BRIAR
I thoughtI imagined the shadow until it moved. I freeze by the window, hand tight around my coffee mug, breath caught in my throat. It’s early Saturday morning and the street outside my apartment is quiet except for the occasional car humming past or a Friday-night reveler who’s stumbling home after a boozy night. A gray drizzle streaks the glass, softening the sharp edges of the world. I tell myself it’s just a trick of the light, a passerby on their way to breakfast or a jogger warming up for their run.
But the figure doesn’t move on.
They stand beneath the awning of the corner café across the road, head bowed, hands shoved deep into a dark coat. Waiting. Watching.
I shake it off, forcing myself to sip the lukewarm coffee and glance back at my laptop. Saturday is supposed to be my reset day. Laundry piled on the sofa, emails ignored, catching up on all the reading I can’t do during the week. But my concentration keeps slipping back to the window.
Mr. Moretti had sent out a company-wide memo that security was being increased. Was this the first sign of that? He’dnot mentioned I would have someone following me about, but maybe that’s what it entailed.
I almost convince myself it’s that and not Matteo or one of his goons. Almost.
My cell rings and I jolt, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim as I swipe to take the call. “Hello?”
Silence.
I press the cell closer to my ear, straining to hear something, anything. Nothing but the faint hiss of silence. “Hello?” My voice trembles despite my best effort. It’s nothing, I tell myself. I’m on edge after seeing Matteo yesterday, nothing more.
Still, my heart is loud in my ears.
The call disconnects.
My stomach twists as I lower my cell and stare at it. It could be a wrong number. I shouldn’t let myself think more into it than I need to. I drag a hand through my hair, forcing myself to breathe evenly before I fire off a quick text to Stacy.
Got a weird call just now.Think it’s nothing, but…felt off.
She replies instantly.Call Mr. Moretti, he should be told.
I bite my lip.I can’t do that. Why would I do that? No. Don’t want to make it a bigger deal than it is, and I’ve already pissed him off after lying to him about my past. I’m like the biggest annoyance new employee he’s ever had no doubt.
I can seethe three dots meaning she’s typing.Briar, you should tell him if you think it’s someone we both don’t want toname. Moretti Global has increased security for a reason. It’s not an annoyance to notify the company if you’re worried.
Mr. Moretti has enoughon his plate without me adding phantom phone calls to the pile. Except phantom calls don’t happen three times in one day.
By Sunday evening, I’m gripping my cell so tightly my knuckles ache. Every time it rings, I jump. Same unknown number. Same silence. Always ending before I can even demand who’s on the other end.
Sleep is pointless that night. I lie awake on the sofa, blanket tangled around my legs, staring at the ceiling while the lights of the city cast pale shapes across the walls. Every creak of the building makes my heart leap. I can’t live like this. Maybe I should leave New York and return to Boston. Maybe coming back here was a mistake.
Monday morning arrives with a gray, watery dawn, and I’m already exhausted before I step outside. I clutch my bag tighter against my side as I walk toward the subway station. The city feels louder than usual, sharper somehow, like every sound cuts too close. A horn blares down the block, a delivery truck reverses somewhere nearby, and beneath it all, my nerves don’t have the patience for it.
I pause at a crossing, thankful for the many other people heading to work with me. If it was Matteo out to scare me, at least with all these people around he’d be less inclined to do anything stupid.
Not that it’s stopped him before…
I swallow the fear that thought conjures and start across the road and then I feel it. A shiver of awareness crawls up my spine, unwelcome and unpleasant. I tell myself I’m imagining it. Lack of sleep and too much caffeine has my nerves shot.
I glance over my shoulder. A man in a dark jacket walks half a block behind me, head down, but his eyes are on me. My throat dries. I force my legs to move, faster now, weaving through the crowd of early commuters. I take a sharp left instead of going straight to the subway. He turns with me. My pulse hammers in my ears. I walk faster. So does he.
I reach for my phone, heart thudding wildly, when a familiar voice cuts through the rising panic.
“Briar.”
I stop dead, because I know that voice.
Matteo Romero steps out from between two parked cars, casual as ever, a wolf disguised in a tailored charcoal coat. Time hasn’t softened him. If anything, he’s sharper now, the edges honed to a fine, dangerous point. A handsome, cruel mask.
“Hello, wife,” he says, as though three years haven’t passed, or the divorce. As though he didn’t burn my life to the ground and walk all over me until I was well and truly flattened.
