“Sir, I think it would be better for you to not be on the road.”
“I’m not the goddamn King of France, David. I can leave the house and go out into the snow.”
“I can get your coat and—”
“No time.” I hit the first floor fast, opened my heavy door, and hurried outside.
It was crazy walking out into the front. I hadn’t been out this way in months. The house was big enough for me to walk through it and never feel like I was locked in a box. It was my safe little world.
Now, I braved the storm to find Simone. Adrenaline pulsed through me.
Five of my men had already warmed their big trucks and were putting on their coats. When they spotted me, shock hit their faces. The biggest one walked up to me with an uncomfortable expression. “Hello, Mr. Ferraro.”
“Call me, Gio, if that’s okay.”
“Uh...yes...it is.” Smoke left his lips. He gestured to the vehicles behind him. “We heard a crash a mile and a half up on your road. We think she might’ve hit a tree or something. We’re hoping not, but better safe than sorry.”
“Yeah.” I walked over to the first truck. “I’m coming.”
His heavy voice screeched. “You’re...you’re coming?”
“Yes.”
“It could be dangerous. The roads are slippery. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. My wife and daughters would kill me.” He got to my side. “Seriously, they would never let me back into the house.”
I laughed and climbed into the truck. “Where’s your wife and daughters now?”
“At home.”
“Where’s that?”
“Barely ten minutes from here.”
“Once we get Simone, you should go home if you feel it’s safe.”
His face brightened. “Thank you.”
“And make sure you all come by for dinner in a few days. It was good of you to stay here all night after work.”
“Uh.” He started his car and pulled his hat further down on his head. “If I told them they could meet you, they would be here as soon as the sun showed. It would be a memory that they would never forget.”
“Then if we get down there safely and Simone is fine, bring them over. I’ll let my chef know.”
He turned my way with an open mouth.
I pointed to the ignition. “But we actually have to get her.”
“Oh yes.” He rushed to start his truck.
“What’s your name?” I asked as we drove onto my private road.
“Chucky, like the doll from those horror movies.”
“Yeah. Those films kept me up all night.”
Chucky picked up his radio, pressed the button, and talked into it. “Okay. Follow me. I think I see some light up ahead near that hill in the center.”
Another man on the other line answered. “Got it.”
I sighed. “Thanks.”
Although several feet of snow covered the road, the truck rode forward like we were out on a Sunday morning drive.
I squinted up ahead and spotted what he was talking about. Far off in front of us, a car’s turn signal blinked off and on like a beacon in the dark trees. I pressed the button on the side of the car. The window slid down. Cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of oil, gas, and perfume.
Or maybe it was all in my mind.
Panic shot up my spine. My heart began to break, but I made it stop. I couldn’t think the worse. I was too close. She had to be okay.
Besides, I can’t bury any more people right now. Three funerals were enough. Jason and his twins had taken enough out of me.
“This is a dangerous time of year to be on the roads.” Chucky sped up. “I hope she’s okay.”
“Me too.”
It barely took us five minutes to get to her. And when we did, all hope crumbled. Her little rental car had pretty much wrapped around the tree.
I had the door open before Chucky stopped the truck. I ran out of there, going insane with worry. “No.”
I ran to the battered car, slipping on ice. My men raced after me. The windshield had been reduced to glass pellets. Once I got close, it crunched under my feet.
“Gio!” Chucky yelled. “We have to make sure there’s no fire. It’s smoking in the front.”
“Simone! Simone!”
One of the men held me back as the others used foamy extinguishers on the hood. The smoke disappeared.
“Is she okay? Can you see her?” I shoved the guy out of my way and got to the vehicle.
Another guy tried to hand me his jacket.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Look for her.”
Chuck was peering into the driver’s side. “She’s here.”
“Alive?”
“I think so.” He turned on his flashlight and shined it inside. “Yes. Alive. Her chest is moving up and down. She’s breathing. She must’ve passed out.”
“But not awake?” I got to his side, grabbed the handle, and couldn’t pull it open.
“The door must’ve got jammed from the accident,” Chucky yelled over his shoulder. “Grab the bars and saws. We might have to cut it open. Hurry.”