I turn on the phone, and it immediately buzzes with a text.
I stare at it, blinking. It’s from an unknown number.
See you soon, little rabbit.
A hot, prickling sensation spreads over my scalp, and I begin to shake internally.
Michael.
How did he get this number?
I completely underestimated his resources. And his obsession. He’s toying with me. Enjoying my fear. And letting me know I’ll pay for running from him with his daughter.
My eyes wide, I glance around the apartment, feeling trapped. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I don’t even trust using this phone to contact Celia now. With shaking hands, I take out the SIM card and flush it down the toilet. I’ll have to find a payphone. Do theyeven have those anymore? Or maybe just ask a business to use their phone.
I pace my small living room, biting my thumbnail. How much does Michael know? Does he have someone following me? Does he know where I live?
Maybe I should ask Killian for help.
Sure. The man who blames you for almost getting his father killed. No, I got myself into this mess, I will get myself out without putting anyone else in danger.
Okay. The first thing I have to do is find a way to contact Celia.
With a solid action item, I grab my purse and head out. This time, I’m more alert, scanning my surroundings. The problem is, besides the obvious danger of being followed, I’m not sure what else to watch for. Not being able to think like a murdering psychopath has its downsides.
And I will soon learn that lesson the hard way.
Chapter 24
Killian
Thursday evening I’m sitting at the bar in a piss poor mood when Caelian LaRocca slides into the seat next to me and tosses a folder in front of me. Caelian is really good at digging up dirt on people. I tried to find out more about Sam and this devil she’s running from. But I had no luck, so I asked Sandro for help. I had to tell him she’s in some kind of trouble for him to agree.
I motion for Niall to bring him a whiskey and stare at the folder. “Anything alarmin’?”
He cocks his head, dark brown eyes narrowed with curiosity behind wire rimmed glasses as he studies me. “She’s using the last name Dal as an alias. Her real name is Samantha Portman.”
I nod. Not surprising since she’s hiding. Probably why she’s working for the mafia for cash. Can’t get a medical license to practice using an alias. I flip through the folder, stop on the copy of her hospital badge. She’s young and beaming like the sun in it. I can almost feel her optimism, her excitement for her future when I look in her eyes. Her devil took that from her.
I grind my molars. If I could give her back this, this lass that she was, I would. But I know from experience, once your soul is crushed into dust, there’s no fixing it.
He folds his large hands on the bar. Unlike the rest of the lads I’ve met in his family, they’re void of tattoos and professionally manicured. The only piece of jewelry he wears is the gold signet ring with the LaRocca family crest. All the LaRocca lads have ‘em. The LaRocca name is a bloodline embedded deep in Sicily’s crime family ancestry, just like our surname is in Dublin.
His voice is low, private as he says, “During her fourth year of residency at Mount Sinai, she took a medical leave of absence for thirteen months.”
I glance up at him.Thirteen months?That must’ve been the time her devil had her chained up. I know she didn’t have any family there but what about friends? Did no one miss her? Question where she bleedin’ was?
He’s still watching me intensely. “I haven’t contacted the names on the forms to try to dig for more information, but I will if you want me to. I can reach out to Joey Amato. His family’s on the hospital board.”
I raise my brow and take a sip of my whiskey. The Amato family is one of the five Italian mafia families that make up The Commission and run New York. I shake my head. I’ve already gone far enough prying into her life without her consent. “I’ll let you know if that’s necessary. Appreciate it, mate.”
He finally picks up the whiskey. “All right. But let me know if you change your mind. After all, you’re family now.”
“Aye, family. The only people who can ruin your day and save your life before lunch.” I clink his glass with a wry grin. Then sighing, I change the subject. “You’re comin’ to the fight Saturday night, yeah?”
He shoots back his whiskey then gives me a nod as he slides off the stool. “Looking forward to it. Any insider tips?”
“Aye.” I stand and shake his hand. “Don’t bet against me.”
