Chapter 25
DANIKA
I’m all out of smiles on the ride home. I enjoyed meeting Tommy’s family, but with the return to the city comes the return of reality—Gran is still missing. Tommy says he’s working on finding her, but that doesn’t ease the relentless worry.
What if she’s already beyond help? What if her disappearance has nothing to do with Biba, and she’s had a stroke, leaving her incapacitated in an alley somewhere? What if Biba does have her, but Tommy’s connections aren’t enough to get her back?
Biba is a hateful, horrible man. I have no doubt he’d kill my grandmother just to hurt me.
I know Tommy thinks he’s equally as tough as the Russian Vor, but how could he be when I’ve seen so much kindness from him?
Biba isn’t capable of kindness or love. An enemy like that is on another level, and I worry that Tommy can’t possibly win against someone so depraved.
In a way, it’s a good problem to have. I’m glad Tommy isn’t like Biba, except it doesn’t help get Gran back.
The leaden weight of my fears drains my energy such that even simple conversation on the way home feels exhausting. Thankfully, Tommy isn’t the chatty sort, so I spend the time trying to fortify myself for whatever life has in store for me next.
Turns out, it’s a complete curveball having nothing to do with Biba or Gran.
An hour after returning home, Tommy has a visitor stop by.
A woman visitor. She looks like a cross between a news anchor and a runway model—impeccably dressed with a smile that could end wars.
Her chestnut hair is silky smooth in a way my red frizz could never comprehend, and her lean musculature suggests she has a second home in a Pilates studio.
Her name is Carmen, and she’s friendly. Very friendly.
I watch with escalating irritation as she continues to hold Tommy’s arm after greeting him with a hug. And a smile. And a kiss on the cheek. And a plethora of compliments.
Tommy motions to where I stand in my yellow muslin sundress like Anne of Green Gables fresh from the garden.
“Carmen, this is Danika.” Despite repeatedly calling me his wife or fiancée every chance he gets, Tommy is suddenly silent on the matter, and I’m stunned to find myself fighting back my own declaration.
Instead, I smile and reach forward to shake her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Carmen.” Such an alluring name—so sultry without even trying. I hate it.
“The pleasure is all mine.” She clasps my hand in a shake? then brings it closer as if to examine me for imperfections.
“Your skin is flawless. Whatever you use to moisturize, it’s working wonders.
” As if that isn’t awkward enough, she looks at me from top to bottom without any attempt to disguise her perusal.
“Yes, Tommy. You’ve done very well, love. She’s absolutely stunning.”
Tommy frowns. “I’m not her father. I had nothing to do with her genetics.”
Carmen waves him off with an airy laugh. “You know what I mean, silly. You chose well—the same with this place.” She does a slow spin to scan the apartment. “I’m so glad I got to stop by and see the progress.”
She’s been here before, in his home, and recently since he hasn’t lived here long.
I don’t know who this woman is or why I’m having such a visceral reaction to her, but it’s taking everything I have not to stomp my feet to the guest bedroom and lock myself inside.
“It still needs a few more paintings, according to my designer. I enjoy the simplicity.”
“You’re so right. I appreciate it when a beautiful work of art can be cherished without clutter distracting the eye away.
Why have it if you’re not going to spotlight it?
I think the same goes for fashion. Don’t you agree, Danika?
” She looks back at me expectantly. “But of course, that depends on whether you want the focus on the dress or the woman wearing it.”
“Um, I guess,” I say limply, not sure if we’re talking hypotheticals or if she just called me out for being plain.
Tommy’s phone rings, capturing all our attention. The angular lines of his face sharpen in severity when he sees who’s calling. “Yeah?” He pauses, then adds, “Got it,” and disconnects. “Carmen, I hate to send you on your way so soon, but something’s come up.”
I desperately want to ask if it’s Gran, but not in front of the succubus.
Carmen waves him off. “Not at all. I’m on a tight schedule today, anyway.”
Bye, Felicia.
“Tomorrow,” Tommy says in a firm tone.
Wait, what?
My poor heart can’t decide if it’s drowning or flying or fretting. What’s tomorrow? Was the call about Gran? Why isn’t this woman leaving already?
Carmen tosses her head back in a peal of bubbling laughter. “Oh, Tommy. You’re pushing your limits, but I can’t say no to you. Now, I really have to get going.” She comes to give me a kiss on each cheek. “Until tomorrow!” she calls over her shoulder on her way out the door.
