Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Did I want to speak to him? Allow him to offer explanations? Excuses? Or did I just want to ignore him?
My phone buzzed in my clutch.
He really wanted to get ahold of me, it seemed.
I went into the kitchen, poured my tea, and brought it over to the living room to sit down and see what kind of bullshit Venezio had come up with.
But even as I started to sit, my doorknob jiggled.
He wasn’t actually going to try to… let himself in, was he?
I mean, he was in the mafia. Was it completely crazy to assume he might be willing to force me to listen to him? If I didn’t listen, would he hurt me? Kill me?
That crack in my heart became a chasm.
It distracted me.
That was the only reason I didn’t notice that it wasn’t just a doorknob jiggle.
No.
It was someone picking the lock.
The door burst open, knocking hard against the wall, the sound making my heart leap up into my throat as I jumped to my aching feet, my leg knocking the coffee table, sending my scalding-hot coffee flying across the surface.
My head whipped over.
I expected Venezio.
But it was so, so much worse than that.
It was the man with the cross tattoo on his neck.
With the mole on his cheek.
With the gun.
A strangled sound escaped me as I stepped backward, nothing in my mind but retreat, but putting the couch between us.
“Stupid bitch,” he said with an ugly smirk as he stepped closer, his feet landing like thunderclaps in my ears, making me jump. “Making my whole night easier,” he said, stepping closer.
There was something dark about his eyes, predatory.
He was clearly an enemy of Venezio’s.
And he wasn’t above using me to get to Venezio. I mean, he’d slipped the tracker into my clutch when I’d left it on the table for just a few minutes to get up and talk to someone.
He’d shot at me.
He would absolutely use me to draw out Venezio, if he thought I was useful.
“I have nothing to do with this,” I said, rushing around the back of my couch as he drew closer.
“He’ll come for you,” he said, lunging at me.
I jumped backward as he knocked over my end table.
It crashed to the floor, lamp and all.
Would he?
I wasn’t so convinced.
Wasn’t I better to him dead now?
He’d told me the truth. I could easily go to the police, tell them what I’d found out, point them right at him.
He couldn’t let me do that.
Why not let some other guy do his dirty work for him?
“No, he won’t,” I said, inching around the mess, trying to get closer to the door, to freedom. “I’m better dead to him.”
“Bullshit,” he said, lunging just as I turned to run.
I slammed forward against the wall, my nose and lip crushing, the edge of a picture frame slicing my cheek.
I barely even registered the pain as panic surged through me.
No.
I had to focus.
Fight.
I whipped around, bringing my knee up as he charged at me, arms out, ready to grab me.
My aim was true, making the air rush out of him as he hinged forward in pain.
I didn’t stop to think.
I ran out of the apartment, down the hall, taking the steps so quickly that I risked falling to my death in my desperation to get away.
My heart was in a vice as I hit the street, the cold nipping at all my exposed skin as big, fat, lazy snowflakes drifted down to kiss my arms and chest.
I needed to do the smart thing. I had to call the police.
But it was pointless to do that until I got away, until I got somewhere safe.
Some part of me said to run to the closest person, to beg for help. But this was New York. The people here were accustomed to crazy people. Enough so that everyone just minded their business, didn’t get involved.
I needed to save myself.
I honestly didn’t have any direction in mind.
I just turned and ran blindly, my hand clutching the phone the whole way.
I had no idea if I was being followed, if someone was gaining on me. I didn’t dare look backward.
I’d lived in the area my entire life.
And I’d never once stepped foot in Central Park after dark.
But I found myself flying down one of the winding paths, moving past a set of unhoused men using cardboard to protect themselves and their precious belongings from the steadily falling snow.
Only some of the paths were lit up at night. Everyone knew that if you were going to be in Central Park at night, that you had to stick to the lighted paths.
But that was exactly why I found myself turning away from them, heading off into the darkness.
I didn’t dare use my flashlight on my phone, not wanting to announce my position to the man who wanted to use me against Venezio. Or any other man up to no good in the park at night.