I don’t know which one he’s talking about, Alessio or Priest, but it doesn’t matter. I know what I’ll hear next if I say no.
So I give him my biggest, friendliest smile, the one I use for my classes on day one before they get to know me and realize I’m not a pushover.
“Yes, he did,” I lie.
He looks at me, eyes narrowing. “I’ll send Vincenzo with you.”
The last thing I want is to be followed around by a Mafia guard. He’s probably armed. Also, how awkward.
I shake my head. “No need. Like I said, it’s a short, quick trip. I’ll be right back.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
I withhold my sigh, because I’m not trying to rock the boat here, but I’m also not going to be told what I can and can’t do. Luna may have signed on for this lifestyle, but I’m just a temporary visitor, and I don’t like answering to anyone.
I’m going to get that tea. I’m going to breathe in the scents of the city, be buffeted by honking car horns, and I’m going to stand in line way too long for a cup of tea that’s not nearly as good as it should be, given the price. But it’s what I’m going to do because I want to and because I need to stretch my legs and remember there’s an outside world. I’ve spent the last few days with no one for company but a cat.
“Well,” I say slowly, “seeing as how I’m not a prisoner here, and I think it’s a just-fine idea, I’m going to go ahead and get myself that cup of tea. Be back in twenty minutes.”
I don’t stick around for his response. I just sidestep him and hightail it to the elevator, where I punch in my personalized code to get to the lobby. Once I’m there, I waste no time in avoiding the guards posted at the door.
And then, like that, I’m in the chilly early spring air of the city. The sun shines overhead, and the music of cars honking surrounds me, along with the rush of people filling the sidewalk as they move to their next destinations. I start moving with the flow of traffic, heading to an intersection and stopping to cross. While I pause, a gust of unforgiving March air makes me wish I’d grabbed a hoodie before coming down here. Too late. I’m not going to risk going back for one and getting stuck in the penthouse for the rest of the day.
I plan to enjoy the hell out of these twenty minutes of freedom.
The walk sign lights up, and as one, everyone who has been waiting to cross starts their way over the street. I follow, trying not to think about how pissed Alessio is going to be with me if he ever finds out about my field trip without his permission and his accompaniment. Too bad anyway. Did he really expect me to cool my heels for an hour or two so that he could escort me to the coffee shop like I’m a little kid in need of a parental chaperone?
Still fuming about that, I shiver as I reach the other side of the street and make a beeline for my destination. I’m close enough that I can make out the pastries taunting me from the window and catch the scent of coffee and breakfast on the breeze. The warm air that gusts around me as I step inside is a welcome relief from the cold outside. I get in line, peruse the menu overhead, and make my order when it’s my turn.
Miraculously, I find myself a secluded table in a corner to sit at until my name is called with my order. That’s when I feel eyes on me. I cast a glance around the crowded coffee shop and see a tall, blond man in a dark hat and jacket whose gray eyes are laser focused in my direction. Something about him makes the hackles rise on the back of my neck, but I tell myself it’s nothing.
Just my imagination.
I’m paranoid because Alessiomademe paranoid with all his rules and warnings and scary Mafia threats and burner phones. I drum my fingers on my purse, waiting, and try to distract myself. But the feeling returns almost instantly, and when I flick my gaze back in the direction of the line, the tall stranger is staring at me again, unsmiling and grim.
It’s not the look you give to someone you’re interested in.
A chill runs down my spine.
Like Alessio, this guy has a menacing air about him. A certain aura of danger. But unlike with Alessio, he repels me a thousand times more than he fascinates me. In fact, he terrifies me in a way Alessio never has.
In the next instant, my name is called, and I rush to the counter to grab my venti Earl Grey and a scone. Now that I’m afraid I’m being watched, I don’t really want to rush back to the penthouse. What if this guy is trailing me and he follows me there? All Alessio’s warnings come back to roost in me now like a bunch of anxious chickens.
I decide to sit back at my table and drink my tea for a few minutes. Pulling out my phone, I open an e-reader app and start scrolling. But despite the fact that I’m at the midpoint of my latest read and it’s starting to get delicious because the hero finally gave in to temptation, I can’t seem to concentrate.
The guy has moved through the line. I can’t keep myself from surreptitiously watching him as he waits for his order. He’s not looking in my direction.
“John,” a barista calls out.
He steps forward, taking the coffee. Hearing his name isn’t any more reassuring. Is it an alias? Did he follow me in here?
I take a sip of my Earl Grey as he sets up shop at a table in the corner, facing me. Calmly, he extracts a phone, and I swear he takes my picture. I blink, frowning at the lid of my to-go cup. I throw myself into the book on my phone, trying to act like I have no idea he’s there and doing my best to perfect a chill I definitely don’t feel.
Maybe it’s just my imagination.
Maybe I’ve watched one too many true crime shows.
Or maybe the guy actuallyiswatching me and hedidjust take my picture and the reason he’s doing this is not just nefarious, but deadly.
