And the note.
I saw this and thought of you.
Wear it when we’re together.
There isn’t a place to run on the other side of the street, and I flew past the intersection that would take me around the long way. Going back in the direction I came is my only option. The fur on Dog’s back stands straight up as his ears go down, narrow against his small head. He lets out a low growl as we backtrack. I look for shadows, listen for the sound of someone else breathing, and prepare myself to fight back.
I choke on the beat of my heart, twelve feet, ten feet, eight feet from the van.
Approaching the driver’s side, I decide to make a run for it and hope I’m faster than whoever’s chasing me. Knocking on a door for help will only increase my chances of being caught, but I’ll scream as loud as my lungs will allow and run until my legs give out.
I release Dog’s leash and tighten my ponytail, ready to book it when a black BMW zooms past me in the opposite direction. Red taillights illuminate as it comes to a screeching stop, leaving rubber track marks on the road. Talent jumps out in a hurry and waves me over. “Get in the car. We have to go.”
The next words to leave my mouth should be,someone is following me.But I’m so relieved to see him, I pick up Dog and run.
And once Talent says, “Giovanni wants to meet us at the office again,” I don’t say anything at all.
Talent showed up at the apartment sometime after I left for a run. When he realized I wasn’t there, he came looking for me. He followed the route Lydia usually takes, but I ran past the intersection in my haste. He was about to dial Wilder’s when he circled back and missed the turn the second time around. And there I was.
“You heard what Nico said about Luca last night, didn’t you?” Talent asks, flipping a U-turn after his quick explanation. He spares a look at me. “Did you really think it was a good fucking idea to go for a run by yourself?”
I pivot in the seat as we pass the house with the van, but nothing is on the other side of the van but rosebushes. Did I make the whole thing up? Was anyone following me at all?
“What is it?” Talent asks. He looks back in the rearview mirror to see what I see.
Absolutely nothing.
“I just like the color of the roses,” I lie.
He scoffs, shaking his head. “Luca Coppola has his eye on you, and you’re admiring the fucking roses.”
When we get back to the apartment, Lydia’s at the kitchen table in a gray hoodie and jeans, nursing a mug of coffee. Her skin is porcelain white, and her eyes are hidden behind a large pair of round sunglasses. A brush hasn’t touched her head, as the crown of thorns has only worsened.
“Tell me again why your dad can’t handle this?” she says in the way of a greeting. “They’re his problem, aren’t they? He started this relationship with them, so why doesn’t he tend to it?”
I know better than to poke the beast, so I leave Talent to it and tiptoe past the kitchen to my bedroom.
“We leave in ten minutes,” Talent calls out after me.
“Don’t fucking yell,” Lydia growls. “My head feels like it’s split in two.”
I rinse off my body in a quick shower and then brush my teeth with one hand and comb out my hair with the other. My complexion is pink from the run, and my knees are weak with everything else. But Talent saidweleave in ten minutes, not that they are leaving me here in ten minutes. I’m included, and if that means facing off with the Coppolas in a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater, then so be it.
Apparently, mafia bosses don’t respect the Sabbath.
“Why does he keep showing up at the office? We aren’t the only ones who would have a lot of explaining to do if he’s spotted by someone.” Lydia doubles over, resting her face between her knees. Sitting at the kitchen table was hard, withstanding a moving vehicle is intolerable.
Talent rubs his hand up and down her back, driving downtown with the other. “It’s better than meeting him in an open field.”
“It would be a mercy,” she groans.
The elevator ride to the top floor is a quiet one. Lydia falls back against the rail, leaning her head on Talent’s shoulder. She holds a hand over her stomach, pressing her lips together the higher we travel. He’s attentive, pressing his lips to the top of her head, rubbing circles on her back, and leading her out when we reach the top floor.
David Ridge is flipping through messages at the receptionist desk, dressed as casually as the rest of us. His eyes light up upon our arrival, but Talent holds a finger to his mouth.
“Must have been some party,” David says as we walk by.
“It was the best,” I confirm.
