He really wanted to get ahold of me, it seemed.
I went into the kitchen, poured my tea, and brought it over to the living room to sit down and see what kind of bullshit Venezio had come up with.
But even as I started to sit, my doorknob jiggled.
He wasn’t actually going to try to… let himself in, was he?
I mean, hewasin the mafia. Was it completely crazy to assume he might be willing to force me to listen to him? If I didn’t listen, would he hurt me? Kill me?
That crack in my heart became a chasm.
It distracted me.
That was the only reason I didn’t notice that it wasn’t just a doorknob jiggle.
No.
It was someone picking the lock.
The door burst open, knocking hard against the wall, the sound making my heart leap up into my throat as I jumped tomy aching feet, my leg knocking the coffee table, sending my scalding-hot coffee flying across the surface.
My head whipped over.
I expected Venezio.
But it was so, so much worse than that.
It was the man with the cross tattoo on his neck.
With the mole on his cheek.
With the gun.
A strangled sound escaped me as I stepped backward, nothing in my mind but retreat, but putting the couch between us.
“Stupid bitch,” he said with an ugly smirk as he stepped closer, his feet landing like thunderclaps in my ears, making me jump. “Making my whole night easier,” he said, stepping closer.
There was something dark about his eyes, predatory.
He was clearly an enemy of Venezio’s.
And he wasn’t above using me to get to Venezio. I mean, he’d slipped the tracker intomyclutch when I’d left it on the table for just a few minutes to get up and talk to someone.
He’d shot at me.
He would absolutely use me to draw out Venezio, if he thought I was useful.
“I have nothing to do with this,” I said, rushing around the back of my couch as he drew closer.
“He’ll come for you,” he said, lunging at me.
I jumped backward as he knocked over my end table.
It crashed to the floor, lamp and all.
Would he?
I wasn’t so convinced.
