Bishop shoves chairs aside to squat before Lorenzo, helping to pull him to his feet. “That fucker could come back.”

“Who was that?” Questions slam into me. “Who were they targeting?” I look to Matthew, the man who previously told me he had enemies.

He glances away, shoving a hand through his hair as he sneers more Italian into his phone.

My scrambled thoughts turn inward, the need for answers overwhelming.

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