Chapter 3
3
GIANNA
He chuckles huskily, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe, transfixed by how his mirth transforms his face. “That’s it. You’re officially banned from laughing in front of me, ever.” The words slip out before I can stop them. His chuckle deepens, and I swear it vibrates through my entire body.
I lock my knees to keep from melting into a puddle of lust-addled goo. Shit. Abort mission, abort mission! I can’t flirt with him. I’m leaving tonight, and a man like him? Yeah, he only flirts with a very specific endgame in mind. One I definitely cannot indulge. No matter how badly I want to.
Clearing my throat, I spin away from those arctic eyes and go on my tiptoes to grab the quality Jameson from the upper shelf. The familiar weight of the bottle steadies me as I pour a generous splash of the golden liquid into a clean tumbler.
When I slide it to him, he raises a single brow at me, his expression unreadable, but accepts the drink nonetheless. The diamond ring on his index finger winks under the bar lights as he takes a sip, and gives a nod of approval that sends electric warmth rushing through me. I like his approval very much. Maybe a little too much. Because my brain is already racing, trying to figure out how to earn that approval again.
“Bree!”
I snap out of my thoughts and turn gratefully to Vince, who waves me over to his side of the bar, pointing at some last-minute patrons who just walked in. I check the time and groan—ten minutes until closing time. Fantastic.
Plastering on my best customer service smile, I head over to take their orders. Through it all, I swear I can feel the tattooed stranger's gaze boring a hole into the back of my skull. But every time I glance his way, he’s looking elsewhere.
Am I going crazy?
Shaking it off, I keep busy, cleaning up the bar as the new patrons sip their drinks. Thankfully, they only order one round, and by the time I get to them, they’re on their feet. I follow them to the front door and flip the sign to ‘Closed’ with a relieved exhale.
When I get back to the bar, the stranger has finished his whiskey. I pick up the tumbler, avoiding eye contact. “We’re closed now,” I inform him, giving the bar top an unnecessary wipe-down.
“So you’re kicking me out?” That almost-smile returns, sending my heart into overdrive.
I attempt a casual shrug, but it probably looks more awkward than anything. Not that it matters. Nothing can happen here—nothing should happen here. I try to convince myself as I walk to the back of the bar where Vince is perched, watching me like a hawk. “I’m done. I’m leaving now.”
He hands me a bunch of bills—my pay for the night. After making sure nothing is missing, I pocket it and nod towards the tip jar in his hand.
Vince operates on a strict 50/50 tip-splitting system, which means we divide whatever we make during the shift equally. Never mind that he barely gets any tips himself and that I’m the one schlepping my ass all night getting groped and hollered at.
“Don’t be late tomorrow, or else,” he warns as he begrudgingly opens the jar to count out my share.
I hesitate, debating if it’s even worth telling him. “I’m not coming in tomorrow. Actually, this is my last night. Take this as my notice.”
He stops mid-count and glares at me like I just spit on his shoe. “No.”
“ No ?” I ask incredulously. “What do you mean no?”
“You can’t just quit. You started two weeks ago—you need to work for a minimum of two months and then give me a month's notice to find a replacement before you can quit.”
My eyes nearly pop out of my head. “What the hell are you talking about? That’s not how this works.” But he just sets his jaw stubbornly, and I’m too fucking tired to argue with this prick. “Fine, whatever. Just give me my tips.” I stretch my hand out.
“Will you arrive on time tomorrow?”
I smile sweetly. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of being late.” Late to get the hell out of this city that is. If he doesn’t see me tomorrow, he’ll figure out that I’m serious, and that he doesn’t control me. Nobody does. Not anymore.
His eyes narrow like he’s trying to decode my thoughts, then he shoves the money back into the jar and twists the lid shut. “When you arrive on time tomorrow, you’ll get your tips.”
“What?!” The growl rips out louder than intended. “That’s bullshit,” I add more quietly, cringing when I remember we have an audience. How embarrassing.
“No, not bullshit. Insurance. To make sure you show up for work tomorrow. You can’t just leave me in a lurch, Bree. These are hard times.”
