Page 120 of Blood Vows

“Five,” Marco countered.

“He can’t magically change distance,” she insisted.

“You don’t know Dante.” Apparently not. Marco took another corner, and the sedan followed. Then a second vehicle appeared ahead, and Valentina’s stomach dropped.

“Marco,” she screamed.

“I see it.” They were boxed in, but Marco’s expression didn’t change, and that terrified her more than panic would have.

“What now?” she asked.

He looked at her. “Trust me.”

She almost laughed. “I met you twenty minutes ago.”

“It’s still your best option.” Unfortunately, he was right.

“What do I do?” she asked.

“Get on the floor,” he ordered.

“What?”

“Get on the fucking floor, now,” he shouted. Valentina unbuckled. Marco grabbed the back of her neck and told her to push her down, not really hurting her, but hurrying her along. She crouched into the passenger footwell. Her heart pounded so hard she could barely hear. Marco accelerated, and everything seemed to happen at once. The crash was followed by the sound of metal scraping against metal. Valentina shouted as the SUV jerked violently. Gunshots rang out, and Marco cursed.

Another impact slammed her shoulder into the console, and then the engine roared. They were moving again—fast. “Marco!”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“I didn’t ask if you were fine!” she shouted.

“Yes, you did,” he said.

“I asked what’s happening!” she yelled.

“I hit them.”

She stared up at him from the floor of the SUV. “You hit a car?”

He shrugged. “With a bigger car. Plus, I hit a few of their men when they tried to flee.”

“That was your plan?” she asked.

“It worked.” She wanted to strangle him, or kiss him. No, she definitely wanted to strangle him.

Marco reached down without looking and pressed a hand against the back of her head. “Stay down.” That touch again—protective and almost automatic made something inside her shift. She hated that too. The gunfire stopped, and Marco drove another few blocks before finally slowing.

“Clear.” Valentina pushed herself upright. Her hair had come loose from the messy bun she had pulled it into, and her shoulder hurt. Her hands were shaking, and she noticed that Marco looked completely composed—except for the blood running down the side of his face.

Her stomach dropped. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing,” he insisted.

“Pull over,” she ordered.

“No,” he breathed.

“Marco, pull over,” she said.