I take two swift steps forward and slam the door behind her. For a second, Tommy and I stare at each other, equally surprised by my actions.
“Um, I … I was anxious to know about the call.” And send a parting message to the she-demon. “Was it about Gran?”
“It was. We have her location.” He starts unbuttoning his cuffs while walking to the bedroom. “I’m getting changed, then DiAngelo and I will go retrieve her.”
“Where is she? Is she okay?” I have to hurry to keep up with his long strides.
“She’s at a hotel in Brooklyn—no word on her condition.
” He puts on a black undershirt, then a black long-sleeve shirt on top, completing the SWAT look with black cargo pants and black boots.
I watch in silence because the outfit reminds me of the severity of the situation.
Tommy is about to raid a hotel room—guns will most certainly be involved, and any number of people could end up dead, including Tommy and Gran.
My chin quivers as I fight back a torrent of fear.
Tommy catches sight of me in a mirror and pauses to come closer, bringing my glassy eyes to his. “I know you haven’t really seen this side of me, but trust me when I say I’ve got this, okay?”
I nod, desperate to believe him.
“Good girl.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head, then takes out his phone and sends several short texts. “Hand me your phone.”
I open the lock and give it to him, watching as he adds a new contact.
“Sante is on his way over. Should something happen to him, I’m putting DiAngelo’s number in your phone as well.
I’ll be with him. If you can’t get ahold of me, he’ll know what to do.
” He hands the phone back, a harsh shadow darkening his eyes to the same severe black as his wardrobe.
“If all goes as planned, I shouldn’t be long.
Remember there’s a gun in the nightstand if you need it. Do you know how to use a gun?”
I shake my head.
“I know Sante will be here, but I’d feel a whole lot better knowing you can use a gun.
Come on.” He takes my hand and leads me back to the bedroom.
He gets out the gun from the nightstand and tells me it’s a nine-millimeter, whatever that means, and shows me how the safety works.
He then demonstrates how to chamber a bullet and hold the gun when I shoot so that I don’t hurt myself.
I’m pretty sure in the heat of the moment I wouldn’t remember a word of what he’s told me, but I keep that to myself.
“I’ll be fine. Promise.” The last thing I want is him worrying about me when he should be focused on his mission.
I force a thin smile and throw my arms around his neck. “Thank you, Tommy. And please be safe.”
He stills beneath me for a fraction of a second before pulling back and kissing me breathless. “Tomorrow,” he says in a raw, raspy tone that reminds me of a ravenous bear eyeing a fresh kill.
I don’t have the capacity nor is there time to ask what he means by tomorrow .
He arms himself with an arsenal of weapons I had no idea were here right under my nose.
He even puts on a Kevlar vest. The gear would be sexy as hell if I wasn’t so worried he was going to need it.
Anxiety thick as tar clots in my stomach by the time Sante shows up and Tommy leaves. All I can do now is wait.
Deciding to distract myself by unpacking paint supplies, I excuse myself to the guest bedroom. I suppose it’s my studio, now. All my tubs of paint and other accoutrements were already chaotic—I can only imagine what state they’re in after being packed by someone else.
The boxes and canvases are piled in a corner.
The room isn’t large, but it’s plenty of space for what I need.
I was used to working in a corner of my old bedroom, so having any dedicated space at all feels opulent.
I even have the use of the entire dresser for storage, which can also house the pile of random items we unpacked with my clothes but didn’t need to be kept in the primary bedroom.
Things like a set of poker chips and cards, an expandable folder filled with important documents, and a bag full of cross-stitching materials from a bygone era when I thought it might be a fun hobby.
Those items and a few more sit on the bed along with the disposable phone Sachi got for me.
I haven’t needed it since Tommy got me a new phone but didn’t want to get rid of it in case I needed it again.
I open it, surprised it still has charge, and see no new missed calls or texts. A tiny sliver of me had hoped to see something from Gran even though Tommy’s already located her. One little text would have done wonders to lift my spirits.
Sitting in the guest room looking at the phone brings back the memory of Tommy asking about who I was texting.
I remember being surprised he knew I’d been texting but never had an opportunity to ask him about it.
I swear that I didn’t use the phone in his presence—I was too scared he might take it away. So how could he have known?