I’m idling outside of the market on E. 97th, Miss Paladino.
While walking out of the restaurant, I texted my driver, Ross, to meet me a few streets over, claiming I needed a light walk. It doesn’t surprise me he’s already there waiting.
Turning onto 3rd, I cross my arms and make my way toward Haven Market. My black suede stilettos click against the pavement, but they do little to mask the recognizable sound of footsteps following me.
Ignoring them, I hold my head high and keep walking, wishing my legs would carry me a little faster.
For every three of my steps, he takes one, and as his footsteps close in on me, I huff in annoyance. “Who’s following who again?”
“It’s not my fault you chose to walk in the directionI need to go.” His voice is thick with boredom, but surprisingly, I sense no irritation.
Which is all well and fine considering I have enough for the both of us.
It takes everything in me not to spin on my heel and tell him off—just the audacity of him following me is enough to make my blood boil.
Over my shoulder, I say, “You know, there are tons of other directions you could have taken and still ended up in the same place.”
It’s dumb and hardly makes sense, but accurate. He could have walked up a block and still ended up wherever he is going.
Reaching the corner of E. 98th, I stare at the red hand illuminated on the crosswalk indicator and wait for it to change. Sly’s footsteps stop some distance behind me, and I blow out a frustrated breath, still refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking over my shoulder.
He never answered me either, not that there was anything to really say.
Pulling out my phone, I send a text to my driver.
Almost there.
The indicator begins to beep, and I fumble with my clutch, trying to put my phone back inside. But I'm distracted knowing he’s standing behind me, watching me. My hands are shaky, and rather than letting himwatch me struggle, I end up keeping a hold of my phone.
“Green means go,” Sly’s sultry words breeze past me as he steps off the curb, crossing the street with purpose.
A rumble of a groan reverberates in my chest as I step off after him, making sure to stay a few steps behind.
Which is a mistake, because now I have a perfect view of the way his cigarette pants hug his hips and butt. Inwardly, I groan again, for noticing.
Another block, and he stops at the crosswalk, and I’m forced to do the same. “Are you planning on following me home,principessa?” he scoffs, not bothering to turn around.
Home.
He lives around here?
Caught off-guard by his words, my eyes snap up from my phone, and it’s then I realize I’m in front of Haven Market. Choosing to ignore him, I walk closer so I can peer to my right as I look for my town car.
Ross is standing on the curb, waiting for me.
Before I go to it, though, I gather the nerves that are balled up in my stomach and push them away, lifting my chin. “Never in your wildest dreams will a woman like me follow you home.”
I’m not sure where the confidence comes from, or how the shake in my voice doesn’t shine through, but I deliver that sentence—which really wasn’t even a great comeback—and turn on my heel.
As I approach, Ross straightens and opens my door, greeting me with a warm hello. A curt smile is all I can muster before I look back over my shoulder, seeing Sly watching from the distance. His expression is stone, but despite the incessant beeping of the crosswalk indicator, he stares me down, watching as I get in the car.
When we pull away from the curb, I tell myself the windows are tinted so he won’t see if I look over my shoulder through the back window—so I do. But by the time I turn, he’s disappearing past the building across the street and out of my line of sight.
A rush of air escapes my lungs as I settle back into the soft leather of the seat, and realize how hard my heart is beating.
Sly Lucchetti has gotten under my skin all right, and it looks like he’ll be making himself quite comfortable while he’s there.
The Paladinos are a lot of things, but above all, we are loyal to each other. Our family is religious in the sense that Sundays are sacred, and seeing each other is mandatory.