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The moment broke when he tucked the gun back into his waistband. He stared at me again, emphasizing a point that needed no emphasis. Still, I felt compelled to speak.
“I got your message, but why should I believe anything you say…” I trailed off and looked up at him again.
“Davit Petrosyan,” he supplied.
“What?” I blinked, fear making my thoughts move slowly.
“That’s my name,” he responded.
“So…Davit, why should I believe anything you have to say?” I repeated.
“I know you’ll research me. Once you do, you decide if you want to believe me. Or if you want to see what will happen if you don’t,” he said.
“And what does that mean?” I asked, though I didn’t need to.
He gave a small snort that was supposed to pass for a laugh. “Good night, Amethyst. Choose wisely.”
He turned and left before I could even think of reacting.
The front door closing startled me out of my dazed state, and I rushed to it and locked it.
Though I realized, much to my horror, that locking it wouldn’t do anything.
I stood there for a long moment, my hand on the doorknob, my heart racing, and then I practically ran to the living room and grabbed my computer.
Typed in the name David Petorssian.
Do you mean Davit Petrosyan? the search engine asked.
I clicked the suggested spelling and stared at the screen, my mouth open.
As I read, the reality of my circumstances hit me in a way they hadn’t before.
I read one article, another, and another, more than a dozen in total.
I slammed the computer shut and then lay on the floor and stared at the ceiling, wavering between terror, disbelief, and fear.
But lying on the floor didn’t change the fact that Josh Kelley, my friend, a man I was halfway in love with, didn’t exist.
But Davit Petrosyan, Armenian mobster, did.
“Fuck!” I screamed.
Then I went quiet and let the tears come.
