Page 8 of Shattered King

Fiorella

T wo Weeks Later

“You sure you’re good?” Ernesto frowns at me from under his mop of black hair. He’s the foreman of this garage and the last one to leave for the night.

“Don’t worry about me.” I tap the hood of the Spider with my wrench. “Just got to finish up. If I stop now, I’ll lose all my momentum.”

He grunts, rubbing the back of his head. “I hear you, Fio, but you shouldn’t stay late anymore. You remember what happened a few weeks back.”

I wave his concern away. “Papa’s taking care of that. It was a fluke, right? I’ll be fine. I’ve worked after close a hundred times.”

“Yeah, okay, you’re right.” He hesitates still, but he finally shakes his head. “I wish my guys worked half as hard as you.”

“Give them jobs they actually like, and maybe they would.”

He barks a quick laugh and waves a hand. “Call if you need anything, alright, mija ? I don’t need any more headaches from you.”

“You know me. I’m totally self-sufficient.”

“That’s the problem.”

I watch him go before turning up my radio.

This is the best time of the day, when all of Papa’s guys are gone for a few hours before the real night shift begins in earnest. Ernesto runs a crew of mostly legal employees doing mostly legitimate car work as a front for the actual chop shop activities.

It’s nine at night, and the criminals won’t start showing up until eleven.

Then they work until four in the morning, the place closes for a couple of hours, and the cycle starts all over again.

I’m elbow deep in work and the world fades to nothing. This is what I live for. These stolen moments where I’m alone and doing a job I love. No thoughts, no worries, only pure flow. Simple step after simple step, each one building on the other, until the task is complete.

That’s as free as I get these days.

I have bigger plans. Mostly they involve finishing this car, selling it for a tidy profit, buying a beater, and getting the hell out of Philadelphia with Elisa by my side. We’ll change our names and start over fresh.

It’s fantasy. I know that. Maybe more like delusion. But it keeps me going. We could get a van and live on the move, never stopping for long, driving for hours under the beautiful clear sky. No limits. No worries.

But instead, I’m here in this garage. My hands are covered in black grease and my hair’s all sweaty. I’m tired, but in a good way. Raf will be annoyed that I stayed out late, but he’ll survive.

I haven’t heard from Luca in two weeks. It’s almost like I can forget that I’m supposed to marry him.

Except that night still lingers. Even when I’m here trying to escape the memories. I don’t need his taste in my mouth anymore. I don’t want the ghost of him between my legs. Better if he just doesn’t exist.

Another stupid fantasy.

There’s no running from my problems.

Not for a girl like me. No matter how badly I wish I could.

There’s a noise nearby. I perk my head up and bang it against the edge of the Spider’s undercarriage. “Oh, motherfucking, dick-licking, cockroach, slimebag fuck —” I roll sideways, rubbing my skull and looking around. “Ernesto, is that you? Did you forget something, tio ?”

The garage is dark and empty. I check my watch and realize Ernesto and the rest of them left over an hour ago. Worry fizzes through my stomach like a spark. Nobody should be here, not for another hour at least.

“Hello?” I wait a second, listening. “Hey, is someone here early?”

Total silence. I sigh to myself, shaking my head, and turn back to the car.

Probably a mouse scampering around the edges of the garage knocked over nails or something like that.

But as I start thinking about what I need to do to finish before the night crew shows up, a shadow appears on the car in front of me.

I have a second to open my mouth before a hand clamps down over my face, the fingers digging into my skin.

I scream into a salty, dirty palm, and someone’s arm wraps tightly around my throat. I gag, the scream cut off, and I try to breathe. Panic rams into me. I struggle, kicking and thrashing, hands scrambling all over for purchase, but whoever has me is big. He lifts me up off my feet.

I’m choking. Oh my god, I’m choking. I can’t breathe. My head’s going crazy and my chest tries to heave, but I can’t get anything in. His muscle flexes tighter, and the bastard’s trying to kill me.

I kick and elbow him, but nothing helps. His breathing is ragged and rough in my ear, and he says nothing. I smell his sweat and cigarettes. His boots are dirty and stained. He’s got on jeans.

Panic sets in. Followed by the desperate animalistic fight-or-flight response from somewhere deep inside my chest.

I lash out, but not at him. I shove my feet against the Spider and push as hard as I can, using my last bit of strength to knock him off balance. The man grunts as he hits the workbench behind us.

The radio teeters and falls, smashing onto the floor.

His grip loosens for a moment, just long enough for my hand to snake out and snatch up my favorite wrench.

I whip it up over my shoulder and smash it straight into his face as hard as I can.

“Fuck!” the man growls, and I feel something wet hit the back of my head.

I slam it into him again, and again, and a third time until he finally lets me go, shouting and cursing in pain.

I topple to the floor, gagging and gasping, choking and cursing, all my strength gone as I try to clear the spots from my vision.

I was ten seconds from passing out. Ten seconds from dying.

