13. ADRIANA
ADRIANA
M y mind drifted back to that night. The night with Joey at The Wise Guy . I caught myself smiling, a small, unguarded moment that felt foreign. When was the last time I smiled like that? It was strange because before that night, all my thoughts had been consumed with fear. Anxiety gnawed at me every time I let my mind wander back to the night I shot him . William. The memory had lived in my body like a sickness, a constant weight pressing down on my chest. But Joey made me forget, even if only for a second.
Now, I sat in his passenger seat, the hum of the engine filling the silence between us. We hadn’t said much since he picked me up from Davidson’s. I told him the walk was only a mile ahead, but he refused, brushing off my protest as if I never had a say in the matter. Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I liked it that way.
If I were being honest with myself, I wanted the alone time with him. Even if we hardly spoke. There was something about him—his presence, the way he carried himself, the way he existed in my space. And for the first time in a long time, I felt safe. And because of that, I just wanted to be around him.
I sat in the car outside his wholesale shop, waiting, my fingers smoothing over the fabric of my dress in a futile attempt to calm my nerves. My palms were damp, my pulse unsteady, and I couldn’t even explain why. There was no reason for this nervous energy twisting inside me—at least none I was willing to admit out loud. I shifted in the passenger seat, trying to get comfortable, but it was useless.
That’s when my gaze drifted to the backseat—and caught on something that made my breath hitch.
A duffel bag, unzipped just enough to reveal what was inside. Stacks of cash. Not a few crumpled bills, not a paycheck’s worth—but bundles . Wrapped in rubber bands, thick and neatly packed.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a deep, insistent pulse that I couldn’t ignore. Something was off—I felt it in my gut, that sharp instinct that had never steered me wrong. My mind raced, trying to piece it together, trying to make sense of why there was a duffel bag full of cash sitting in the backseat of his car.
Before I could process it, the driver’s side door swung open, and Joey slid in beside me. I jumped, my breath hitching at the sudden intrusion. He let out a low chuckle, but the amusement in his eyes quickly faded as his brows pulled together, studying me. He noticed the shift.
“Good news,” he said, “Gino almost got your car fixed.”
I barely heard him. My gaze flickered back to the bag, then to him.
“What’s with all the cash?”
He shifted into drive. “What cash?”
“The bag of cash in the back. It’s got a lot of money in it, Joey.”
He chuckled, the sound low and easy. “Oh, yeah. I’m just taking it to the bank once I drop you off.”
My eyes flicked back to the duffel bag. “How much money is that? ”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged, keeping his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “Just a few thousand. The business is making a good profit lately.”
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. It would be easier that way—to take his words at face value, to pretend there was nothing more to question. But I knew better. I’d spent years learning how to read a man, how to spot the lies hidden between his words. Joey wouldn’t look at me. That was the first tell. The way his grip tightened just slightly on the wheel, the way he feigned an easy shrug—too practiced, too casual. He was lying. I could feel it like a weight in my gut, warning me. A duffel bag full of cash wasn’t just business doing well . It was something else.
“Tell me the truth,” I pressed. “Is this illegal money?”
He didn’t answer right away. That was answer enough.
He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the dashboard, tapped one out, and lit it with one hand, never taking his eyes off the road. The flame flickered, catching the paper. Smoke curled around his lips as he exhaled slowly—too slowly, like he was buying time. Like he was choosing his words carefully.
“Adriana,” he said finally, “the money’s goin’ where it needs to go. That’s all you need to know.”
His eyes flicked to mine, and I held his gaze, searching—for what? Clarity? Reasoning? A hint of reassurance that I was overthinking? But he gave me nothing. Just an empty look and a finality that settled between us like a locked door.
“That’s not an answer,” I said, my pulse quickening.
He flicked the ashes out the window. “It’s the only answer you’re gettin’.”
I watched him for a second longer, willing him to give me more, to say something—something that wouldn’t make my stomach twist the way it was now. But silence filled the space between us. I turned away, staring out the window, my mind drifting away .
There had always been something off about this town. I felt it the moment I arrived. The way people watched without seeming to, the careful hush that seemed to settle over certain conversations. I remembered standing at the market checkout when my eyes caught a headline on a newspaper rack. Staten Island: A Mafia Stronghold? The article claimed corruption ran deep—right down to the mayor and the cops.
I had looked away then, refusing to let my mind go there. Refusing to believe that I had escaped one hell just to land in another. But now, sitting in Joey’s car with a duffel bag full of cash in the backseat and a non-answer hanging between us, I wasn’t so sure.