Chapter 24
RILEY
It’s been four days since the shitshow that unfolded on Sunday.
Taylor’s the only person who’s seen me since. She was waiting for me when I got home that night and has spent every night on my couch trying to keep me from spiraling.
I took the week off work, too humiliated to even think about stepping foot in the office. Or in public at all. The thought of coming face-to-face with Nick is enough to have me hyperventilating and triple-checking that my blinds are pulled tight.
The article got taken down before I even got home from the D’Amico estate on Sunday—his lawyer must have a lot of pull to get something like that scrubbed from the internet within half an hour, which is terrifying on its own—but it also got sent out on a company-wide email seconds after it was posted.
Even some of our clients were on the email list. I have no way of knowing how many people saw it.
It doesn’t matter. Even if Nick and I were the only people to see it, the damage is done.
I’ve been spending every evening with Taylor because I’m too stressed out to feed myself or get off the couch most days.
Nick and I had a single conversation Monday morning where he filled me in on as much as he’d sorted through then, but I told him I needed time to handle this and that I’d call him when I was ready to talk.
He agreed, saying he’d wait for me, no matter how unhappy he sounded at the prospect.
It hasn’t stopped him from leaving me voicemails and texting me to check in, but he hasn’t shown up at my door, so I’ll take it.
If Sloane hadn’t gotten arrested, she’d probably be kicking her feet in glee right about now.
That news had come as more of a surprise than it should have.
It’s not like I’m walking around with enemies around every corner, but I figured whoever was behind this had to have a vendetta against Nick, and that was before I knew about his family ties.
Finding out that Sloane orchestrated the whole thing in an attempt to ruin our relationship and get Nick all to herself was… unpleasant, to say the least.
If Nick wasn’t already in the doghouse for all of this, he’d definitely be in trouble for failing to mention that they fucked.
It was only once, sure, and it was years ago, but still. He gave me the rundown of how he hadn’t even known it was her when it happened, but there’s only so much I can forgive right now.
Besides, knowing it was Sloane that did all this only serves to scare me more. She went this far just because she wanted Nick to herself. How far is she willing to go now that her scheme got her arrested?
I’m sure she’ll see it as a reason to seek revenge.
She’s locked up, but the cops aren’t having any luck getting the names of her accomplices out of her.
All they know is that she had someone else doing her dirty work—hacking The Echelon’s cameras, delivering the photos, texting me on an untraceable number.
If they can’t figure out who she was paying to do all of this, who knows what will wind up happening?
Even through my terrified, whirling thoughts, I can’t keep my mind off Nick.
He’s trying to make me feel better, trying to fix everything he can, and it’s just making me feel guiltier by the day. He’s being impossibly understanding about how I’m handling things, not pressing me for a response or asking for forgiveness. He’s just… checking on me. Making sure I’m okay.
Caring about me.
Every time I read his messages, they break my heart a little more, but I can’t stop looking at them. He knows me so well, careful with what he says and what he asks, not sending so many messages that it’s overwhelming, but enough to show he’s thinking of me.
It feels impossible to trust.
After all, if he could hide a mafia family and a year and a half of stalking me, what else could he hide from me? He’s never lied to me, but what if I’m just not asking the right questions? What if there’s still more I don’t know?
I can’t handle another blow like this.
Tonight’s the hardest night I’ve had so far, mostly because Taylor has a dinner meeting that she couldn’t cancel. The sun has just barely set, but the shadows in my apartment already feel too dark, oppressive, and impossible to hide from.
Taking advantage of my impromptu vacation, I decided the best course of action was to get wine drunk on a Thursday night and try to figure out how to handle things.
I’m more conflicted about this than I can ever remember being before.
On one hand, I’ve come to the somewhat depressing conclusion that despite everything, I’m hopelessly in love with Nick. On the other hand… everything.
The rational decision is probably to break up with him and find a new job.
It makes sense to cut my losses and step away before anything else can go wrong, but the thought makes me feel so empty it hurts. I don’t want to leave my job—that’s easy enough to say with certainty—but Nick is another matter entirely.