I stare at him in utter disbelief. Is this asshole for real? As I’m gearing up to tell Vince to go fuck himself with a rusty chainsaw, a deep voice speaks up right behind me, “Is there a problem?”
It’s the stranger.
“None of your business, fucker. I’m having a private conversation with my employee. Get lost,” Vince snaps.
The stranger takes a threatening step forward, and I can practically taste the testosterone saturating the air. But I don’t have time for this alpha male bullshit.
The time is literally ticking down on how much longer I have in this city. And I swear I can almost feel the hot breath of Uncle Aldo’s man, the one who’s been chasing me all over the country, on the back of my neck.
So, I just roll my eyes and leave the two of them alone. Let them have their little pissing contest without me.
I book it to the changing room and frantically shimmy out of my skimpy uniform and back into my street clothes. Then I exit the bar for the last time. Good fucking riddance.
My ankles are killing me as I hobble down the sidewalk, so to celebrate my last night in Seattle and another two weeks undetected, I splurge on a taxi to take me home. I sigh as I get in, leaning back into my seat as I watch the city whizz by me.
Where do I go next? California? Arizona? New Jersey?
A streak of lightning splits the sky, followed by a deep rumbling thunder. I smile just a little and roll down my window, inhaling the sharp, crisp air. I sure as shit won’t miss this constant rain.
New Jersey. The thought crystallizes suddenly. It’s so close to NYC, Uncle Aldo and his men would never even think to look there. Hiding in plain sight—sometimes the best camouflage is no camouflage at all.
When the cab is a few blocks away from my apartment, I lean forward and tap the driver’s shoulder. “You can drop me here.”
He tosses me a concerned frown in the rearview. “In the middle of nowhere? You sure, miss? It ain’t exactly safe for a young thing like you to be wandering around alone at this time of night.”
I flash him a smile. “It’s fine. I’m a big girl. I can protect myself.” I lived with my uncle for ten years, didn’t I? And nothing can be more dangerous than the mafia.
He still looks uncertain but pulls to the curb. I shove some bills at him and hop out before he can argue.
I wait for him to drive off, watching until his car disappears from sight before continuing home. If, like I suspect, Uncle Aldo’s man has found me and links me to that cab driver, he won’t get much out of him. All the driver can do is bring him here, and that will buy me thirty minutes, maybe an hour to get away.
I jog down the dark, lonely road to my apartment, my nerves buzzing. Once inside, I take my money out of its hiding spot and drop it into my backpack. After zipping it up, I sling the bag over my shoulder, mentally tallying the total. Getting to New Jersey, finding a place to stay, feeding myself—it will burn through most of my meager savings.
“Damn you, Vince.” My tips would have helped me a bit.
Now that I’ve decided on my next move, I start feeling antsy, restless. I pace the cramped studio apartment—once, twice, a dozen times—until the steps blur together. My mind’s racing just as fast, too loud and chaotic to find any sense of calm.
I’m still exhausted, and I can feel a migraine creeping in, so I should probably take a nap, but I don’t feel sleepy at all—I’m too keyed up. The first bus to Newark leaves at 7:45 AM. I can nap at the station while I wait… or during the long ride.
I check the alarm clock obsessively as I pace, willing time to go faster.
How long can I keep doing this? Running every two weeks, barely making enough money to scrape by before packing up and fleeing again?
As long as you want to stay alive.
Because one thing is for sure: Uncle Aldo is never going to stop sending his men after me until he finds me. And with what I did to Dario’s car— and running away—I know there’s a heavy punishment, if not outright death, waiting for me back in New York.
Another glance at the clock. 4:30 AM. Time to go.
I drop the apartment key on the table for the manager and slip out like a ghost. Taking a bracing breath, I walk down the stairs as quietly as possible. The silence is so heavy, I’m afraid even the smallest noise will draw attention.
But finally, I make it outside, leaving the crumbling building behind me, its decaying walls no longer a part of my world. I don’t dare look back, focusing instead on the road ahead.
I’m about fifteen minutes from the bus station when I hear it. Footsteps.
