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33
MADDIE
Goosebumps peppermy skin when I walk into 5891 W Sycamore, which is definitely not a house or a hospital or a clinic.
It’s a warehouse. There’s a chill in the air, but it feels more ominous than anything. The door clangs loudly behind me, a metal on metal sound that echoes off the walls.
I’ve been inside more warehouses in the last few months than I have in my entire life. First, when Lainey and Matteo came for me, then when we all went to rescue Leo, and now, here I am, calmly striding into danger after my boyfriend like I’m the main character in one of those video games Leo was playing tonight.
Humidity hangs in the air like sheets on a clothesline, heavy and blanketing the space. There were record high temperatures today, and this mostly empty warehouse spent the entirety of it baking in the hot New York City sun. I’m not surprised that hours after the sun has gone down, it’s still roasting. Something I only realize belatedly is intentional.
I stop five feet inside, unable to take a single step further. Ten seconds. It takes me ten seconds to lock down the horror and terror and every other emotion lighting my body up like a sparkler. I let my face fall into something neutral, incapable of wiping all emotion entirely, just like Dante taught me to.
My sweet, protective Dante who I’m intentionally ignoring as he hangs from a hook twenty feet in front of me. The temptation is too much, and I give in, glancing at him for a second. Just to make sure that he’s still breathing. I say that like I’m some sort of fucking expert at assessing injuries, but I’m not.
He’s trussed up like some people hang animals during hunting season. His hands are tied together with a thick rope, and the rope hangs from the hook. The tips of his shoes barely touch the dirty floor.
I look away quickly. If I allow myself to look any longer, I'll crumble. I know I will. The cracks in my armor will widen and deepen, and I’ll be a useless, blubbering mess. I glance to the right, expecting to see Leo in a similar position, but instead, a vaguely familiar man stands with a smile on his face.
He throws his hands out like he’s welcoming me to some party. “There she is, the woman of the hour! Miss Madison Walsh, everybody.” He cups his hands around his mouth and makes fake crowd cheering noises, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Have we met?”
He drops his hands to his hips, and I avoid looking at the way they’re streaked with red along his knuckles. “Well, no, but not for lack of trying. I kept asking and asking to meet you. But my boys kept making excuses.”
Nausea churns in my gut, racing up my esophagus as I stare in horror at the man in front of me. His familiar features and dark hair and eyes.
“But that doesn’t matter because you’re here now.” He’s downright jolly and it’s freaking me out.
“I am.” I force all the casualness I can into my voice as sweat beads along my brow.
“Please, come closer. I can barely see you from so far away, and I must get a look at the illusive Madison Walsh. The woman who has not one but two of my boys enchanted.”
I take slow measured steps toward him, stopping a few feet in front of him, next to a plain metal desk. The cool weight of my gun strapped to my thigh both comforts and unsettles me. It’s completely concealed by my skirt, so there’s no way anyone would see it. Not that there's anyone else in here. Just me, Dante, and Angelo Rossi, head of the New York mafia.
“I don’t understand. Where’s Leo?”
Angelo smiles a Cheshire cat grin. “Love is such a simple but effective motivator. One vague text and each of you ran off to save the love of your lives. A simple jamming app stopped either of you from actually connecting to any outgoing calls or texts from each other.”
“So Leo’s not hurt? And that was you texting me?” The back of my throat aches as the sickening realization sets in.
He tsks. “And here I thought you’d be bright. Perhaps my sons like you for your . . . other attributes, hm?”
Bile splashes in my gut at his insinuation and the leer on his face. “What do you want from me then?”
“I thought you might like to see the performance tonight. I heard you caught quite the show in Vegas, huh?”
His lips quirk up on the sides and the skin around his eyes crinkle. Amusement shines from his eyes, and I can objectively say that he'd look a lot less menacing if he didn't have blood splatter across his face.
Dante'sblood splattered across his face.
I scan Angelo Rossi, head of the five families from head to toe, noting the way he stands, what he's wearing, and if it clues me into what he's planning on doing.
He's not holding a gun, but that doesn't mean that he's not carrying. There's a metal table next to him, just like the one next to me. Only this one has a random assortment of various tools.
My heart breaks at the dried blood on a few of them, but for the most part, they look unused. A small mercy.
“I bet you're wondering why you're here,” he says.
