And where Lydia Montgomery operates a prostitution ring.
“Would you like an escort to the door?” The driver must be one of Yael’s new hires. I don’t recognize him, but his choice of words makes me smile.
“That’s okay.” I toss him a twenty-dollar bill and exit the vehicle. Noticing Tony, the building janitor, about to close the entrance doors, I wave my arm and call out, “Hold the door, please.”
“We’re closed. Come back tomorrow. Office opens at seven.” He shuts and locks the large glass doors between us but looks up before walking away. His eyes are as big as his apology, and he fumbles with the large key ring to let me in. “I’m sorry, Camilla. No one told me to expect you tonight.”
“No big deal. Lydia and I made last-minute plans.” Stepping into the building, I offer the janitor a quick grin before making a beeline for the elevators. Not that I’m in a rush to face Lydia after the disaster at Dr. Goodmen’s office, but I don’t want to make it worse by being late.
“Camilla, maybe you should wait,” Tony calls out behind me. His voice bounces back and forth between the high ceilings and marble floors in the empty lobby.
“Have room for one more?” I reach out and stick my hand between the closing elevator doors.
The Ridge & Sons law firm owns the building and occupies the top three floors, but the office spaces in the rest of the structure are rented out to artists, designers, and fast-growing tech companies. I’m almost positive there’s a loan shark on the fourth floor, but my suspicions are yet to be confirmed. It’s not uncommon for tenants to stay in their offices past normal business hours, despite the dark windows outside.
I expect to catch one of them in the elevator.
Instead, I find myself face-to-face with Satan himself.
Giovanni Coppola stands at the forefront of the elevator with his head down and his hands crossed at his waist. Lifting his gaze at my intrusion, the look of indifference on his dark face changes to amusement. I inhale a sharp breath, and the corner of his mouth curves into a smile that stops my heart.
“You’re one of Lydia’s girls, right?” Giovanni, head of the Coppola crime family, asks. Three of his men stand at his flank, including his second-in-command, Luca Coppola.
“Yummy.” Luca licks his bottom lip. Tall and mysterious, if he were not the deadliest man in the city, Luca might be good-looking. But all I see is bleakness.
Giovanni’s smile fades, and without taking his eyes off me, he says, “That’s not how you talk to a lady, Luca. Apologize.”
Luca’s black eyes narrow, and he says, “My apologies, lady.”
Tension burns my muscles, and I fear I might catch flame like the candles in my bedroom. I take what’s meant to be a casual step back, but trip over my own feet and stumble like a frightened lamb. The rumbles in their chests are practically audible.
Tony hurries over and takes my elbow, stronger in the face of evil than me. “She’ll catch the next one. Go on ahead.”
The elevator finally times out and automatically starts to close, but Giovanni sticks his foot between the doors. “Oh, come on. There’s room for one more.”
“You’re a fucking queen. Act like it.”
Tony’s grip on my arm tightens, but I shake him off and swallow the lump in my throat. I say a little prayer, hoping to live without a pulse for a little longer and accept Giovanni’s invitation.
“Why not,” I say with a forced smile. “We’re all headed to the same floor.”
As soon as I step inside the cab with the mob, the walls close in on me. Giovanni gives me room to stretch, but I stay close to the doors and turn to see them shut in my face. I watch their muted reflections in the stainless-steel finish for sudden movement and wish I’d kept my keys in hand in case I’m forced to defend myself.
Someone coughs, another scratches the back of his neck, and Luca lets out a small laugh. I don’t realize we haven’t left the ground level until Giovanni reaches past me.
“Allow me,” he says softly.
His close proximity sets free panic, which mirrors what I felt the first time my dad locked me inside the closet with our winter coats and his oily work clothes, and it feels like home. The lights are on, and there’s nothing to be afraid of. I do as Lydia taught me and keep my shoulders back, my chin up, and my eyes ahead on what’s got to be the longest elevator ride in the history of elevators.
The peppery scent of his cologne chips at my resolve and my fingers start to tremble, so I hold my breath and close my hands into fists.
“Toughen up, Camilla,”my mom whispered through the closet door on that first day.“You know he won’t let you out until you stop crying.”
The sunlight inching through the doorjambs had turned dark, and I thought my family had forgotten about me until I heard my mom’s voice. As a girl that young, I had no concept of time, but I do at twenty years old. The higher the numbers go on the control panel, the closer I am to being set free.
I’m not trapped.
I haven’t been forgotten.
