Captive of My Mafia Crush Chapter 94

I don’t even bother to close the door behind me, because Christian’s already in his seat, already hitting the gas. I just scream and duck my head down as low as I can, and the movement of the car peeling away from the house slamming my door behind me.

But…we drive. Which mean’s Christian’s alive, and my own fear tells me that I am too.

That we’re alive.

I’m gasping with my fear, my eyes pressed shut as I try to duck down further, terrified that I’m going to be shot. But the car picks up speed, and Christian weaves around corners and down streets, cutting the edges of sidewalks in his hurry to get away.

It’s only when I feel the car slow a little, getting into the ways of normal traffic, that I crack open my eyes, desperate to know.

When I look up, little sobs I didn’t know I was making slipping from beneath my lips, Christian is looking frantically over his shoulder, trying to assess whether or not we’re being followed. As he does, I let my eyes move over him, desperately afraid that he’s hurt – that he was shot –

But…there’s no sign of it.

“Christian,” I whisper, doing my best to sit up a little, though it’s hard with my hands pinned behind me still. “Are you – are you okay?”

“Am I fucking okay!?” he shouts, making me jump a little. “Iris! Are you okay!?”

I ignore his question, though, still desperately afraid for him. “Did they shoot you?” I ask, frantic, my words breathy and terrified.

He takes a moment to glance back at the road, still driving fast, and then shakes his head before sending a frustrated glance back to me. “No, Iris,” he says, quieter now, calmer. “They didn’t shoot me. Okay? I’m fine – I promise I’m fine. This is about you.”

A relieved breath escapes my lungs and I feel my body unwind, relaxing back against the seat as my eyes flutter closed in relief.

If anything happened to Christian – if he had gotten hurt because he was trying to help me –

God, I couldn’t forgive myself for that.

“Iris,” he snaps, and my eyes fly open, worried again, to see him looking over at me. “This isn’t about me, all right? It’s about you. I need you to tell me, right now, if you’re okay. Or if you need to take you to a hospital.”

I take a quick assessment of myself. “I don’t need to go to a hospital,” I murmur, shaking my head, thinking that it’s right. Because as much as my body aches in all the places that they hit me…again, I don’t think they did any permanent damage.

I think I was valuable enough to keep whole. I think that they always intended to return me to the Romano family, for whatever they felt I was worth.

And they knew they’d incur less wrath if they kept me in one piece.

Christian looses a long breath and I turn my attention back to him, watching the focus with which he concentrates on the road, the tension in his hands as they grip the steering wheel. And I frown a little because…because something about this is not quite right.

I just haven’t figured out what. Not yet.

“Where are we going?” I whisper, needing more details. “Back to the penthouse?”

Christian shakes his head, his lips pressed to a thin line. But he doesn’t say anything.

I don’t push, letting silence fall in the car.

“Just…give me a minute to think,” Christian says quietly, almost under his breath, sending a glance my way. “I’m sorry, Iris – things are happening really fast. Just…a moment to think, all right?”

“All right,” I reply, a little lamely. But he nods, and focuses on the road, and I can almost see the thoughts running through his head as he drives. I watch him carefully, my body feeling more relaxed as every inch of road slips beneath the wheels of our car. As horrible as everything is – and has been – I start to feel it again.

Safety. Safety.

Because I’m in Christian’s control again, and I know he won’t let anything happen to me. Not anymore.

I’m almost lulled into a state of distraction – I am exhausted, after all – when Christian begins to slow the car and pulls to the side of the road, turning into the parking lot of a gas station with a convenience store attached. I look around, surprised to see that we’re out in the suburbs now – that there’s much less traffic, and the only people around are going about their day completely unaware of our drama, too distracted by their own mundane lives.

“What are we doing?” I ask, a little afraid at the change. Honestly, if we’d kept driving for hours – weeks, years – I might have felt better.

“We’re getting those cuffs off you,” Christian murmurs, pulling into a spot towards the empty back of the parking lot.

“Oh,” I say, sitting up a little – because I honestly forgot about them. Though I don’t know how I did – not with the ache in my shoulders, and the steady piercing pain of the tight metal against my wrists.

Christian parks the car and keeps it running as he turns to me, reaching out a hand to put on my shoulder.

I look around, anxious, wondering if we’ve been followed.

“We’re all right, Iris,” Christian murmurs, and I return my eyes to his pretty blue-grey ones, which look at me with such assurance that I let out a long breath.

“Are you sure?” I whisper.

He nods slowly. “We haven’t been followed, which…honestly is kind of a miracle. So, now it’s just us and the open road. We can take a minute, here, to make sure we have what we need.”

“Need?” I ask, baffled. “For what?”

“For our trip,” he says, his voice easy and cheerful, the way I’ve heard parents talking to children when they want to calm them down and convince them everything is fine. Christian tugs on my shoulder a bit, bidding me to turn around so that he can get to the cuffs.

“What are you talking about, Christian?” I murmur, confused but doing as he says and turning so that he has access to my wrists.

I hear him hiss, a little, when he sees the bruises all over my arms. But his fingers are gentle as they slip down my forearm, inspecting the cuffs. I glance over my shoulder to see him pull a small piece of metal out of the console beneath the dashboard – a paperclip, or something similar. Then I turn my face away, letting him get to work.

“I’m taking about running, Iris,” Christian murmurs as he works. “We’ve got to get out of here, hide you away for a bit. Hide me away, too.”

As he speaks, I hear a little click and then I gasp at the relief I feel in my right wrist. I groan as I shift my shoulder in its joint, turning my arm to again hold it in front of me. It’s incredibly painful, shifting the muscles that haven’t been moved this way in hours, but it’s the good kind of pain that just feels so right.

Another click, and I feel the same relief on my other wrist. Moaning a little at how good it feels, I bring my arm around to the front and – even though it feels like something people just do in the movies – I begin to rub palms over my wrists, desperate to soothe the ache there. As I do, I turn back to Christian, looking him in the face.

“We’re running?” I whisper, fear blending with my physical relief in a very strange way.

He holds my gaze steadily. “Yes, Iris. We’re running.”

And as I stare into his eyes I realize, for the first time…

Just how fucking bad this is.

Because Frankie isn’t here, and neither is Nico. Which means that Christian – he did this on his own. And if he’s running? It means that for the first time in his mafia life…Christian doesn’t have backup.

Which means his dad didn’t support him in this – in his rogue attack on the Bonetti family to go and get the girl the Marino family was questioning.

Rogue.

My eyes go wide as I realize it. That Christian – he’s defied his family, and attacked another, all when he was probably expressly told not to.

That Christian’s gone rogue, and he’s done it for me.

And it’s probably going to get us both killed.