A gust of wind sent a shiver down my spine.
There’s no one watching me!
I made sure of that.
The creak of a stroller made me stiffen. Opening my eyes, I sighed at the depressing words on the page. Black wheels came into view. Then a pair of fancy athletic shoes that were bright white. This mom wore designer leggings. I didn’t look up untilshe passed. Oblivious to me, she chatted on her phone, the headpiece firmly planted in her ear.
But I didn’t look at her.
I only had eyes for the sleeping bundle, tucked deep in the shadows of the pram. He wasn’t wearing a hat. The thin muslin blanket draped over his chubby legs. Rosy cheeks said he was warm, even under the shade of the cover.
He slept.
Peaceful and safe.
I drank in the sight for five more blissful seconds before the mom took the bend in the path, and the angle obscured the view. Only then did I lift my head all the way and pretend to look around. I didn’t see the park, didn’t hear the jabber of the office girls, or feel the brush of the eastern wind or the shadows that felt like they watched my every move.
The people around me had such normal lives.
I was pain. My heart split open, bleeding into my chest.
It’s going to be alright.
That was the lie I told myself every day. The pillar of my existence that I couldn’t live without. I found the blank spaces in the journal, the places I purposely left room for in between other words. My pen rapidly added the details that my mind captured. Hidden in the spaces were code words. Memories to document what I truly felt. Anyone reading the entry would gloss over the spots. They would think I was verbose, overusing adjectives, adding extra nouns, doubling up on verbs. But really, it was where I truly documented my life in code.
“You’re a long way from home, little bird,” the voice of death observed from behind.
I jumped, stifling a scream.
Chapter 7 – Liam
Since Saturday night’s disastrous dinner, I spent a good deal of time thinking about my bride-to-be. It took far more of my mental space than I would have liked. It plagued me while I worked. It distracted me at the gym. The puzzle drove me mad, chasing sleep away. It wasn’t until I sat with my morning coffee paging through the news articles on my tablet that it dawned on me.
Gabriella was a spy.
The realization was the most obvious answer to the puzzle. Why else would she accept the position of wife to a different organization? No young woman would want to be forced away from her family to marry a stranger. Especially a stranger who looked like me.
No, this was just another strategy the crafty rodents were using to snare us. It was highly probable that Don Morelli knew I was the one who’d killed his soldier that night. Plus, a sly tactician like the Italian boss might even have sent the soldier to bait me, knowing all the time that it was a suicide mission.
The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Gabriella would have relayed the information. Told the truth about what happened. Hell! That was why she walked home alone. Theywantedto provoke a reaction from me.
And I’d almost fallen into their trap.
No more. I figured out their angle. They weren’t going to manipulate us so easily. I would stay one step ahead of their schemes.
Which was why, when I saw my little bride exit a beat-up cab and hurry into the park, I delayed an appointment to follow. Gabriella had a head start. By the time I parked my sleek black Jag and slipped across the freshly mown lawn, it took ten more minutes to scour the park before I found her.
She sat on a bench. Peaceful and serene.
I didn’t buy it for a second.
There were parks in the Morelli neighborhood. Gabriella hadn’t chosen one of them. No, she chose to sit on this bench, in this park, with that pretty, nut-brown hair falling in waves down her back. Something about this didn’t feel right.
I tapped my index finger against my thigh, the leather silent against the fitted trousers. If the tree I leaned up against rubbed bark crumbs on my suit jacket, I didn’t notice. There was only me and my little prey.
Gabriella tipped her head back. The sunlight bathed her face. She seemed to glow. Without thinking, I reached under the collar of my dress shirt and brushed my bare fingers against the strand of metal I wore there. The spoils of war. The wisp of chain seemed to burn my skin as I watched my bride-to-be.
It didn’t matter that my attention bordered on obsession.
