I’m moved three times after the incident at the hotel.
Each time, I manage to get a message out.
I don’t see Alex or Martino or whatever his name was again until I’m a few days in at the third location. I have a plan underway to slip a note into my clothes for the dry cleaner to find.
But I don’t get that far.
Not when the stupid asshole appears at the door with a smug little expression on his face, muttering about retribution and payback. He cuffs me, blindfolds me, and manhandles me out of the room and into the back of the car.
He’s promptly becoming the second person on my list of people to be murdered for this. If only I could care enough to find out his name.
I’m half-expecting to find myself in a fifth grimy little room when my blindfold is removed again, having been carried and jostled and talked about like I was nothing more than an inconvenience.
Good. Maybe if I’m too much trouble for them, they’ll just let me go.
So, it’s a pleasant surprise to find myself sitting in a very clean, noticeably large conference room.
For a brief second, I feel oddly self-conscious. It’s been days, if not weeks, of being carted around Manhattan. No one has offered me a change of clothes and there’s only so much you can do when there’s someone stationed at your bathroom door.
But the thought quickly evaporates from my mind when I see the group across from me.
Leon Natali, don of the Prince’s Guild, sits at the head of the table. Hands clasped in front of his face, and staring at me with thinly veiled contempt. Broad shoulders barely contained within his perfectly tailored suit give him an aura of durability.
Everything about him screams professional murder machine. Man of war.
Everything except the bags under his eyes.
God, I hope I’m the reason he’s suffering.
“Carmen Rubio.” His greeting rings through the room.
The other men and women fall silent and turn to look at me. Some with distaste, others with concern. I scan the crowd for people I recognize.
To Leon’s left is Teo Vitale, his second. Which means the rest are likely others from the Prince’s Guild inner circle. I spy Martino or whatever-the-fuck in the corner practically leering at me. Someone shuffles behind me, but I can’t turn to see with my restraints.
Then something shifts in my periphery, and my heart stops beating.
Her fiery hair is exactly the same. Its impossibly slick waves fall just beyond her shoulders. She leans against the door, lean but still muscular. She has enough strength to take down a man triple her size.
I know because I’ve seen Red in action before.
She doesn’t meet my gaze. In fact, she looks anywhere but at me.
I don’t look away, letting the anger back out of its perfect little box. I don’t even look away when Leon starts speaking again.
“She’s proven to be quite the liability,” the don tells his little band of merry idiots. “We can’t afford to keep moving her with our current resources. Our options are becoming limited.”
I let a smirk tug at the corner of my lips.
Red still hasn’t looked at me.
“I say we kill her and get it over with,” number-two-on-my-list bites out immediately. The suggestion is met with a murmur of approval.
“Fuck you, Alex.”
If I hadn’t been watching her so intently, I would never have believed the words had left her mouth.
With all eyes on her, Red pushes herself from the door and walks straight to Leon.
