Prologue #2
My lungs constrict, burning as I come to a stop next to some dumpsters. Panting, I check my surroundings then toss the gun and what ammo I have left into one when I see no cameras. I jog, aiming towards another warehouse as my feet ache and throb as I toss my now empty bag into another dumpster.
I pause, thinking of the quickest way back into Manhattan this late at night when I hear voices again.
My shoes scrape against the concrete as I spin around.
I run towards the end of the warehouse, wincing at the pain in my feet as I come upon the water’s edge.
Swearing under my breath, I quickly look around and see some steel drums stacked against the back of the building.
As the voices get closer, I scramble towards the drums, hiding behind them as I pull my legs in close and scoot my ass back against the cold asphalt.
Cold creeps over my skin, hating I wore such a short skirt and barely a top with the stupid flats I’m wearing.
There’s even blood on my feet from running.
My throat is dry as I swallow, voices coming closer.
They’re far enough away I can’t hear the words they say, but there’s grunting as chains rattle.
More scared than I was when I shot and killed someone barely thirty minutes ago, I press against the steel drums trying to be invisible. There’s a splash.
Shit. I’m in mob territory still. Right now, I have no idea who’s I’m in. Petrov’s? Gallagher’s?
The blood on my hands dries pulling my skin tight, which makes me stare down at them.
I’d shot him so close, stupid move, but the fucker was choking me and trying to rip my skirt off.
My tights were already torn. More bodies, I’m assuming, are dumped into the harbor.
Shivers run over me, causing my stomach to clench.
I try to remain still, hoping they’ll leave soon.
More splashes that vanish quickly. The cold air reaches my burning lungs, hoping six bodies were their max tonight.
Voices mutter while footsteps fall away.
My feet throb painfully, and I hiss low as I move them a little as I lose feeling in one of my legs.
I curse the fact I need to find a way home tonight.
I accidentally bump into one of the steel drums, jostling one. In the quiet night, it rings with a clang that feels damning. Terror floods my veins as I freeze, staring at the dark water before me.
I hold my breath as I listen to someone shouting about checking out the noise. A whimper leaves me as I press further into the shadows.
I’m dead. I’m so fucking dead.
Footsteps come closer as they scrape against the pavement.
My lungs ache as I hold my breath, burning as I await my doom that steps towards me.
Dark, dress shoes appear. They shine against the low lights of the warehouse.
My eyes travel up black slacks, paired with a button-up that’s dark.
My eyes shoot up to the man who’s been sent to investigate the noise.
No.
Horror wraps itself around me, building tears in my eyes as I recognize the young man.
He’s shorter than his brother, leaner with brown hair that’s shaggy and not a lick of facial hair on him.
He turns in my direction, and it’s then I notice the gun in his hand that points at the ground.
In the low light, I make out those brown eyes as they find me.
Matteo Nicholas Marchetti.
I’ve landed in the worst possible territory—the Marchettis.
Panic encompasses me as my body shakes. My fate flashing before my eyes. I’ll be dragged to his brother, Gabriel, the Mafia Don of New York City. Best case scenario he’ll kill me quickly. Worst case…he doesn’t.
Matteo stares at me, brows pinching together. His jaw works as someone shouts, “What the fuck is it? Matteo!”
I’m half-tempted to run for it, bloodied or not and see how far I get. I could jump into the water, drown myself before Gabriel nabs me and finds out who I work for. Before I can decide, Matteo answers, “Just a fucking cat.”
Tears stream down my cheeks.
“All clear,” he says, putting the gun away.
“Fine. Kill it or not, we’re late for the meeting.”
The young man, who’s still a fucking teenager, gives me a brief sympathetic expression. He juts his head barely, flicking his gaze in the opposite direction of where the others are.
“Get out.” His whisper pierces me before he turns away.
I can’t move as I remain seated. Silent, flustered tears run down my cheeks as the noises dissipate.
I’m not sure how long I remain there, shivering as boats and a siren sounds in the distance, water lapping.
Finally, I stand using the drums to help me as I wince at the pain in my soles and legs.
I stare out to where they’d been. Nothing is there.
No bodies. No blood. As if it was just a nightmare.
I shake my head, holding myself close as I go in the direction Matteo pointed in.
“Get out.” My murmur is soft as I limp for home, wanting to forget this awful night ever happened. At some point, I think I truly did.