My blood runs cold. It's been weeks since I heard from any of Dad's contacts, and I'd hoped they'd forgotten about me. Clearly, I was wrong.
I should turn around. Should run straight back to where Marco can find me. But if there's even a chance this person has information about Dad, or a way to resolve this mess...
I walk toward Bethesda Fountain, my heart pounding harder than it was during my run. A figure in a black hoodie stands near the angel statue, hands in his pockets. His face is hard, angry, and I immediately know this isn't going to be a friendly conversation.
"Are you—" I start to ask hesitantly.
He nods and steps closer, pulling a small envelope from his jacket. But before I can take it, his hand is around my throat and I'm slammed against the fountain's stone base with enough force to knock the wind out of me.
"I guess the warning at the tavern wasn't enough for you," he growls, pressing harder on my throat and leaning into my face. His breath is hot and sour, making my stomach turn. "This is your final warning."
I claw at his grip, trying to yell, but nothing comes out. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision as he continues to squeeze. Just when I think I might pass out, he steps back and releases my neck.
I choke and sputter, gasping for air as he shoves the small envelope at me. My throat feels like it's on fire, and I can already feel it starting to swell.
"A little extra persuasion," he says. "Open it when you get home. And remember—this is the last time we ask nicely."
I snatch the envelope with shaking hands and he disappears into the park. I stand there for a moment, trembling, then quickly tuck the envelope into my sports bra. It's small enough to hide completely.
I need to get back. Need to act normal. Marco can't know about this.
I start jogging again, slower this time, making my way toward the park exit closest to my building. My throat throbs with every breath. I pull out my phone and text Marco:Sorry. Needed to clear my head. Heading home now.
His response is immediate:Where are you?
Coming out of the park at 72nd. Be home in 10.
By the time I reach my building, tears are threatening. My throat hurts so badly I can barely swallow. But I force myself to breathe normally, to keep my expression neutral.
When I walk through my front door, Marco is pacing the living room like a caged animal. He stops the moment he sees me, and I watch his eyes immediately zero in on my neck.
Shit. The handprint must be visible.
"What the hell happened to your—" he starts, moving toward me.
"I need to pee," I blurt out, backing toward my bedroom. "Really bad. Running does that. I'll be right back."
I can see the suspicion in his eyes. The concern. But I don't give him a chance to ask more questions. I turn and walk quickly to my bedroom on unsteady legs, closing the door behind me.
My hands are still shaking as I pull the envelope from my sports bra and tear it open. Inside is a single photograph that makes my blood turn to ice.
An ultrasound picture. Rina's name and date of birth are clearly printed at the top, along with today's date.
She's pregnant. That's why she was sick the night we were supposed to go dancing.
For a moment, joy floods through me. Rina's going to be a mother. She and Vito are going to have a baby—something I know they both want desperately.
Then reality crashes down on me like a ton of bricks.
They have access to Rina's medical records. They know about the pregnancy. They're not just threatening me anymore—they're threatening her and her unborn child. Vito's heir.
I sink to the floor, clutching the ultrasound to my chest. Silent sobs wrack my body—I can't make noise, can't let Marco hear me crying. This has gone too far. I thought I could handle this on my own, thought I could protect everyone by keeping quiet and trying to solve Dad's mess myself.
But I can't. Not anymore.
They're going to hurt Rina and her baby if I don't find a way to pay Dad's debt. And I have no idea how I'm going to come up with that kind of money without putting the entire family at risk.
I cry until there are no tears left, until my throat hurts too much to produce any more sound. Then I carefully fold the ultrasound and hide it in my jewelry box, along with all the other threats I've been collecting.
