Page 39 of Broken Promises
Here you go, baby.
I pace the living room back and forth for fifteen more minutes before Julij arrives in a whirlwind of blond hair and a steel-gray suit. He wraps his arms around my middle and lifts me a foot off the floor to peck my cheek in greeting: something he refrains from doing when Dante’s around.
“What do you need, sugar?” he asks, throwing himself against the couch, a sly smile on his face.
“How do you know I need something?”
“You told me to come as soon as possible. You sounded upset. Dante isn’t here. Your hands are shaking,” he counts, bending one finger at every point. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” I glance toward the door leading to the garage, motioning for Julij to follow me downstairs. I’m not allowed out of the house, so I have to settle for the company of Dante’s many cars if I want to avoid prying ears.
Julij cocks an eyebrow, watching me for a moment as he rests his back against the Charger. I wonder if asking him for help is a good idea. Their business partnership has evolved into something close to a friendship. I’m not sure if I can trust Julij. Too bad I’m desperate and have no one else to turn to. Five days in lockdown and under constant surveillance is starting to take its toll on my agitated mind.
Dante’s unusually tense mood doesn’t help.
“I want to see Jess, and Dante won’t let me.”
Julij’s lips curl into an exaggerated horseshoe. “You poor thing! Would you like me to scold him?” he dramatizes with a chuckle. “Dante’s right, sugar. You shouldn’t leave the house no matter the reason; that’s one and two: are you one hundred percent sure you can trust Jess?”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t?”
“I’m not saying anything. I’m asking.”
With visible satisfaction, he lights a cigarette, inhaling a cloud of smoke. He closes his eyes briefly, letting it all out, surrounding himself with the gray cloud. The smell of tobacco hits my face, tempting me for the first time ever. I shake my head, dismissing the urge to snatch his cigarette.
For a moment, I watch the delight on his face, the longish blond hair, and blue eyes that seem lighter because of the steel jacket and snow-white shirt he wears. He’s a younger version of his father, their kinship unmistakable, but unlike Mr. Capone, Julij has a sense of style. Modern elegance. No hats or lengthy coats.
“I don’t know if I can trust her, but I want to see her. Who knows how long I have left? Dante won’t take care of everyone, even if he bends over backward—”
“He will,” Julij says, rubbing his temple in small circles. “He’ll walk on fucking water to make sure you’re safe. So, will I. We’ll bring this to an end, sugar. Don’t doubt us.”
I force a smile. He firmly believes that, but approaching the matter realistically, a happy end is out of the question. “Will you help me? I’d like to leave before Dante comes back.”
Julij stares at something behind me with a frown. Or maybe he’s staring into space, chasing his own thoughts. I’m not sure if he’s wondering how to sneak me out of the house or how to let me down easily.
If he saysno, I’ll have to steal one of the cars and drive it myself. That might be an even worse idea than going with Julij. At least he has a gun and knows how to use it properly. I might’ve shot targets with Luca, but I'd be useless in the face of danger.
Julij inhales again, puffs up his cheeks, and parts his full lips, blowing out the smoke slowly, making a tasty-looking show of it. “Dante will lose his shit when he finds out. And he will. Fast. Probably within fifteen seconds of the garage door opening.” He pushes away from the car. “No way I can get you past security unnoticed, so we’ll do it Toretto-style.”
“Toretto?”
He rolls his eyes. “And you call yourself an American? “The Fast and the Furious” ring a bell? It’s a movie with impressive, high-speed car chases.” He looks around the cars in the garage until his gaze stops on Dante’s custom-tuned, neon green Challenger.
“That’s not very clandestine.” I frown when he snatches the key from the hanger by the stairs.
“True, but there’s nothing faster here. They’ll realize you want to run when we open the garage door, so we need a good kick to start with, and this,” he trails his fingers over the hood, “this definitely has a kick, sugar. Do you need to grab anything from upstairs?”
“No,” I say as I slide into the passenger seat.
My hands start to sweat as adrenaline rushes through my veins. The engagement ring weighs on my finger as if to remind me that I’m breaking all the rules and promises. Behind the wheel, Julij talks on the phone in Russian. He disconnects the call, glancing at me with undeniable glee glowing in his blue irises. I think he enjoys the idea of infuriating Dante.
“Fasten your seat belt.”
He doesn’t start the engine right away. Instead, he opens the garage door with a remote. It glides up slowly. With every inch of clearance, my pulse accelerates, whooshing in my ears, and pulsing in my neck. Several pairs of legs appear on the other side, but the engine is still dead.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, holding onto the seat.
“Waiting.”
