Alora Imari has the face of an angel, but the body of a vixen. She's feared by all. Her and her elder brother, Giovanni Imari, were passed down the family business; becoming mobsters for the Italian mafia.
Many describe Alora as being heartless and...
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"Where the hell could he be?" Gio exasperates as his knuckles turn white against the steering wheel. I stare at the side of his face while stuffing fries in my mouth. I made him pull into an In-n-Out drive through so I could get a cheeseburger and fries; I'm starving.
"He wants to kill Isabella so that's probably where he's at," I say but it sounds muffled. I dip my fry into the little blob of ketchup I have and hand it to Gio. "Fry?" He almost slaps the fry out of my hand and so I retreat. "I don't understand why you're freaking out. He's Salvatore, he'll be fine. I mean, he's stupid but he'll be fine."
"I'm freaking out because one, you shouldn't even be out of bed! Two, Salvatore could be killed, A. We know Isabella is working with Ivankov, who's to say Isabella is cooped up with a bunch of Russian psychopaths?"
Am I stupid? I hadn't even thought of that. Of course, Isabella wouldn't be by herself right now. She's going to be with the Russian Mafia. Hiding? No. She wouldn't hide, she's not a little bitch... not completely. Fucking shit, he's going to die.
Oh my God, Salvatore is on a suicide mission.
"Alora? Are you alright?" Gio says as he peers over to me. "You're about to drop your fries." He slows down and parks in an empty parking lot. "Are you — are you crying?"
"Yes, I'm fucking crying!" I snap and yell at my brother. I angrily and hastily stuff all my trash into the paper bag and chuck it out the window into a trash can. I turn to see Gio just staring at me like I've grown three heads. "Well... drive! We have to find Salvatore before he gets shot or something!"
He nods and pulls out of the parking lot. He's back on the road and I try to stop crying. I roughly wipe my face with my right hand and curse at myself. I don't have my gun. Where the fuck is my gun?
"Where's my gun?" I ask Gio. I don't even give him a chance to speak before I yell, "Where the fuck is my fucking gun?!"
"I don't know! Christ dude, you're freaking me out even more," he says. I huff and grab my phone from my back pocket. I search for Thomas' contact and call him.
"Hello?" he answers after the second ring.
"Thomas — Oh. My. God. Never-mind, Thomas. Go back to doing whatever you were doing!" I say and abruptly hang up the phone. "That jackass. He has my gun. He took my fucking gun."
"Thomas took your gun?" he questions. I nearly slap him across the head at the level of stupidity my brother harbors.
"No, dumb-ass. Sal took my gun. That asshole. If the Russians don't kill him, I will," I say as I undo my seatbelt.
"What are you doing? I swear to God, you want to die. Dude, stop. You're gonna fuck up your arm even more," he warns. I recline the seat back and carefully move towards the backseats. I know he keeps a duffle bag full of guns under the seats. It's not my gun, but they'll do.
