Chapter 11 #2
Still staring at my phone as my heart beats faster, I slowly cast a look in the man’s direction in time to find him calmly typing something on his phone and sending another look my way.
I’ll never know if I’m reading way too much into this stranger or if I’m onto something unless I test my theory.
But first, I want a picture of him. Just in case.
Pretending like I’m totally engrossed in something on my phone, I snap a quick picture of the man in the hat.
Then I tuck my phone into my pocket. I pick up my scone and tea, heading back to the counter, where I ask for a to-go container for my scone.
I take my time, making a slow process of transferring the oversized orange-cranberry triangle into a biodegradable container.
I’ve made sure to position myself so that I can keep an eye on the stranger.
He’s watching his coffee, typing on his phone, and glancing casually in my direction every so often.
Watching me.
Panic makes my chest tighten, but I do my best to control it.
After snapping the to-go lid closed, I drop the container into my bag.
Clutching my hot tea in one hand and my phone in the other, I weave through my fellow patrons and head out of the coffee shop.
As I do so, I see the stranger in the dark hat rising from his chair, and goose bumps break out on my arms. It could be a coincidence.
Or he could be following me.
Back outside, I take a second to get my bearings.
I can go to the right and cross the street to the penthouse.
Or I can head to the left and see if the guy from the coffee shop follows.
I go to the left, pretending to glance at the shop windows as I go so that I can watch for him in my peripheral vision.
And there he is, following in my wake with long, determined strides.
Still, the city is a huge place. He could be going back to work. Or home. To the subway. He could be headed anywhere, and just because he also took a left, it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s following me.
I dip into a tourist store that’s filled with knickknacks like magnets, coasters, tees, and mini snow globes. I duck behind a shelf and watch as he slows by the door to the shop but then keeps going. Relief hits me. He’s not following me.
Feeling guilty for stopping into the shop without buying anything, I select a magnet for my fridge—whenever I have a fridge again—as a memento of this trip.
I should have gotten one in the hotel gift shop in St. Thomas, but then I guess I’ll always have my St. Thomas shorts to remind me of those glorious days in the sun.
And the even more glorious one-night stand I so stupidly allowed myself.
I pay for the magnet, thanking the cashier who looks bored to be there, and then I dash back outside.
But when I hit the cold air and the sidewalk crowd, I realize the guy in the dark hat didn’t keep going.
He’s a half a block down, lingering by a bench.
I duck back into the tourist store, the bell on the door jingling merrily as I reenter. The bored cashier looks up at me, and I’m not even sure he recognizes I was the person who was here about one minute before, paying him for a magnet.
Either way, I blurt out, “I’m having second thoughts about the magnet I chose.”
He blinks at me. “We have a no-return policy.”
“Do you have a swap policy?”
As I ask the question, I keep my eyes trained on the window. The man in the dark hat has slowly started moving back in my direction, and now my panic is in overdrive.
What if he realized I saw him following me? What if he’s going to come into this shop? Who is he, and what does he want?
“Like, you mean you want to trade the magnet you bought for a different one?” the shop clerk asks me. “I mean, if it was of equal or lesser value, I guess we could do that.”
“Hold that thought,” I tell him, taking out my phone.
As much as I was avoiding doing this, I think it’s time to text Alessio.
My heart pounds as I open my contacts, looking for Alessio. He’s there, listed in the A section for Andriani, under Saint. Hastily, I select message and start typing with my thumbs.
What if there’s a guy who followed me into the coffee shop?
I attach the picture and wait.
Three dots instantly appear.
WTF are you doing out of the penthouse without my approval?
I wanted tea.
Are you alone or did you at least take a guard, and the answer better not be what I fucking think it is.
I wince, then type out my reply, glancing back into the street as I do so. The man in the dark hat has stopped just short of the shop, and he’s on his phone, looking up at the storefront like he’s telling whoever’s on the phone the name of the store I’m in.
I tap out another reply to Alessio.
I’m alone.
Why do you think he’s following you?
Because he followed me out of the coffee shop, and now he’s waiting for me outside the tourist trap store I stepped into.
Shit. Send me a pin with your location.
Fingers fumbling, I do as he asks.
Sending Marco to you now. Stay where you are.
Damn. My heart rate amps up, pounding faster. I’m not just being paranoid. There’s something to the hulking blond who followed me into the coffee shop, then down the street, and who’s now parked outside this store. But who is he? Am I in danger? Is he an undercover cop? Part of the Mafia?
