Chapter One: Emilio
Thebartenderthrewalamp at my head.
Not a small lamp. A floor lamp, brass base, heavy enough to crack a skull if her aim had been two inches to the left. It sailed past my ear and shattered against the wall of the Delaware apartment, and the woman standing in the corner with her fists up and her teeth bared was already reaching for the nightstand.
"I'm not with them," I said, hands up, grinning because I couldn't stop. Because this woman had been locked in a shithole for two weeks by men with guns and her first move when the door opened was to arm herself with furniture. "I'm the rescue."
"Bullshit."
"Carmelo," I called over my shoulder. "Tell her I'm the rescue."
Carmelo filled the doorway behind me. Six-four, shaved head, arms that made the door look narrow. He looked at the woman, looked at the broken lamp, looked at me.
"He's the rescue," Carmelo chuckles, leaning against the doorframe.
The woman didn't lower her fists. Her eyes moved between us. Goddamn, she had brown eyes, big, and dark, framed by lashes that didn't need help. Honey-brown skin, curves that the oversized t-shirt couldn't do anything about. She was beautiful in a way that hit before I was ready for it, and I wasn't ready for it.
"Who sent you?" she asked.
"The Bonaccorso family."
"That supposed to mean something to me?"
"It means we're getting you out of here before the men who put you here figure out we found you." I stepped over the lamp debris. Glass crunched under my boots. "You've got about four minutes to decide if you're coming with me or staying to throw furniture at the next guys through the door. And I promise you, the next guys won't think it's charming."
She stared at me for three seconds, then grabbed a jacket off the chair, shoved her feet into shoes that were too big, and walked past me without another word.
In the car, she sat in the back with Carmelo and didn't speak for twenty minutes. I drove, and the quiet sat between us with its own weight. I could feel her behind me, not nervous, not grateful, not any of the things civilians usually are after you pull them out of captivity. She was watching. I caught it in the rearview every time I checked. Her eyes on the road, then on the back of my head, then on the road again. One hand stayed in her jacket pocket, her thumb working against something small, rolling it back and forth.
"You hungry?" I asked.
She looked at me in the mirror. "What?"
"Hungry. Food. The thing humans do to stay alive."
"I know what hungry means."
"Then answer the question."
A pause. "Yes."
I pulled into a diner off the interstate. Carmelo stayed in the car because Carmelo in a diner scares the waitstaff. I held the door for her, and she walked through without thanking me, which I respected.
She ordered eggs, bacon, toast, hash browns, a side of pancakes, and coffee. She ate the way someone eats when they haven't been sure food would keep coming. Fast and thorough. Shecleaned every plate, mopped the egg yolk with the last triangle of toast, and drank three cups of coffee before she spoke.
"Those men in the apartment. The ones who were guarding me."
"Two of them. Yeah."
"They dead?"
"Before we got there. Carmelo cleared the floor while I found you." I watched her across the table. The information didn't bother her. She took it in and moved to the next thing. "Who put you there?"
"I don't know their names. Three guys with military builds and cropped hair, no insignia on anything they wore. They showed up at my apartment in Baltimore two weeks ago, said I needed to come with them, and when I said no, they put a bag over my head and shoved me in a van." She wrapped both hands around the coffee mug, absorbing the heat through the ceramic. Her thumb kept moving, rubbing against the edge of the cup now, the same repetitive motion I'd seen in the car. Her nails were bitten short. Not manicured, not neat. Bitten down, the edges ragged, two weeks of locked-room anxiety worn into her fingertips. "They didn't hurt me. Didn't touch me. Just locked me in and brought food twice a day and told me someone would come for me eventually."
"And did someone come?"
"Nah, the wait was fucking boring though."
