He says it so casually. Like he didn’t just name the man who’s been terrorizing me for weeks. “Is he the one you’re scared of?”
Panic claws up my throat. How does he know that name? Why would he know that name? Unless...
Unless Viktor sent him.
It makes sense. Horrible, terrifying sense. Yesterday, Viktor cornered me outside the coffee shop. Told me I was nothing. That no one else would ever want me. Then just as I got away from him, Matteo appeared. Like he’d been waiting.
And now he’s here. In the one place Viktor can’t reach me.
“I just want to talk?—”
“No.” I’m backing away from the bar, shaking my head. “I don’t want to talk to you, and when you see Viktor, you tell him to leave me alone. Do you understand? I’m sick of this shit!”
My voice carries across the rooftop. Several customers turn to stare. The bouncer straightens in my peripheral vision, hand moving toward his radio. I’m making a scene, exactly what I didn’t want to do at work.
But the idea of Matteo being connected to my psycho ex scares me enough to throw caution out the window.
“Leave.” I point toward the door, trying to keep my voice calm but firm. “I’m refusing you service.”
Matteo holds my gaze for a long moment. Something unreadable passes through his expression. Then he raises his hands slowly, palms out, and slides off the barstool.
“For what it’s worth,” he says quietly, “I’m not associated with that prick.”
He drops cash on the bar and walks out.
The words follow him as he walks away, disappearing through the crowd. I’m left staring after him, my heart thundering and questions spinning through my mind.
The moment he’s gone, Nell materializes beside me, her empty tray clutched against her chest.
“What the heck was that?”
I glance around. Half the rooftop is still watching. My face burns.
“Just another embarrassing situation,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “Story of my life lately.”
Nell’s expression softens with understanding. She was here when Viktor showed up last month. Saw him screaming at me. Accusing me of flirting with customers. Trying to drag me out from behind the bar.
“That wasn’t nearly as bad as Viktor,” she offers.
“I guess.”
But it doesn’t feel like a win.
The rest of my shift passes in a blur of forced smiles and automatic drink mixing. I try to be positive and friendly, but I know my energy is off. I can’t help it. I’m rattled by this new player in the drama my private life has become.
By closing time, my nerves are completely shot.
I check my phone as I clock out at two a.m. Another text from Viktor, sent hours ago while I was swamped with orders:
I won’t tolerate these games much longer. You keep testing me, and you’re not going to like what happens next. Remember, you belong to me.
Rage flares through my blood, hot and immediate. I delete the message and block the number, knowing it won’t matter. He’ll just get another one tomorrow.
My apartment is only a few blocks away, so I don’t usually drive. I like the exercise, and parking in this area is a nightmare anyway. I double-check that my mace is right on top in my purse and start walking, keeping my head up and eyes scanning the street.
Two blocks down. One to go.
I’m passing an alley between two buildings when I catch movement in my peripheral vision.
