“Do you have your phone?”
She shakes her head. “I… I left it in the car. I’m sorry?—”
“Hey!” Using the crook of my finger, I lift her chin. “Don’t be sorry. We’re okay right now. We’ll get safe and then call.”
We step into the drive alongside the house, careful not to alert anyone inside.
My eyes catch movement down the road.
Headlights appearing, moving slowly.
Too slow for the speed limit.
I pull Valentina back into the shadows.
When the car passes, I guide her along the back tree line several houses down.
We come out along the house and there, in the driveway, I see a nondescript four-door sedan that’s at least thirty years old, old enough that it can be hotwired.
“Come on.” I open the driver’s door. “Get in and put the car in neutral.”
“What are we doing?” Her nose crinkles. The car smells like cigarette smoke and old burger wrappers, but as long as it works, I don’t care.
“I’m going to push us out onto the road and down a few houses so whoever lives here doesn’t realize we’re borrowing their car. Then I’m going to start her up and we’re getting the hell out of here.”
“Borrow?” She lifts a brow.
I shrug.
I half expect her to argue. Instead, she puts one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gearshift, moving it into neutral.
I push her out to the road and down a few houses.
Then I move her to the passenger seat.
It takes me a few minutes to get the car running.
It’s been awhile since I had to hotwire a car. But soon, we’re moving.
I navigate back roads, constantly checking the rearview mirror. Valentina sits beside me, tense and yet, calm.
I keep to smaller roads as I head back to the Intestate.
“We’re not going home?”
“No. They’ll be expecting that.”
She nods and goes quiet again. Just as I’m merging on to 295 headingacross the river toward the Bronx, she turns her pretty grays on me. "He meant to take me.”
“Probably.” I can’t imagine Maksim wanted to kill her, so she’s probably right.
Then again, he’s a fucking sociopath so who knows what he was thinking.
Maybe this was about me and punishing me for putting a gun to his head.
“Will Alessandro still make me marry him?”
I glance at her, not prepared for that question.