I hold my breath, walking on my tiptoes to confirm if the footsteps are mine. They’re not . My stomach drops, twisting itself into knots, and I chance a glance over my shoulder.
A tall figure in a hoodie stalks several feet behind me.
Heart hammering, asshole clenching, I pick up my pace, no longer caring about stealth.
He speeds up too, matching my stride.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
A whimper crawls up my throat as I break into a run. His footsteps follow, a staccato rhythm that matches my hammering pulse. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.
Who is it? An armed robber? Some other criminal? This place isn’t exactly nirvana.
Or has Uncle Aldo's man finally caught up to me?
My feet pound the asphalt, sending jolts up my thighs and sweat down my back. I grit my teeth, powering through the discomfort, slipping my fingers under my backpack strap to shift it to my chest. As I do, I risk another look behind me—and nearly choke on my scream.
He has gained so much ground, he’s literally on my heels now.
I push harder, unzipping my backpack just as the turn to the bus station shows up in the distance. Please, let me make it. Please, please .
Fingers trembling, I rummage through my backpack as I run, never breaking stride. Where is it? Where the fuck is it? There! I close my hand around the cool metal canister of my pepper spray. My only weapon.
But because I’m so intent on getting the damn canister out, I don’t see the broken chunk of pavement jutting up from the sidewalk. My foot catches, and I go sprawling, a grunt tearing from my throat as I hit the ground hard.
No no no no—fuck please no .
Frantic, I twist onto my back, scrabbling to aim the pepper spray, to get back on my feet, to do any-fucking-thing. But he’s already on top of me.
A hand clamps around my throat, and I scream bloody murder, my finger mashing down on the trigger. A spurt of liquid fire bursts into his face, and he roars, flinging me away from him and sending my only means of protection clattering into the dark.
“No!” I lunge for where I think it fell, but he’s faster. So much faster. He grabs a fistful of my shirt and buries his other hand in my hair, forcing me up and slamming me face-first into the rough brick of the building we’re grappling beside.
A sob escapes as my cheek scrapes against the gritty surface, tears springing to my eyes when my attacker grinds my face harder into the wall. I buck and writhe, desperate to break his hold but it’s useless. He's so much bigger and stronger than me.
The man adjusts his stance, digging his fingers into my necklace, holding it together with the scruff of my shirt. He yanks harder than necessary, causing the gold chain to bite into my throat, choking me.
“You little piece of shit, you think you’re so smart, huh? Leading me on a merry-go-round for the past few weeks. But I’ve got you now.”
My heart thuds frantically against the wall, chills filling my being at the sinister tone. He’s been following me for weeks? I glance around the empty street as much as I can, but there’s no one. No one else crazy enough to be walking out here at 4 AM. I’m all alone. Trapped.
Shit. I’m well and truly fucked.
But even though I’m trapped with no help in sight, I'm not going down without taking pieces of this bastard with me, damn it. I slam my head back into his chin with everything I’ve got, losing my breath as the necklace digs even deeper into my throat, cutting off my air for a terrifying moment.
He curses and shoves my head back into the wall. “Enough!”
“Who the hell are you?” I gasp out, though I already know. Still, I need to hear it. Need to know how close to death I really am. “And what the hell do you want?”
“Aldo asked me to get you, Gigi.” His voice drips with sick glee as he uses my uncle’s nickname for me. “Do you remember him? You’ve been a bad girl, running away from your beloved uncle.”
My stomach flutters frantically, and I gag, bile building up at the back of my throat as my worst fear is confirmed. Yes, I do remember my uncle, and there’s no fucking way I’m going back to him.
I’d rather die right here on this street where nobody knows my real name.
As If punctuating my morbid thoughts, lightning slices the sky like God’s own judgment, the sudden bright light blinding me for a moment. An angry rumble of thunder follows immediately, so close it rattles my teeth.
Then a chilly gust of wind, sharp with the scent of rain I’ve learned to detect, rushes down the street, sending our clothes rustling.
“Damn dreary, rainy city,” the man mutters, just as another, louder rumble shakes the air. Then the sky opens up, unleashing a torrential downpour. He growls in frustration and takes half a step back.
