Page 225 of Benedetti Brothers


Font Size:

I blink away, look at the spilled contents of my purse. I remember how the other man had dropped to his knees at his command. How he’d kissed the toe of this man’s shoe.

“Are you hard of hearing?”

I glance back up at him, confused.

He gives a shake of his head. “Your wallet. Give it to me.”

I nod. I drop to my knees because I’m having trouble standing anyway. My hands tremble as I take my wallet and hand it up to him.

He opens it, takes out my driver’s license and drops the rest back on the floor.

“Natalie Gregorian.” He reads the address. “Asbury Park?” his eyebrows rise. “Far from home, aren’t you?”

“My parents’ house,” I say stupidly.

“What are you doing in Philadelphia, Natalie Gregorian?”

“I go to school here. University of Pennsylvania.”

“Ah.” He looks at the driver’s license again, then tucks it into his pocket and returns his gaze to me. “And what are you doing at this warehouse, in the middle of nowhere, tonight of all nights?”

“I have a project.” I wasn’t supposed to come tonight. I decided at the last minute.

Again, his eyebrows go up.

“Architecture. I was taking pictures.” I hear myself start to babble. “One of my professors opens an internship slot for one student every year and I was hoping to get his attention with this.” I have to force myself to stop.

Sergio looks really confused now.

“I heard the men come in and…I got scared and…I hid.”Shut up. Shut up. Just shut up.“No one’s supposed to be here,” I add on, unable to take my own advice.

“Including you. It’s a condemned building.”

I stare up at him and the weight of what I witnessed is slowly dawning on me. “Please don’t hurt me. I didn’t see anything. Not really.”

“Not really?”

I shake my head. Swipe the back of my hand across my nose before rubbing the tears from my eyes.

“Where’s your car?”

“I took the bus. I don’t have a car.”

“Bus? You took a bus out here?” He’s looking at me like it’s the most unbelievable thing anyone has ever said.

“It stops four blocks away.”

He checks his watch. “Hand me your phone,” he says.

I do.

“What’s your password?”

“0000.”

He gives me an ‘are you serious’ look.

“It’s an old phone.” Not everything works like it should.