Chapter Seventeen
Stephanie
The tears stayed in until the second I closed my apartment door and leaned against it.
Only then did the dam break, and the tears flooded relentlessly down my cheeks as a loud, embarrassingly pathetic sob escaped me.
Sure, I was in pain.
Yes, I was absolutely in shock.
But I knew it was neither of those things that made my heart feel like it was cracking clear down the middle.
Nope.
That was because of the man who’d just given me the best night of my life, the best sex of my life, only to tell me that—surprise!—he’d been using me all along.
“Dammit,” I grumbled, wiping my cheeks and forcing myself to stand up, to walk on aching, wobbly legs into my kitchen to brew some tea before I went into the bathroom.
I was almost afraid to free my aching feet from the heels. My soles burned all over with specific spots that felt like stabbing.
I was relieved to find no blood in them even as I tossed the blasted things right into the trash. Honestly, the gown might go in there too. The last thing I wanted was something to remember Venezio by.
I slid my aching feet into my slippers for some cushion, then made my way into my bedroom to fish out some pajamas for after a long, hot shower.
My moves were robotic as I pretended not to notice the tears that kept dripping down my cheeks. I’d just gotten a fresh towel out of the linen cabinet and placed it on the holder when I heard the buzzer.
I glanced up at myself, seeing the mess the tears had made of me, and quickly wiped them away before turning off the water.
I was only halfway through my living room, not sure what I was going to do if it was Venezio.
Did I want to speak to him? Allow him to offer explanations? Excuses? Or did I just want to ignore him?
My phone buzzed in my clutch.
He really wanted to get ahold of me, it seemed.
I went into the kitchen, poured my tea, and brought it over to the living room to sit down and see what kind of bullshit Venezio had come up with.
But even as I started to sit, my doorknob jiggled.
He wasn’t actually going to try to… let himself in, was he?
I mean, he was in the mafia. Was it completely crazy to assume he might be willing to force me to listen to him? If I didn’t listen, would he hurt me? Kill me?
That crack in my heart became a chasm.
It distracted me.
That was the only reason I didn’t notice that it wasn’t just a doorknob jiggle.
No.
It was someone picking the lock.
The door burst open, knocking hard against the wall, the sound making my heart leap up into my throat as I jumped to my aching feet, my leg knocking the coffee table, sending my scalding-hot coffee flying across the surface.
My head whipped over.
I expected Venezio.
But it was so, so much worse than that.
It was the man with the cross tattoo on his neck.
With the mole on his cheek.
With the gun.
A strangled sound escaped me as I stepped backward, nothing in my mind but retreat, but putting the couch between us.
“Stupid bitch,” he said with an ugly smirk as he stepped closer, his feet landing like thunderclaps in my ears, making me jump. “Making my whole night easier,” he said, stepping closer.
There was something dark about his eyes, predatory.
He was clearly an enemy of Venezio’s.
And he wasn’t above using me to get to Venezio. I mean, he’d slipped the tracker into my clutch when I’d left it on the table for just a few minutes to get up and talk to someone.
He’d shot at me.
He would absolutely use me to draw out Venezio, if he thought I was useful.
“I have nothing to do with this,” I said, rushing around the back of my couch as he drew closer.
“He’ll come for you,” he said, lunging at me.
I jumped backward as he knocked over my end table.
It crashed to the floor, lamp and all.
Would he?
I wasn’t so convinced.
Wasn’t I better to him dead now?
He’d told me the truth. I could easily go to the police, tell them what I’d found out, point them right at him.
He couldn’t let me do that.
Why not let some other guy do his dirty work for him?
“No, he won’t,” I said, inching around the mess, trying to get closer to the door, to freedom. “I’m better dead to him.”
“Bullshit,” he said, lunging just as I turned to run.
I slammed forward against the wall, my nose and lip crushing, the edge of a picture frame slicing my cheek.
I barely even registered the pain as panic surged through me.
No.
I had to focus.
Fight.
I whipped around, bringing my knee up as he charged at me, arms out, ready to grab me.
My aim was true, making the air rush out of him as he hinged forward in pain.
I didn’t stop to think.
I ran out of the apartment, down the hall, taking the steps so quickly that I risked falling to my death in my desperation to get away.
