Part of the plan, they said.
For your safety, they said.
I didn't argue. I followed them down the stairwell, through a service corridor, into this apartment. No furniture except the couch I'm sitting on and a folding table in the corner. Safe house. Backup location.
This is insane.
This whole thing it's completely, utterly insane.
And Dante's plan is... what, exactly?
Check in every ten minutes.
Buy time.
That's it. That's the whole plan.
I press my palm against the cold glass of the window. My right hand. It trembles against the surface, and I can't tell if it's the nerve damage or the fear.
Both, probably.
I replay Dante's words in my head.I'll come back. I have something to come back to now.
Bullshit.
Complete and utter bullshit.
He walked into that building knowing he probably won't walk out. He kissed me goodbye like a man saying farewell, not see you later. He looked at me like he was memorizing my face.
Because he was.
Because he knows.
And I was stupid enough to let him go. Stupid enough to believe the plan would work. Stupid enough to sit here in this empty apartment, clutching my phone, waiting for the next text that proves he's still breathing.
What happens when the texts stop?
I know the answer. I've known it since he showed me those photos.
When the texts stop, someone comes through that door. Someone with a gun. Someone who doesn't care about check-ins or plans or the fact that I'm just a nonprofit worker from Chicago who got pulled into this nightmare because her best friend married a mafia boss.
The cartel has eyes on me.
They have to.
If Alejandro is smart enough to set this whole trap then he's smart enough to know where I am right now.
Moving me three floors down doesn't change anything. It's the same building. The same forty-two stories of glass and steel that might as well be a cage.
I'm not hidden.
I'm contained.
Silence.
Dante's men are supposed to be in the hallway. Two of them, he said. Armed and ready.
I don't hear anything.
