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Jon’s body was heavy against mine and it was at that moment I realized that he’d gripped the interior of the car all around me. He’d used his body to hold me in place, almost like he’d known the crash was about to happen.
He grabbed the door and wrenched it open, grunting as he pulled back.
“There isn’t time. Run. Find somewhere safe to hide,” he commanded fiercely, and I paused for a fraction of a second before I took advantage of the situation. I wasted no time in slipping my hands free from the metal cuffs, tossing them on the ground outside as I stumbled out of the car. My ankle twisted, but I ignored the soreness as I lurched forward and took advantage of the chaos that reigned.
I took stock of my body as I sprinted down the street. I wasn’t hurt. Sure, I’d probably be sore in the morning, but Jon had taken the brunt of the impact. His arm had kept my head still. His chest had pinned me against the seat. He’d done that before the car had hit us. He’d known. There was no way he hadn’t.
I sprinted along the dark streets; veering left into Central Park. There were streetlamps still lighting the area, but it was easy to avoid their light.
Powered by fear and panicked adrenaline, I dashed through the night. I fought back tears. There wasn’t time for that. I just needed to get out of here before Anthony woke up and realized I was gone.
I wasn’t just running from him now though. I choked back a sob as I realized that I was now on the run from the mafia. I didn’t know how long I had, but they’d be looking for me. The crash had been bad, but not bad enough to kill anyone, at least not from what I’d seen.
Anthony hadn’t hit his head on the door hard enough to die.
He’d wake up. I didn’t know when or how long he’d be out for, but even I knew that the mafia had enough money and connections to find me wherever I went. I could go to my uncle, but that would put him in danger too. I couldn’t go home. They’d known where I worked. It wasn’t crazy to guess they’d know where I lived.
It was well after two in the morning now.
I had my cash tips in my pocket, but that wouldn’t be enough to get me into a hotel. There wasn’t a place in New York that would let a guest check in without a credit card and using one of my own would alert anyone who was already looking for me.
I might as well stand up at the top of a building and scream out my location.
A flickering neon light caught my attention. All the restaurants and shops on the street were closed, save for one.
I dashed toward it, not really caring what it was. I just needed a place to sit down, catch my breath, and figure out my next move.
I didn’t even realize it was a small Italian restaurant until I pushed open the door. From the outside, it looked a little sleazy and maybe a bit run down, but inside there was an understated elegance that spoke to an owner who cared about his business.
I slipped into a booth away from the front windows and sighed. I pressed my hands against my face, hiding from reality for a few blissful moments before I tried to figure out where I was.
I stared at the floor, losing myself in the swirling grains of stained hardwood. They were swept clean. Each of the tables was covered in pristinely white tablecloths. The booths were upholstered in an elegant burgundy leather. The walls were brick and the lighting was dim throughout the restaurant, but it gave it a more romantic candlelit touch. Overall, the homey atmosphere made me feel even more at ease.
My stomach rumbled when I relaxed and took in a deep breath. The aroma of sauce and bread and spices wrapped around me like a warm hug, and I jumped when a man approached the table. He slipped a menu in front of me, and I gazed back at him warily as he placed a glass of water on the table.
I glanced down and quickly ordered the first thing I saw.
“Can I have two slices of pizza?” I asked quickly.
“Any toppings?” he asked. He hadn’t taken out a pad of paper or anything.
“Whatever you have in the back. I’m not picky,” I smiled tightly.
“Got it. I’ll be right back with that,” he replied.
When he walked away, I bit my lip and pressed my fingers against the table to stop them from trembling. I needed to think and figure out my next move.
This wasn’t the movies. There was no one I could go to who would rescue me. I trusted my uncle, but there was no way to get in contact with him without revealing myself. From what I knew, he was conducting business somewhere in Europe and wasn’t due back for weeks.
I couldn’t go home. Going back to campus was out of the question too. I didn’t know if the police would help either. He hadn’t actually hurt me yet.
I was going to have to figure out something.
The waiter came back with two big slices of pizza and a glass of red wine. He slipped it in front of me and I peered back at him in confusion.
“I didn’t order the wine,” I protested, and he shook his head.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house,” he said quickly.