It’s all the opening I need.
I drive my heel into his shin and rush away from him. He curses, not letting go of my necklace, but I keep fighting—there’s no way in hell I’m going back to NYC with him. Not alive, not breathing. Not ever . I thrash like a rabid animal, kicking, twisting, clawing. But in the scuffle, there’s a faint snap. The clasp of my necklace must have broken because suddenly I’m released, stumbling forward as his grip on my shirt slackens.
Yes, I’m free!
But then I see it—the necklace, my mom’s necklace, glinting in a puddle between us. For a split second, everything else fades. That necklace is all I have left of her. My body moves on instinct, diving towards it like it’s my salvation.
But I’m too slow.
The man snatches it up before I can even touch it, his fingers curling around the pendant like it belongs to him . A cruel smirk tugs at his lips, his eyes flicking to me with a spark of triumph.
“No!” The word rips from my throat. My stomach twists, the sight of his filthy hand on her necklace igniting something primal in me.
I lurch towards him, but he steps back, holding the chain high like he’s taunting me. “You’re really attached to this little trinket, huh? Guess I’ll hold onto it—for safekeeping.”
Lightning tears through the sky, the flash illuminating the rain-drenched street and his smug, granite-like face. The pendant dangles beneath his fist, and I freeze, my throat closing up as my brain cruelly flashes an eerily similar scene from a decade ago for me.
The necklace dangling down a lifeless neck, a mixture of rain and blood dripping down the pendant.
My knees almost buckle, my chest tightening to the point of agony.
I can’t lose it. I can’t lose her.
A hand slams into the middle of my back, crushing me against the wet pavement. The impact jars me violently, yanking me out of the nightmare of my past only to throw me back into another.
The scream that tears from my throat is raw, inhuman, but it’s drowned out by the roaring storm. Rain pelts my face, mingling with the hot sting of tears and the metallic taste of blood on my lips. My chest heaves, but the air feels thick, suffocating, like the storm itself is pressing down on me.
I don’t move. I can’t. My heart throbs painfully in sync with the pounding in my head, a cruel reminder that I’m alive—though I’m not sure I want to be. The front of my shirt clings to me, soaked and cold from the puddle beneath me, while the rain beats down on my back like punishment.
Is this all worth it?
This endless running, this desperate struggle to survive… for what? For who? Nobody gives a shit whether I live or die. Maybe I should just let go, hope there’s something better waiting on the other side. Maybe I’ll see my family again…
More tears blur my vision as I lie there, lifeless, letting the man drag me across the wet ground like I’m nothing more than a broken doll. My skin scrapes against the pavement, but the sting barely registers through the numbness settling over me.
Please kill me, I silently beg him. Please don’t let Uncle Aldo get his hands on me again. I close my eyes and feel myself floating up and away from the shell of my body, desperate to distance myself from whatever is about to happen?—
A deep rumble fills the air again. At first, I think it’s thunder, but it grows louder and louder. My eyes fly open just as headlights pierce the darkness.
My captor freezes, his grip on me tightening as a car barrels through the storm, splashing water everywhere before slowing down beside us.
I blink at the sleek, white supercar without much interest. Probably just some rich asshole out for a joyride. From my experience, they never stop. A smart person would speed off, not wanting to get involved in street violence. No one sticks their neck out for a stranger in these parts.
But to my surprise, the car rolls to a stop, and the passenger window slides down.
I glance at the driver and my heart damn near stops. A spark of hope I didn’t know I still had flares to life. It’s him—the gorgeous, tattooed man with the piercings from the bar. The one I momentarily flirted with, who had butted in during my argument with Vince.
His electric blue eyes take me in, and something unrecognizable passes through his cool gaze. “Need help?” he asks casually, as if he has stumbled across someone with a flat tire instead of a kidnapping in progress.
My lips part in disbelief.
Need help?
Is he fucking serious?
“What does it fucking look like, asshole?” My voice is lost in the rain, but his lips quirk up—just enough to let me know he caught at least the gist of what I said.