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It’s where I still work today.
It’s where I learned of Bishop Blackstone.
It’s where I learned he’s the man who needs to pay.
And I have to do all of this without Dean. I’m not the type of person to take the backseat on a plan this big.
I pack my bag, wondering the best time to escape this condo. One thing I know is, there are no personal guards here. Dean doesn’t keep any security guards on staff when he’s at home. So, I should be able to slip out the front door after he’s gone to sleep.
And that’s exactly what I do. I move through the front door, racing down the hallway in all black so I won’t be seen.
When I get to the lobby, I pretend like I belong, and everything I’m doing is completely normal.
I hate leaving Dean. I really do. He’s been nothing but nice to me, and I know he’s only trying to look out for me, but this is something that I need to do. I need to find Rosa.
Being around Dean is confusing. When he touches me, I forget about everything. Instead of focusing on my mission to find Bishop, I’m getting drunk on thoughts of Dean and I together. We could never be together. That could never be real life.
My mood depresses a bit as I walk out of Dean’s building. Part of me wants to run back upstairs and ask him to touch me the way he does in the club. But I know better. I know he would never want someone like me. Someone who was sold into slavery. Besides, I don’t have the time for a relationship. I have too many things to do. Like kill Bishop and find the women to release them.
I head down the street, hurrying as fast as I can so I can go to my own apartment to pick up a few things. I know once Dean realizes I’m missing, it’ll be the first place his men look for me.
I hop on the subway and make it to my apartment in record time. I know I have at least a twelve hour jump on Dean. That’s even if he looks for me at all. He has his own scheme running. He’s trying to find Bishop Blackstone as well.
He has his own connections to find Bishop. Like that Eddie Gallo.
I rummage through my things, looking for the contact info to Rosa’s family. It’s an old number and the past few times I’ve used it no one knew who I was talking about, but maybe there’s something I’m not seeing. I can get Harold down at the precinct to do a reverse search on the number and get me an address.
I can go down there and start my trail.
I pack a few things and decide to grab a few hours of sleep before I head out.
“Hey Harold,” I say as I sit at his desk. “How’s Mary?” Mary’s his wife and one of the sweetest women working at the shelter on Fifth Avenue. It was my second home when I escaped Bishop’s hold on me.
“Sophia, it’s been so long. How the heck are you?”
“I’m good.” He types away at his computer and I hand him the piece of paper with the number on it. “I was hoping you can give me an address on this phone number.”
He takes the piece of paper from my hands and stares at it for a moment. “Sure. But for real, how’s it going?”
I smile. “It’s going good.”
“You’re not looking for that man still, are you?”
“Bishop Blackstone?” I shake my head. “No, that’s all over.” I have to say, when I first escaped, I became obsessed with finding the man who brought me to America under the ruse of becoming a sex slave.
“Who are you after now?”
I laugh a little. “Eddie Gallo,” I say, picking a random name out of thin air.
“Gallo? Everyone knows Gallo owns the bakery down on 155th Street. In Harlem.”
“What bakery?”
“I think it’s just called Gallo’s Baked Goods. It’s a big place. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you. Can I still get the address on the number, please?”
“Sure thing, kid.” He types away again at his computer and then grabs a piece of paper to write on. “Here,” he says when he’s done. “It’s down in Brooklyn Heights.”
I glance at the address, and thank him, telling him to give his wife, Mary, my love.
When I leave the precinct, I plan on checking out the address in Brooklyn Heights first, then heading down to see if I can get any info from Eddie Gallo.
One thing I remember about him is he’s a player looking for a little action. Maybe I can get creative and figure something out.
I hop in a cab, and the cabbie drives me over the Brooklyn Bridge to find the address I’m looking for. When the taxi pulls up to the curb of a brownstone with a bay window peeking out of the building, I smile. This is it.