My panic builds.
“Look, I might have to call my boss and see if I’m allowed to authorize a trade,” the clerk says, interrupting my impending crash out.
“You know what, I really like this magnet,” I say with forced brightness. “I think I may just buy another magnet instead of trading.”
The clerk looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
And he’s not really wrong with that assumption, because I feel like I have.
All I did was go out for tea across the street, and now I’m being tailed by someone. Potentially a very dangerous criminal someone. A someone who wants to do me harm because of the people I’m associated with.
Dear God, what did I get myself into?
A text pops up on my phone. It’s from Alessio again.
Are you staying in the store?
Yes.
See if you can get another pic of him.
I sidle to the window, a sheen of sweat on my brow like it’s July instead of March.
The light-haired guy in the dark hat and coat is there, still on the phone.
With a shaking hand, I zoom in and snap three pictures in rapid succession.
I’m so panicked that I don’t know if it’s blurry or if he saw me.
Suddenly, a sleek, black SUV pulls up to the curb. He looks down the street past the shop I’m hiding in for a second before ducking into the back of the vehicle. The door shuts, and the car heads into traffic. Frantically, I take a few more pictures of the SUV, hoping to get a license plate.
A huge guy walks in front of the store from the opposite direction as the SUV disappears into traffic, and some of my panic eases when I recognize Marco from the penthouse door. He comes in, the bell tinkling overhead.
My phone buzzes, and I look down, realizing I missed a flurry of texts while I was trying to get a picture of the license plate.
You still there?
Answer me.
Marco’s inside the shop now.
Marco spots me, which is easy because I’m hiding in plain sight like the creative writing professor I am. I’m not accustomed to being followed by nefarious-looking men. Or having guards. Or any of this stuff. I tap off a quick reply.
I see Marco.
“You ready to go?” Marco asks me, his face as expressionless as before.
I wonder if all the Andriani guards are AI robots or if they’ve just been told to never show a hint of humanity.
“Sorry,” I tell the clerk. “Changed my mind again. Guess I’ll stick with the magnet I already bought.”
The clerk huffs out a sigh like I’m possibly the most annoying customer he’s ever had. “Have a great day.”
“You too.” I turn back to Marco.
I’ve never been more relieved to see a seven-foot-tall Italian man with a scar on his cheek in my life.
“Let’s go.”
He nods and makes sure he’s the first one out the door. As he walks, his coat flips open. I see the gun he’s got strapped to his side. The sight makes my mouth go dry, a visceral, real reminder of the danger out there. He’s armed.
And dangerous.
Did the man have a gun hidden on him too?
“Stay close to me,” Marco orders me. “On the inside, not by the street. That way, if anyone tries to take us by surprise, I can block you.”
My heart is beating three times its normal rate, and I don’t feel even the slightest hint of relief until we’re back in the elevator, past a few layers of armed guards, on our way back to the penthouse and Cid.
“No more trips to the coffee shop,” Marco tells me as the elevator dings and opens on the top floor and we get out.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I have no intention of venturing beyond these walls until it’s time for me to pass the baton to Luna.
“I’m sorry for causing trouble,” I apologize, guilty that Marco had to chase after me and put himself in danger.
“I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” Marco says gruffly. “That’s the boss.”
He’s talking about Alessio.
“Well, I’m also sorry about you having to potentially jeopardize yourself on my behalf. You would have used yourself as a human shield. For me.”
“I’ve sworn an oath,” he tells me. “I do what I’m told.”
So much for my gratitude.
“Of course.” Still feeling shaky, I head to the door of the penthouse, enter my code, and step inside.
I set my tea on the counter along with my bag, inhale, and then release a massive breath, feeling like I just dodged a bullet. Maybe even a literal one.
“Cid,” I call, wondering where he’s at.
His bowl is empty at its customary place in the kitchen. Apparently, during the time it took for me to be stalked by a menacing stranger, Cid finished his breakfast and signed out of the chat.
“Cid?” Toeing off my shoes, I pass through the kitchen and turn a corner into the massive living area, where floor-to-ceiling windows show off the impressive spectacle of the cityscape.
I’m checking out the amazing bird’s-eye view that never ceases to impress me, so I fail to notice the man sitting in a sleek leather chair until I hear his voice.
“Care to explain what the fuck you were doing wandering around the city alone?”
Alessio is here, Cid in his lap, and from the expression on his face and the tone of his voice, he’s not a happy camper.
My heart starts beating faster again.
Shit.