I rushed around the building, yanking open the bodega door and finding three or four people perusing the goods.
There was Venezio standing at the counter with two coffees and a little plastic case with a charging cord in it.
“Venezio!” I yelled.
His head whipped over.
He didn’t ask.
He didn’t have to.
He just ran to me, grabbed my hand, and we were off.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Venezio
I wasn’t sure anything had ever been as hard as leaving a naked Stephanie all alone in the apartment.
I’d even debated putting off calling in just to have a few more hours with her.
It was more than that, though. It was a safety issue not to have a phone. That was what made the decision for me. Because Steph had been through enough already because of me. I needed to do whatever it took to make sure nothing else happened.
So I walked out the door, down the stairs, and made my way into the bodega.
I’d found the cord in under a minute, but decided to wait for the fresh coffee to brew to grab us a few before heading back up.
When I heard my name yelled into the store, that panicked pitch making my blood run cold, I knew shit had just gone all sideways again.
I didn’t even take the cord.
What the fuck good would it be when we were running for our lives again?
I flew toward the door, grabbing Steph’s hand, and running down the road.
When it came to the boroughs, Brooklyn was the one I knew the least. A long-ass rivalry between the Costas, who ran all the Five Families, and the Lombardis, who ran Brooklyn, meant that most of us didn’t step into enemy turf.
So I had no fucking idea where we were going, just as far away from the safe house as quickly as possible.
Out this way, the streets weren’t as busy as they would be in places like Midtown or other parts of Manhattan. I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. On the one hand, it meant that no one was in our way. On the other, it meant there was no one between us and the fucker who was sure to be on our heels sooner or later.
Our best bet would probably be to grab a cab and race back to Manhattan. But as I scanned the damn streets, I didn’t fucking see one.
I knew in less tourist-heavy areas, ride shares were more common than yellow taxis. And the time of night wasn’t exactly helping either.
Last time I checked a clock, it was around nine. Not late, but late enough for traffic to thin in areas not bar or club heavy.
“Which way?” Steph asked, breath panting, creating little clouds around her head, as we neared a cross street.
I had no fucking idea.
So I just dragged us to the left, not sure if it was a good (or terrible) decision as we seemed to make our way into an even emptier, industrial park full of warehouses, chain-link fences, delivery docks, and service roads.
“Do you know where we are?” Steph asked between gasps for breath.
“No. Do you?”
“I don’t know Brooklyn well.”
