Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
“But I’m using it to my advantage,” she says to no one in particular. “Getting out while I can. Nobody’s ever seen Maria Portello, except you two,” she adds, raising her brow and studying the gun Rocco still has trained on her.
“You would’ve shot me by now if you were going to,” she sighs, sounding bored again.
“Look. I just need a ride to the roadhouse. It’s about two miles up ahead. Drop me there, and I’ll let you have one of these cases,” she purrs.
I noticed Rocco’s huge arms straining as he moved the cases.
Something tells me there’s more than her delicates in each bag.
“And why would I trust you? A Portello?” Rocco growls, unimpressed by her offer so far and looking briefly at me, showing his disappointment that I'm helping her at all.
“Because tonight we’re neither Portello nor Martinelli,” Maria says feverishly, her face flushed, and her strong Calabrese accent is showing through.
“Tonight, we’re free, and if you want your freedom as much as I want mine, then you’ll have no trouble understanding how much I need to get to where I’m going.”
It’s a little overdramatic, but I figure that’s how these people talk most of the time. Every minute of every day is a drama in their world.
“Fine,” Rocco groans, shifting his weight toward the passenger side, jutting his chin toward me.
“I’ll sit right here. You can drive, Jasmine. Try not to hit any potholes…Hate to see Maria’s face painted all over the car.”
But I don’t budge. I don’t make a sound until his eyes find mine.
“I…I don’t drive. I can’t,” I admit, feeling awkward about it for the first time ever.
Rocco looks deflated, and after eyeing his gun, considering whether I could hold it while he drives, he makes the wise decision of choosing neither.
“Fine. I’ll drive, but once we get to that roadhouse, you’re out, Portello,” he growls, spinning the wheels in the mud as we all get moving again.
“Thanks,” Maria murmurs, squeezing my arm gently in what I know is the first real contact she’s had with a real person her whole life.
Okay, maybe the second real person.
“Who are you meeting?” I whisper to her, figuring she must have someone waiting for her.
“Someone who has no idea who I really am,” she says, relieved, settling back into the seat with her hair a mess and make-up to match.
The happiest runaway once she spots the neon glow of the roadhouse.
Rocco pulls off to the side, letting the car come to a stop in some bushes.
“A man after my own heart,” Maria smiles, leaning forward to remind Rocco about keeping one of the cases.
“I’ll leave the biggest one. Hope you make it out, wherever you’re headed,” she tells us both in a smoky voice before clutching her bags and leaving the car without another word.
I watch her lithe figure move swiftly through the night, and then suddenly, like a cat, she’s gone.
“Open the case,” Rocco says in a low tone, sounding like he’s giving me an order rather than asking me.
But my own curiosity has no problems taking instructions.
“Nice luggage,” I remark, running my fingers across the hand stitching, estimating the cost.
I secretly wonder if I could ever have a suitcase like this for myself one day.
“Open it!” Rocco barks, and with a jump of nerves, my fingers snap the locks open.
“Holy shit,” Rocco murmurs. “That’s not what I was expecting.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Rocky
“Is that what I think it is?” Jasmine asks, making a face like she’s about to faint again.
“It looks like it,” I concur. Lifting a wad from the suitcase crammed with fresh bills, smelling mint, straight up.
The kind of freshly minted cash only well-connected criminals ever seem to have.
Sure, we handle ‘dirty money’ every day, but it’s actually never been circulated. Most of what I see still has the original mint mark packaging.
“Why would she…?” Jasmine starts to ask, but recalling the weight of her other two bags as I rub my shoulder, I figure Maria’s left behind just a portion of what she was carrying.
“Traveling light, I guess,” I smile, relieved. At least we have some cash of our own now.
My own finances, once my family discovers what’s really happened, might not be so free-flowing.
But I don’t care about money right now.
I’ve got Jasmine, and my main priority is getting her someplace safe and warm.
Right after I feed us both, that is.
I’m unusually weak with fatigue. And it’s not just from the day I’m having.
I can’t remember the last time I ate or slept.
Since meeting Jasmine, she’s all I’ve been able to focus on.
“Do you people all walk around with suitcases filled with money all the time?” Jasmine asks me.
I start to chuckle but realize she’s being serious.
“We do now,” I inform her, thinking of the case we now have and not even bothering to go into details about how difficult it is to actually come by real money for myself in my world.