Still, I can’t help but feel like running from this, from him, would be the biggest mistake of my life. I just don’t know how to handle any of this.
A knock sounds at my front door, and I tear my eyes away from the dregs of wine in my glass to focus blearily on my front door. Looks like Taylor made good on her threat to order me food to ensure I ate.
I set my glass down on the scratched wood top of my coffee table and stumble up, sighing in annoyance as another knock echoes through my apartment.
“Coming!” I say, trying not to sound either drunk or aggravated and probably failing at both.
The smile I forced onto my face before I opened the door fades immediately when I see who’s standing on the other side of it. Cold, empty eyes, jagged scar cutting through an unfriendly grin, pitch-black hair slicked back against his skull.
Bruno D’Amico.
The last person I want to see right now.
All of the hurt and uncertainty I’ve been struggling with for the last four days comes bubbling right up to the surface as I gape at him. I don’t bother to hide the angry wince that crosses my face, and I sigh heavily, propping myself up with a hand against my doorjamb.
“Bruno,” I say, sounding as thrilled as I feel—not at all. “Can we make this quick? I’m well aware you don’t like me. If you’re here to tell me to stay away from Nick, I’m capable of making my own decisions.”
Being snippy with him probably isn’t the best idea, but I’m more than a little drunk and extremely done with any and all forms of bullshit right now.
Instead of the fury I expect him to answer me with, Bruno’s grin widens.
“Riley, let’s be civil now,” he drawls, sounding like he’s enjoying this far too much. “I’m not here about my brother. This is just business.”
I’d like to blame my slow reaction on the fact that I downed most of a bottle of wine on an empty stomach, but the reality is that I’ve never been in a fight in my life. As I watch Bruno’s massive fist swing toward my jaw, I know with utter certainty that it wouldn’t be any help even if I had.
His hand slams into my face with the force of a fucking sledgehammer, and the world goes black before I even register the pain.
It’s the smell that hits me first.
Before the confusion, before the pain, it’s the smell. Metal. Cold. Rot.
Confusion fills my head like cotton as I slowly blink my eyes open only to find myself in unfamiliar surroundings. My head throbs when I glance at the single bare bulb that lights the room, and I slam my lashes shut again.
The terror doesn’t strike until I try to lift my hands to rub at my face.
They barely move an inch, and the movement is accompanied by the loud clanging of chains and cold metal pressing tight around my wrists.
I force my eyes open again as a panicked wheeze shoves free from my lungs, memories of Bruno at my door slamming back into me.
My breath catches in my lungs when I finally focus enough for me to pick up on details.
A long table takes up most of one cracked concrete wall, littered with all sorts of terrifying, wickedly sharp instruments.
Leaning against the edge of it, closest to the door, is Bruno.
He sucks in a drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the floor, crushing it under the glossy toe of his shoe.
“Awake?” he asks, sounding far more chipper than I’ve ever heard from him.
I don’t say anything, my eyes flitting back and forth between him and every inch of the room I can see, praying for a way out or any semblance of safety. I don’t find any. Deep down, I know I’m not going to.
“I’d like to extend my apologies,” he says, but the gleeful shine of his eyes negates his words.
“This really is just business. I’m sure you’re…
fine.” He waves his hand carelessly in the air as I struggle for air past my terror, dragging his cold eyes over me like he’s looking for anything to compliment and coming up short.
“It doesn’t matter if you are, honestly.
I need my brother’s head back in the game, and Miss VanHorn paid a lot of money to get rid of you.
She’s behind bars, but I’m not the type to take payment without completing a job. I can’t exactly give her a refund.”
He closes the distance between us, crouching down to stand face-to-face with me, smiling wide as he watches the first panicked tear slip free from my lashes.
“Two birds, one stone. You understand, don’t you, Riley?” he taunts. “Technically, she only paid for you to be disposed of, but I’ve got some frustration to work out. Be a good sport and don’t die too fast, would you?”
I flinch back at his words, my breathing picking up as the realization that I’m not going to make it out of here sets in.
Fuck.
I’m going to die without even having told Nick I love him.