Page 29 of Stolen Wife
“Again. What makes you think I had shit to do with it? I already explained it to Rafael, the cop that came here, and now you. I’m done with you. I have a motherfucking life to lead that doesn’t include you.”
“What about your mother?”
“I’ve thought about that for a long time. I love her and always will, but I learned to live without needing her. I’m going to miss her, but since you didn’t see fit to let her speak to me when I was locked up, what can I do?”
“I want a meeting.”
With a chuckle, I give him a, “Hell, no.”
“I’ll kill her.”
I do my best to control my rage because I know exactly who he’s referring to, but I don’t want him to know that he can get to me. He spent my entire childhood trying to break me, and I learned to keep him at bay. Now isn’t the time to crack. “Who?”
“Your mother.”
“You’d kill your wife just because I won’t give you a chance to off me again? That’s not logical. Still, that’s wonderful that you said that because I’m having all my calls monitored at the moment. I hope you enjoy prison. Ha. Damn, it’s going to be nice.”
“You are bluffing.” The fool let me hear the hint of panic in his voice.
“We’ll see. Bye.” I hang up and look at Dimitri. “Did you get every word?”
“I did. Now, let’s make the call.” We finally get out of the vehicle and as we start toward the entrance, shots ring out.
“Duck,” I shout.
We both fall to the ground and move out of the line of the shots. Each bullet echoes through the concrete parking garage, ricocheting off the beams. The sound rips through the air, and I’m growing more pissed by the second.
I look over to Dimitri who’s against the exterior wall behind a parked SUV. “Are you hit?” I ask as I keep my head down.
“They got me. I’m sorry.” I crawl over to him just as the bullets stop.
“Son of a bitch.” He’s bleeding from the chest, and I’m praying that he pulls through but it looks pretty fucking rough. There’s blood everywhere. “Dimitri, talk to me.”
“Here’s this.” He extends his arm a little, showing me his briefcase. “Please pass it along to my family. I’m so damn sorry.”
“You have to hang in there.” He’s struggling to breathe, wheezing with every rise and fall of his chest. He must have been hit in the lungs. Shit. I call 911 and practically shout out the information. “I need an ambulance in the 3rd floor section B of the parking garage at Woodbridge Tower. Someone opened fire on my lawyer and me.” I’m shaking as I get the words out.
It feels like forever as I press a shirt from my car to his wound. “Stay with me. Help is on the way.” He chokes up blood as I hear the sirens in the distance. I hope they can save him.
Cautiously, I stand and wave the ambulance over to us. Reluctantly, I step aside to allow them to treat Dimitri.
“Santino, whatever happens...you get your woman,” Dimitri groans out. He closes his eyes, and I pray it’s not the last time. So I’m not as slick as I thought I was. The medics move into action, quickly working on Dimitri.
A notification beeps on my phone. Glad you got the message, Mr. Marchetti.
Who the fuck is this? I type furiously back.
A messenger.
You’re a dead man. You fucked up now. I have to contact Dimitri’s family. He doesn’t have any in the States. The only family is his cousin in Russia. I don’t know anything about that, but I’ll be calling as soon as I can. I’m sure the answers are in his phone or briefcase.
“Sir, you’re bleeding as well.”
“It’s probably Dimitri’s blood,” I tell him without taking my eyes off the scene in front of me.
“No, sir. It’s dripping down your arm.” I look down and see that I have a decent-sized tear in my suit and flesh. It didn’t go through the skin.
“He’s more important.”