Ophelia
“Thanks,” I say to the driver, popping open my clutch. “How much?”
“Everything has been taken care of, Miss Bennett,” says the driver.
Of course it has.
The driver exits the car, grabbing the door for me.
“Thanks,” I mutter, clambering out of the car. I brush myself off, heading into my apartment building, when I feel the man still watching me.
I frown, turning back around.
“Salvatore’s orders,” he says.
Noted.
I’m in the process of turning back around, heading into the lobby, when I catch another car across the road. Either my mind is playing tricks on me, or this is the same vehicle I saw in Queens.
I narrow my eyes, inspecting the vehicle. Shit. This is the same black Sedan.
I side-step, glancing at the license plate and taking a mental note.
The taxi driver follows my gaze. “Everything okay, Miss Bennett?”
“Uh, yeah,” I say, heading inside. “Thanks for the lift.”
I wobble inside, pressing the elevator call button. While riding up to my floor, I give Aunt Viv another call, each unanswered ring making me more impatient. Her phone goes through to voicemail, but that won’t stop me from learning the truth.
I call again, clamping the device between my shoulder as I dig around in my purse for the keys. I find the correct one, inserting it into the lock, only to discover that the lock has been busted.
“What the hell?”
I twist the doorknob, stumbling straight into my apartment.
I search for the light, switching it on at the wall, and gasp in horror. Someone broke in here and flipped my apartment upside down. Clothes are everywhere, the couch flipped over.
My pulse spikes as I walk through the main room.
My TV is no longer on the wall mount but smashed to pieces on the floor.
The TV is one of the most valuable things I own.
Clearly the burglar wasn’t interested in taking the TV, or anything of value for that matter.
My limited-edition Isabel Marant boots are still paired together by the door, all kitchen appliances still intact.
Dread fills my body as I wonder what this person could have possibly taken.
“No, no, no…” I rush into my bedroom, finding my closet door already open. “Please, no.” I rifle through the hanger, searching for my mother’s blue dress. I finish searching the rack and go back, searching through the same clothes again in case I missed something.
I happen to look up and see all the boxes full of my mother’s stuff gone. Every single one has been taken.
Fuck the broken TV, the Isabel Marant boots. These things were all I had left of my mother, aside from the items left in the unit.
I collapse onto my bed, which has been ruined, just like everything else in my apartment. The burglar has flipped the covers, the mattress, everything. This is the biggest invasion of privacy.
More tears fall and I lack the energy to wipe them away. Completely defeated, I lie back onto the stripped mattress, hating my father, hating Salvatore for telling me the truth about him.
We still don’t know for sure if Ben is the new leader, but everything is pointing toward him.
The black sedan. The message for me to contact the journalist. Now this.
All these actions are disguised in warnings.
And the big red warning is for me to stay the fuck away from the Crows. And from Salvatore.
But I can’t do that, not after seeing innocent people killed. Not after seeing the man behind my boss.
A message pings through on my phone.
AUNT VIV: Hey honey, is everything okay?
Seeing her name on my phone makes me sick. Has she known all along what my father has been planning? Who he really is?
I should confirm with Aunt Viv, make sure Ben is really my father before I start pointing fingers and hating the man even more than I already do. But what’s the point? My anger is wasted energy, and it doesn’t solve anything.
I sniffle, wiping tears from my eyes and give Salvatore a ring, who, of course, answers on the first ring.
“You get back safe, Sunshine?”
“Yes and no. My apartment has been broken into. All of my mother’s belongings are missing.”
“Fuck,” cusses Salvatore on the receiving end of the phone. “Pack a bag and get the fuck out of there. You’re moving in with me.”
“I’m not—”
“Not up for discussion, I’m afraid,” says Salvatore, keys jingling through the receiver as he already starts making tracks. “I’ll be right over there. See you soon.”
I flop onto the bed, releasing an infuriating sigh. This is now how I saw my night going. The time on the wall reads 1 a.m. I should be asleep, not moving into my boss’s penthouse—a place that is apparently only reserved for me.
I tear myself away from the mattress and stuff some clothes into a bag, grabbing my toiletries from the bathroom.
The birth control pills in the corner grab my attention again.
I decide to leave the pills here. No point fucking up my cycle and taking them after missing half a packet. The damage has already been done…
And it could potentially be worse than I realize.