30. Chapter Thirty—Carlotta
Chapter Thirty—Carlotta
Cass: I need your bank account info, Princess.
Iglance down at the text message, wrapped in nothing but a towel after my shower, before tapping out a fast reply.
Me: Suspicious much?
Cass: Got no ingredients for the pasta :/ send me ur info and I’ll send u the cash
Me: We could just order in…
Cass: Absolutely not. Card info, Lottie.
I ping over my details while I get dressed for our night in, picking out a comfortable pair of leggings that make my ass look great and a simple tank top. Blowing out my hair, I swipe natural makeup across my features, spraying a dash of perfume on my wrists and then I slide my arms into my jacket.
Making a quick stop at the store and using a portion of the $100 Cass Vemno-ed over to me, I slide into the back seat of the cab I manage to flag down, armed with a brown paper bag containing a bottle of wine for us to share and enough ingredients to make spaghetti for an entire family.
Shivering under the too high air conditioning blasting from the vents above me, I double check the address Cass texted me, before I reel it out to the cab driver, peering out at the city beyond when he pulls away from the curb side.
It’s dark already at 6 p.m.—as is the blanket of winter—but the streets are still bustling with people walking around.
I watch them in their groups, their arms full of bags, chins tucked into thick knit scarves as they talk aimlessly. I watch the busy store fronts peter out in front of my eyes with every twist and turn the cab driver takes, leading me further and further into the heart of the upper east side.
Opulence screams from each corner we pass; the apartment complexes growing grander and more expensive with every heartbeat.
I’m more than a little lost when the cab driver begins to slow down, pulling to the sidewalk, leaving his engine still idling as he peers at me through the rearview mirror and gives me my total.
Silently tapping my cell to the card reader, I shuffle my ass along the seat, open the cab door and emerge out into the freezing cold.
Securing my hold on the paper bag, I clutch it to my chest as I glance up at the dark building towering above me.
This can’t be right. Not a single light shines from the dusty looking windows and the front door does look like it’s been opened in the past decade.
The entire place looks abandoned—certainly not a skyscraper of apartments.
“Are you sure this is—” I turn on my heel to ask the cab driver if this is definitely the address I gave him, only to be met with the stretch of tires and the taste of exhaust fume tickling my nose and the back of my throat.
“Thanks so much for your help,” I mutter beneath my breath.
Huffing, my fingers now frozen, I walk forward a few footsteps, bending down to balance my bag on the worn, concrete steps of the building, leaving me with a free hand to open up my cell and pull up my maps app.
Copy and pasting Cassiel’s address from our thread of text messages, I hit the green GO button. Sure enough, the red pin resembling myself stays still, while the blue pin belonging to Cass’s place, zooms forward two blocks ahead.
I suppose it’s not too bad, a couple of blocks isn’t far to walk; I walk more than that on the way to work and back daily.
Shoving my cell in my coat pocket, I pick up my brown bag and set off.
Scanning the area from side to side, I walk with purpose, crossing the silent road to make it to the other side and then rounding the corner. The entire two blocks are strangely quiet—I don’t see another human soul or hear the rumbling of a car as it passes me by.
Heart fluttering in my chest, I will my legs to pick up speed a little. I tell myself it’s so I can get out of the cold faster, but that isn’t the truth. Something about the quiet stillness, so at odds for a typical evening in New York City, has my nerves settling themselves alight.
I let out a small sigh of relief when I finally turn down the correct street corner, although it quickly dies in my throat when I realize I have been here before.
This is the townhouse Cass bought me to on the back of his bike—the very same home with the wine cellar and dark basement where Rome last held a meeting with The Thirteen.
The last meeting I attended before I became an official member almost a month ago.
Swallowing thickly, I flick my gaze upward at the elegant looking townhouses lining either side of the sidewalk. My feet keep moving beneath me as I stick to the right, following the golden puddles emanating from the streetlights above to guide me to number 115.
From here, I can see the lights coming from downstairs, seeping through the closed curtains. I picture Cassiel inside, waiting for me to knock on the door. I wonder if—
I hear the crack before I feel it.
The bullet misses, whizzing past my head and I look up in pure disbelief, into the night sky, at the tall, slated roofs of the row of townhouses just off to the side of me, to find a crouched figure.
He points something at me—a gun, I realize a second too late—and this time, he doesn’t miss.
Poker hot pain like nothing I’ve ever felt before bursts across my shoulder, pulling a guttural scream from the base of my throat and forcing me to drop my paper bag to make a grab for the ball of my shoulder with my left hand.
Vaguely, I register the sound of glass kissing the sidewalk and the wet burst of wine flowing over my jeans and my sneakers, but I’m hyper focused on the pain searing at my flesh.
I bend over in agony, still clutching my shoulder when a second balloon of excruciating heat greets my hip.
Shit.
Ruby red blood stains my hands, running down my wrists in rivets.
I glance up at my attacker, but he or she is off, running into the night and disappearing, blending into the shadows before I even have a chance to shout out.
Tipping my gaze down, I notice the large stain of blood coating the waistband of my denims, right beneath the hem of my cropped puffer jacket.
The circle only seems to be growing wider and wider with each sluggish pulse and I hear a high-pitched ringing in my ears before my head begins to spin.
All I can think of is making it to Cassiel.
I need him.
Practically crawling across the sidewalk, I raise my hand weakly to knock, only to slump across the threshold, whimpering in otherworldly pain.
My heart beat feels like it’s slowing down, I’m strangely cold and my entire shoulder and hip—in fact my entire right hand side of my body—has gone completely numb.
It’s an impossible feat to open my eyes when the door opens, and I fall into the strong arms before me.
“Help me.”
Only too late do I smell him, alongside the strong copper scent of blood, something expensive and not at all clove-like.
Only too late do I register the perfectly coiffed mop of his dark chestnut hair and the gleam of his matching brown eyes.
Only too late—
“Who the fuck did this to you?!” Rome shouts, his voice wobbling with something I can’t put my finger on. “Carlotta?!”
I want to mumble something, but I can’t make my lips move.
It’s getting too difficult to keep my eyes open, to—
“Cassiel!”
A second set of heavy footsteps run towards me, but I give in to the tide of black dots dancing across my vision, pulling under with a force I didn’t even know possible.
The last thing I hear is Rome Folonari’s voice. “Call a fucking ambulance! Now!”
And then I feel his lips against my cheek, kissing me there oh so softly. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve fucking got you.”