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“Your car,” he said, shrugging.
“My car?” I asked, brows pinching. “Like from traffic cameras?”
“I mean, maybe. But only if someone had a lot of time on their hands to do that shit. No. You got a newer car, right? Can sync to your phone and shit?”
“Ah, yeah.”
“Got a map built in?”
“Yes. But I didn’t use that,” I insisted.
“Doesn’t matter. That kind of car has GPS. And if you know what you’re looking for and what you’re doing, it’s easy enough to find a car.”
“Oh,” I said, deflating.
I never would have considered that.
But also, the next thought that crossed my mind was his car. The one he’d brought me back to the city in. It had been old. Old enough that the radio was just push buttons, not a touch screen or anything like that.
“There’s no way for anyone to track you here,” Silvano said. “The last trace of you anywhere was the fake doctor visit in South Jersey. Even if someone suspected you came this way, it’s fucking impossible to track someone down in the city if you don’t know associates or have some sort of digital footprint.”
“Right,” I agreed, trying to relax.
I guess being in his apartment had given me a sense of total security that I didn’t feel outside of it.
Maybe that was misplaced. It was just your average apartment building. No fancy security to try to get past. But when I was there, he usually was too. And something about him said that I could trust him with my safety.
Out in the open, though, I felt more exposed, wondered if someone could sneak up and snatch me, or shoot me from afar.
“You gonna look at the menu?” Silvano asked, making me open it and start glancing at the options, glad to have a different focus.
As soon as we placed our orders, I decided to take control of the conversation, not wanting to talk about me and what led me into the woods.
“Do you have any siblings?” I asked, finally tasting my wine. And, yeah, clearly the guy knew his wine. Even if nothing about him screamed wine connoisseur to me.
“I have a step-brother,” he said, nodding. “My mom married his father,” he volunteered, though I never would have asked that personal of a question.
“Not a fan?” I asked, seeing the way his body tensed at the mention of his step-father.
“He was a complete dick,” Silvano admitted. “Beat the shit out of us. And my ma,” he said, face going dark.
“I’m sorry,” I said, not realizing my hand shot across the table to cover his until his gaze lowered to look down, brows pinched like the motion made no sense, making me immediately try to snatch it back. But he was quicker, linking his pointer finger around mine, keeping me there.
“The world is a better place with him dead and buried,” Silvano said, his tone the kind of cold that likely came from being abused, from watching his mom be beaten by a man who was supposed to take care of them.
My father had never lifted a hand to me, save for when he was trying to teach me to fight when I had a bully in elementary school.
The conversation shifted more to the food once it came, to other local eateries he loved, to attractions he thought I might be into, even suggesting a walk around Central Park with Storm once my ribs were better.
Better would be weeks in the future.
Was he still imagining me in his place that far in the future? Did his vision of the time include us naked, limbs tangled in bed?
These were the kind of things that were still on my mind after Silvano handed a wad of cash to the server, enough that it must have included a big tip, judging by the guy’s raised brows, then led me back out of the restaurant.
I was so distracted that I didn’t even notice the tension in Silvano’s body until a quiet, “Fuck,” escaped him.
When I turned, a couple was moving in our direction.