I crawl away, tears streaming down my face, only thinking about escape and survival.

“Come back here, you fucking bitch,” the man growls and grabs my ankle.

I look back. His nose is flattened. A cut’s bleeding from his eyebrows all down his face. His cheek is bruised and swollen. I don’t recognize him, but I know his type.

Enforcer. Killer. A big man who knows how to end a life.

I kick out and land a blow on his chest, but it’s like pawing at a steel wall. I twist and try to hit him with the wrench again, but he grabs me by the arm and smashes his fist into my face.

My head knocks backwards. The back of my skull bangs into the floor with a dull thud. My ears ring, and I taste blood flowing down my mouth.

“Stupid bitch.” The man throws my wrench aside. “Just stay down and make it easy.”

I try crawling, but he pins me down to the ground and straddles my body. He’s huge, and I can’t move as he wraps his meaty fists around my throat.

I try punching. I try hitting and screaming, but he tightens his grip, fingers digging into my windpipe. I can’t make any noise. I can’t do anything but stare into the angry, bloody, malicious face of my killer.

“Hate these—fucking jobs—god damn—killing women—pain in my ass—” The man’s jaw works, showing crooked teeth. “Fucking bitch, just die?—”

He grunts in surprise as something hits him in the side of the head. I can barely make sense of it, but his grip releases. There’s another person in here, and stupidly, I think it’s Ernesto. But my savior’s much bigger than the daytime foreman.

“You touched my fucking wife ,” he snarls in a malicious, terrifying grunt. It’s a sound I know well. It’s a voice that has been playing through my head for almost a month now. “You piece of fucking shit .”

Each word is punctuated by the blow with the wrench. My favorite wrench.

Luca raises it and smashes it down, again and again, over and over. Blood flows from my attacker’s face as he tries to defend himself, but Luca doesn’t stop. He’s a wild animal. Again and again, the wrench raises and lowers as flesh breaks and bones snap.

I crawl backwards, staring in horror, slowly coming back to myself.

Everything aches. Everything hurts.

I watch Luca beat the man until he doesn’t look like a human anymore, and he keeps going, his arm and clothes drenched in blood.

“Nobody—touches—my fucking—wife .”

Finally, with one last blow, he stops.

A stupid thought floats through my addled brain.

I’m not your wife yet .

The garage falls silent. Luca slowly straightens and lets the wrench clatter to the concrete. I stay on the floor, throat aching, head dizzy, confused, afraid, thankful—a million different emotions, none of them sticking for long.

Luca turns to me.

He’s beautiful and glorious.

Blood’s drenched all over him, and he’s still perfect. I’ve never seen a man look so incredible before. He’s powerful and athletic, and he looks like beating another human into flesh-shaped paste doesn’t even faze him. I’m caught between screaming in terror and throwing myself at him like a maniac.

“I should’ve gotten in here sooner,” he says, kneeling down. Some of the edge in his voice is gone. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” I croak and touch my face. My lip’s bleeding from the punch. “I think so.”

“Shit,” he whispers, touching the wound on my mouth with his thumb. He rubs it gently before putting my blood in his mouth. “Come with me.”

I don’t know what the fuck to say to that.

He reaches out a hand, and I take it.

“What are you doing here?” I gasp as I get to my feet. He pulls me close against him. The dead man’s blood smears on my clothes. The corpse doesn’t move. I try not to look at its horribly mangled face.

“I’ll explain soon. For now, we have to go.” He pulls me toward the door.

“Wait. Wait! Who was that? What’s happening?”

“You’re in danger.” Luca’s jaw flexes. “I should’ve stopped that sooner. I’m sorry, Fiorella.”

“How did you even know ?”

He stops and looks at me. We’re alone in the garage. My head’s slowly clearing, though it’s still throbbing with pain.

“I’ve been watching you day and night for two weeks.”

My mouth drops open. “You’ve been doing what ?”

He grips my hands tightly between his.

“You’re safe now.” His voice is a whisper. “I’ve got you, Fio. Come with me.”

He’s been watching me. I don’t even know what that means. Is my future husband also a stalker now? Is Luca obsessed in some weird way?

Or does he know something that I don’t?

I let him lead me from the garage. Another man’s waiting outside. He’s young and wide-eyed. “Oh, shit,” he says. “You were right.”

“Leo, get in touch with Fiorella’s family. She’s coming home with me tonight.”

“Yeah, okay, right away.”

“Tell the others too. I want Enzo here in ten minutes to check that body for ID. I need to know who’s coming for her.”

“Done.” Leo hurries off at a run.

“Who was that?” I ask stupidly.

“That was a friend. Don’t worry, you’re with me now.”

Luca’s arm wraps around me tightly and pulls me close. God, he’s so big and warm, and he smells good, even covered in blood. I think I’m a total messed-up lunatic, but he’s gorgeous like this—drenched in gore and looking like slaughter.

He helps me into a truck, and I’m too numb to stop this as he drives away.