Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
It’s only after I’ve filled pages of notes that I realize the truth: he isn’t avoiding me. He’s letting me see what he wants me to see.
The proof comes on the fourth day.
I follow him to a quiet side street near Chinatown. He turns a corner, and when I catch up, he’s gone. Vanished. The street is empty except for a single folded piece of paper on the hood of my car.
I scan the rooftops. Shadows. No movement. No sound. My pulse pounds as I open the note.
Five words scrawled in dark ink:
Keep watching. It looks good on you.
Lucky for me, or maybe unlucky for me, this game of subtle surveillance going on between us is about to come to a head.
I walk the same way home from the coffee shop every time I go. I know I shouldn’t. Hell, I’ve seen into the minds of too many stalkers and attackers to know that they look for patterns before choosing their next victim. Criminals look for women who walk alone, or who take the same route every time they go to the same place, or who follow the same schedule outside of their home. I know all these things, and yet still I can’t be bothered with taking a longer route back. I have too much work to do and too much on my mind to concern myself with the smaller, petty muggers who might try to snatch me on the street at dusk or dawn. Plus, I’ve taken self-defense, and although I’m not totally convinced that I could take down or escape from someone twice my size, I think that I’d stand a pretty good chance just by engaging all the pent-up emotion that I’ve kept inside for years. I know I could at least manage a solid scream for help.
But once again, the Ghost takes me by surprise.
I’m not watching my surroundings at all as I walk past a side street near my apartment. Which is why I don’t let out that scream that I thought I could engage at a moment’s notice. It catches me off guard as a hand reaches out from the twilight shadow and grabs my arm. The motion is abrupt and forceful enough to upset my balance and cause me to trip, essentially right into the thin, empty, dimly lit street.
It must have been part of his plan, and an exact execution of his skills, to pull me soundlessly between the buildings at the exact angle that causes me to spill into his arms. But if he planned that move skillfully, then why did he hold his breath for a second before he lets me go?
I steady myself on my feet and stare back at him unblinking. It’s the first time since that fateful night that he isn’t running away from me. The Ghost is standing right here in front of me, motionless as he lets me take a good, long look at him. As expected, his eyes practically swallow me whole. But what I didn’t expect was the swell of nearly volcanic energy that courses within the space between us. I can tell that he feels it too, because his usual well-controlled, cold expression wavers for a slight moment. His eyes dart over my body, and when they land on my eyes, he holds them there as he lets out a slow, steady exhale.
“Who are you?” I ask quickly, not wanting this chance to slip away as it has so many times before.
After taking a moment to answer, he carefully chooses his words, and his tone is unreadable.
“You already know who I am, Elle.” The muscles in his perfectly chiseled jawline tense.
“That’s not what I meant,” I press. He, of course, already knows that’s not what I meant. “I want to know who you really are—Nico Vitale, or should I call you Ghost?”
“You’ve been watching me for a while now,” he says as he takes a small step closer toward me until it feels as if there’s not enough space to breathe, even though we’re standing out in the open air.
“Yes,” I nod. “But all I can find are breadcrumbs about the part you play as Nico within the mafia circles, and the more concealed role you assume as the Ghost. I want to know who you are and how those two parts of your identity coexist. I want to know what you do and how you think, and why you saved me that night. Most of all, I want to know why you didn’t kill the man who shot my mother before he killed her.”
I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but for a second, it almost looks like a tiny sliver of regret flashes across Nico’s face. So, I keep going.
“I saw you in that alley behind the garbage dump. I saw you there before the other man jumped out and pulled his gun. Your reputation precedes you, Ghost,” I say as my compulsive desire to find the answer I’ve spent my entire adult life searching for surges. “You had to know he was there. You were just watching, waiting for something to happen. And when something did, you acted too late.”