So why does it feel so wrong?
19
ELIO
We spend all of the next day, when I’m able to be at the safe house, putting the plan together. And then, the next morning, we put it into motion.
Using a burner phone, Annie texts Desmond, telling him to meet her at her favorite coffee shop, that she’s sorry for how things happened between them. That she’s changed her mind, and wants him to give her a second chance. The texts are sweet, submissive, almost pleading. I hate every fucking word.
He’s harder to convince than we expected. He asks her why she should get a second chance—why he should want her after she threw away her chance to have him. Why he shouldn’t marry a woman who’s grateful for everything he can give her.
With every text he sends, I want to kill him more slowly. I want to make him reread those questions aloud while I cut off his fingers, one by one, for ever touching her. The only thing that gets me through it is imagining how I’m going to make Desmond Connelly pay for what he did to Annie.
When he finally agrees to meet at the coffee shop, I can feel Annie’s relief. The spot is public enough that, hopefully, he won’t try anything, but isolated enough that we can make our move.The plan is for Annie to lure him back to the bathroom with promises of apologies, and then for me and my men to blockade it, going in and grabbing him before going out the back. If we surprise him, he won’t have a chance to harm Annie before we get our hands on him.
I don’t like it. I don’t like her being in harm’s way at all. But it’s the first time we’ve managed to lure him out of the penthouse, and Annie is right. We have to end this quickly.
The meeting is set for later in the afternoon, when the coffee shop shouldn’t be busy. My men will be positioned at every exit, watching every approach. I'll be inside the shop, close enough to reach her in seconds if something goes wrong.
It's as safe as we can make it. But that doesn't stop my heart from hammering against my ribs as I watch Annie walk through the coffee shop door, several hours later.
She's dressed simply—jeans, a sweater, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looks like a graduate student grabbing a late-afternoon coffee. But I know better. I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes dart around the room, looking for the exits, looking for Desmond, for any threat.
She's scared. But she's here anyway. And as terrified as I am for her, I’m proud of her courage, too. For how brave she is, even after everything that’s happened to her.
She orders her coffee and takes a seat by the window, pulling out a book like she's settling in for a long read. I'm two tables away, positioned so I can see both her and the door. My hand rests on the gun holstered beneath my jacket.
Minutes tick by. Then an hour. Annie turns pages in her book, sips her coffee, waiting for our target to arrive. But nothing happens.
Maybe Desmond isn't watching. Maybe he's not as obsessed as we thought. Maybe this whole plan was?—
A black SUV pulls up outside the coffee shop, and my entire body goes on alert.
The back door opens, and I see him. Desmond Connelly. He looks the same as he did before—copper hair slicked back, green eyes cold, his gaze fixed on the coffee-shop window with an arrogance that would let me pick him out of a crowd anywhere.
He's looking right at Annie.
I reach for my phone to signal my men, but before I can, everything goes wrong.
The front door explodes inward, and three men in masks storm into the coffee shop. Customers scream and dive for cover. One of the men fires a gun into the ceiling, and plaster rains down.
"Nobody fucking move!" he shouts.
In the chaos, I lose sight of Annie. I'm on my feet, gun drawn, but there are too many civilians between me and her. I can't get a clear shot without risking hitting an innocent.
Then I see her. Desmond has come through the blown-out door, and he's got Annie by the arm. She's struggling, trying to break free, but he's too strong. He drags her toward the back door, using the distraction of his men to cover his escape.
"Annie!" I shout, but my voice is lost in the screaming and chaos. I aim my gun and fire, hitting one of his men in the shoulder, but three more are charging in. Outside, I can hear the rattle of gunfire—my men are engaging.
Our eyes meet across the coffee shop. I see the fear in her face, but also something else—determination. Anger. She's not giving up.
Then they're gone, disappeared through the back door.
I fight my way through the panicked crowd, knocking over tables and chairs in my desperation to reach the back exit. By the time I burst through the door into the alley, the black SUV is already pulling away.
I fire at the tires, but the shots go wide. The SUV screeches around the corner and disappears from sight. I hear more gunfire from inside the coffee shop, hear the screech of more tires as Desmond’s men follow him
No. No, no, no.
