My stomach clenches. I look over my shoulder to where Mr. Edmond and Sebastian are down the hall. I should’ve stayed close to them. Is the saying “It’s safer to stay with the enemies you know than the ones you don’t”?
“Just a few moments.”
I’m trapped. If I refuse, it’ll only make me look more suspicious. I paste on a smile even as my pulse races. “Of course,” I say, turning to head back the way I came. Maybe if Mr. Edmond or Sebastian sees me, they’ll get me out of this situation too.
“This way.”
Rook gestures to another hallway. It’s dark, quiet, and I’m pretty sure if I die back here, no one will know. So like the professional spy I’m pretending to be, I fall into step beside him.
“Should I get Mr. Edmond and Sebastian?” I thumb in their direction over my shoulder. “They’re just down—”
“No, no,” Rook assures me. “Lorenzo would like to speak to you alone.”
Alone. Yep, that equals death in every mob movie.
We take a corner, and I hear voices and kitchen noises. Another turn and I realize we’ve circled the restaurant and are back at the hallway where I was caught eavesdropping. Hope flutters in my chest that if Iscream now, someone will hear. Doesn’t mean they’ll do anything about it—I have no doubt every one of these employees can be bought off with a gym bag full of cash.
Think, Cybil. Think.
We pass a door with an emergency exit light shining like a beacon of freedom. I slide a glance at Rook. He’s lanky, thin. I might have a fighting chance if I catch him by surprise.
But not him.
Ben exits the kitchen, his eyes catching mine before moving to Rook. “What are you doing?”
“Lorenzo asked to speak to Ms. Langford.”
There’s something in Ben’s gaze that looks nervous, but then it’s gone and in its place is hard steel. He’s looking at me like I’ve betrayed him, and I don’t think he’s coming to my rescue this time.
I can’t even assess how that makes my heart feel before loud commotion echoes from the kitchen. There are shouts and Rook immediately leaves my side to investigate.
There’s a whistle. Sharp. Familiar. Instinct draws my gaze to Ben. He’s leaning against the wall, unbothered by the chaos. The low light catches on the curve of his mouth—a fraction of a smirk, like he knows something I don’t.
Then he pulls the alarm.
The shriek of sirens pierces the air. Kitchen workers and staff pour into the hallway, shouting about a fire. The acrid smell of smoke fills the air—the proverbial match that sets off the chaos.
I don’t wait. I turn, slip into the crowd, and move with the rush toward the nearest exit. The emergency door swings open, emptying the frantic crowd into the parking lot behind the building, where my car is parked.
The air is thick with panic as more people evacuate, including residents from the condos above the restaurant. When they catch sight of the smoke, their anxiety ratchets up. I push through the growing mob, making a beeline for my car, but then my heel catches on a crack in the sidewalk.
In my scramble to steady myself, I collide with a man.
“What’s happening?” he asks, his voice laced with confusion.
I’m about to apologize when I recognize him—the same man I saw earlier in the hallway. He’s swaying, looking even worse than before. “Sir, there’s a fire in the restaurant. You need to get somewhere safe.”
“Safe?” His eyes glaze over, and he mumbles something about not feeling well.
I glance around, searching for anyone who’s missing the guy, but no one seems to be looking for him. My eyes spot Ben and his narrowed gazeison the hunt for someone—me?
I can’t waste any more time.
“Sir, you need to get to your car,” I urge him.
He nods, still dazed, and points to a nearby car. Whatever. I just need to go.
I reach my car and freeze. Sitting on the hood, with piercing yellow eyes fixed on me, is a cat. I didn’t admit it to Ben in Italy, but he was right—I hate cats, and they all seem to know it. I press my key fob, hoping the sound will send the cat running. It doesn’t.
