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Falynn
PLAYLIST: ? THIS WORLD - SELAH SUE ?
“Thank you for helping me,”I say with a sweet smile. “It’s so nice to have some fresh air.”
The young waiter—who I’ve learned is named Joshua—casts a nervous glance around. “You’ll have to make it quick. If anyone finds out, I could lose my job.”
Losing your job is the least of your worries; you could lose your life…
I push aside guilty thoughts about what would happen if Giancarlo discovers he’s helped me. The mafia doesn’t forgive those they view as treacherous; I’m sure this applies to the staff they hire. Joshua would be toast.
“If anyone questions you, tell them you had nothing to do with it. Say I snuck by you or something. Blame it all on me.”
Joshua trips over his feet, stopping. “Do you think Mr. Sorrentino is going to find out?”
As the hesitation unfolds on his boyish face, I rush to assuage him with another smile and touch of his arm.
“It’s going to be fine. I’ll be right back. I’m just stepping outside for some fresh air.”
I leave him by the industrial-sized stainless steel refrigerators.
He’s snuck me down into the resort kitchen. We had to wait until the rest of the staff busied themselves with their nightly clean-up and the guards on duty switched shifts. The small window arrived with Joshua smuggling me under the tablecloth of his service cart.
The cold December air blows into my face as I escape through the backdoor. I’ve instructed Tasha to meet me around the front of the Vittoria, where the large marble fountains welcome visitors with sparkling water.
But I have to be fast. Any minute, Joshua can chicken out. One of the crew will notice I’m missing. The second either happens is the moment I’m done for. I shudder, thinking about what Giancarlo will do if he finds out I’ve tried to run away. Something tells me it would be even more demented than drugging me against my will.
I pick up the skirt of my cocktail dress and sprint like hell. A couple of tourists strolling along the back way of the resort turn and watch me run by. No one tries to stop me. Not even the security on patrol as they wheel by in a golf cart. I pump my legs and push myself as fast as I can, given what I’m wearing.
“HEY! STOP!”
The man calls out from somewhere behind me. I don’t slow down to check who he’s talking to. The marble fountain curves into view. Panic rattles inside my chest as I scan the resort’s circle driveway and don’t see Tasha’s beat-up 2002 Honda Accord.
Crap!
Either I’m too early, or she’s too late—that’s if she was able to make it in the first place.
A thousand different alternatives flash through my mind. I can keep running, hail a taxi, and hope we blast off unseen into traffic. I can run inside one of the nearby casinos and lay low in a lounge somewhere.
The only thing that’s not an option is turning back.
I’m a split second before making a rash judgment call when I hear a whistle and then my name. Tasha honks her horn as she swerves along the resort’s circle driveway, wearing the biggest pair of sunglasses I’ve ever seen. Several valets yell, mortified she’s tainting their precious driveway reserved for elite guests. Neither of us gives a damn as she brakes, and I scurry for the car.
Her tires screech into the cool night on our getaway. I’m struggling to buckle my seatbelt as we ditch the scene and the Vittoria Resort and Casino slips into the background. We laugh at our insane luck for several streets.
Tasha flicks on her turn signal, merging onto the freeway. “Girl, what the fuck? Why is my heart beating so damn fast?”
“Because we just escaped the mob,” I blurt out, reeling in disbelief.
Since my life changed forever and I met Gio, I’ve kept Tasha in the dark on much of our relationship. When Gio and I first struck our deal months ago, I hadn’t even revealed who my mystery guy was to her. Soon after, I went on the run from Gio and the Sorrentino family, but I hadn’t painted a whole picture for Tasha even then.
The time I called her in the middle of the night after weeks of radio silence clued her in enough. She knows who Gio is and that we’ve turned our fake relationship into a real one. The extent of her knowledge ends there.
But Tasha’s experienced it all. She doesn’t need to ask questions to piece things together. She’s dated a powerful man or two in her time.
“We need to get you the hell out of the city,” she says, an edge to her tone. “Do you still have that fake passport?”
“I couldn’t take much without drawing attention to myself, so I grabbed that and a few other things and crammed them into my purse.”