My heart was in a vice as I hit the street, the cold nipping at all my exposed skin as big, fat, lazy snowflakes drifted down to kiss my arms and chest.
I needed to do the smart thing. I had to call the police.
But it was pointless to do that until I got away, until I got somewhere safe.
Some part of me said to run to the closest person, to beg for help. But this was New York. The people here were accustomed to crazy people. Enough so that everyone just minded their business, didn’t get involved.
I needed to save myself.
I honestly didn’t have any direction in mind.
I just turned and ran blindly, my hand clutching the phone the whole way.
I had no idea if I was being followed, if someone was gaining on me. I didn’t dare look backward.
I’d lived in the area my entire life.
And I’d never once stepped foot in Central Park after dark.
But I found myself flying down one of the winding paths, moving past a set of unhoused men using cardboard to protect themselves and their precious belongings from the steadily falling snow.
Only some of the paths were lit up at night. Everyone knew that if you were going to be in Central Park at night, that you had to stick to the lighted paths.
But that was exactly why I found myself turning away from them, heading off into the darkness.
I didn’t dare use my flashlight on my phone, not wanting to announce my position to the man who wanted to use me against Venezio. Or any other man up to no good in the park at night.
I rushed past skeletal trees as the snow fell steadily, blanketing the ground and making my slippers skid.
I paused to lean against one, trying to catch my breath.
That’s when I heard a male voice.
He was speaking to other people I’d passed, asking if they’d seen a woman in a gown.
My stomach seized, praying no one would give me up, that everyone would know that a man chasing a woman through the park at night could have nothing but bad intentions.
I inched around the tree, trying to see through the darkness.
I saw a shadow move, following the path, moving away from me.
I waited.
One minute.
Two.
Three.
Only when I was sure he was far enough away not to hear me did I run, heading deeper into the park, watching my feet imprint on the freshly fallen snow.
But as quickly as my footsteps formed, the flakes started to fill them in again.
I made my way toward one of the many ornamental arches, sliding into the shadows beneath it, allowing me to escape the snow that had already soaked through my hair.
Shivers violently racked my body as I slid my wet phone screen into the slit of my dress to dry it off on my thigh so I could unlock my screen.
My finger hovered over the nine, knowing I was supposed to call the police.
But it was then I saw the voicemail icon.
I hit that before I could think better of it, then pressed my phone to my ear, hearing Venezio’s voice. Only it was different. Full of something that sounded a lot like panic. Telling me to get out of my apartment, to get somewhere safe.
Before I could think better of it, I hit the call button.
It barely rang before the sound cut off.
“Venezio!” I yelped, my voice tight, full of the panic flooding my system.
He said something, but I was barely paying attention.
“Help,” I cut him off.
“What’s going on?” he asked, voice tight, but controlled.
“He came…” I started.
But he didn’t let me finish.
“Where are you right now? I’m coming for you. Where are you?”
“Central—” I started, but suddenly didn’t hear the noise in the background anymore.
When I looked, the call had ended.
Did the service cut out?
But when I tried to call back, it went right to voicemail.
A whimper escaped me.
Had he even heard me?
Was he coming?
I needed to focus.
I needed to call the pol—
Even as the thought formed, though, I heard the chorus of male conversation drawing closer. Their voices were loud, so loud that I felt like they had to be drunk or high.
And the last thing I needed was to come across a group of men with dubious intentions in a dark park with no hope of help in sight.
I rushed out of the arch and scurried up the embankment on the other side, then got on top and lowered myself flat against the frigid stone.
My whole body was shaking violently with the cold on my chest and the snow at my back, soaking through my gown.
Tears pricked my eyes as I silently prayed the men kept moving, that they didn’t see me hiding up there.
Slowly but surely, their voices faded off in the distance, but I didn’t dare move until I no longer heard anything but the sound of the wind starting to whip around me.
I needed to call the police.
But I couldn’t tell them where I was; I had no idea.
I needed to get up, to make my way toward something distinctive, so when I called, they could find me. And quickly. Before someone else did.
Stifling a pathetic cry, I pushed up to my knees, then my feet, and started to try to make my way down the embankment.
But the snow was getting thick. And my slippers had next to no traction.
I slid almost immediately, slamming down hard on my ass, then sliding the rest of the way down.
Some part of me just wanted to stay right there, to curl up in a ball, to just give up.