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“Wait—” She held up a weathered finger and hurried to the back of the storeroom. That gesture alone reminded me of just how old she was, and she was the sole provider for her grandson now. My throat dried as guilt twisted inside me, already reaching back for the brass doorknob of the storeroom, ready to sneak out, when she rushed back toward me. I never should’ve come here, especially now knowing her situation. “I might not be able to have you work for me, but I can still give you something.” Reaching forward she snatched my hand, pressing a bundle of paper into my palm. Her other hand curled around mine, forcing me to grip the wad tightly before jumping back, as though she already expected my protests and was getting out of the way before I could force her to take it back. My mouth parted in shock for a moment both at her movements, which were much sprier than I’d thought they’d be, and at the gesture itself.
“I can’t—”
“Yes you can,” she barked, taking another step back from me as though she was scared I would tackle her just to give it back. “It might not be much, but just in case you can’t find anything else.” She paused, her eyes drawing back to my cheek as though on reflex. “You need to get out.”
I slipped the sunglasses on, grateful for her concern, but the constant reminder made bile rise in my throat as the memories from that night slammed back into me. I nodded at her statement—not a question but more like a demand.
“Put that in your pocket, before you lose it, and no more hugs. I don’t want you getting sneaky. I’m not broke so don’t you dare try anything,” she scolded, and I shoved the bills into my pocket at her command. “Come back again … before you leave?” she asked, and I too was unsure if I truly should. If I came back here too close to when I left that would leave a target right on Francine’s doorstep, putting both her and her grandson in danger.
“I will, and thank you, Francine. You really didn’t have to do that.” I tried my best to smile past the sorrow at never seeing this kind soul again and past the foul taste that lie left on my lips. Because I couldn’t come here again, I couldn’t put them in danger, just like I couldn’t do that to my guys. It would be different if she still wanted to take a stand against the Barone family, but her grandson came first. “I’ll find some way to get you the money back one day.”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, dear.” She grinned, giving me a wink. “And don’t give up, there may just be some people along this street that have had enough and are willing to take a stand.”
My brows knitted in confusion, but I nodded, opening the storeroom door and striding back out to the shop floor. She followed me out, taking her place back behind the register as I paused at the front door, my hand hovering just over the handle.
“Goodbye, Francine,” I said, glancing with a sad smile on my lips. Grateful for what she’s done for me but also sad this would be the last time I saw her or this place again. When I left for New York, I always knew that there would be a chance to come back, at least to visit, but once I left, there would be no turning back this time.
“Goodbye, Giana,” she sighed with a wistful smile, a wry tilt to her lips that made me pause for only a moment until an approaching family just outside the window caught my attention. So I slipped out the ice cream parlor door, holding it open for them as a boy and girl excitedly ran in, rushing past their parents and over to Francine. As the door swung closed, I just caught her smiling down on them, the joy clear in her light-brown eyes as she handed them each a small candy.
I glanced down the street, my mind still on Francine as I made my plan for where to try next.
Ispentthenextfew hours going into stores to gauge their reactions, and for the most part … people were terrified. Their reactions caught me off guard—the same people I grew up with, went to high school with, were trembling as they greeted me, handing me free things, and rushing me out the door. No one sneered in my direction, nothing to make it clear they despised the Barones, or even took a second look at my glasses.
After what Francine said about the business owners, I figured at least one of them would’ve shown enough disdain to allow me to trust them, but not a single one did. I had a latte in one hand, a bouquet of flowers in the other, and bags of food and baked goods hanging off the crook of my elbow.
Each time I stepped into a shop or a restaurant, I held my breath, with one last shred of hope flickering inside me that I might be able to trust this next person, but it was all the same thing. I pursed my lips as I exited the decor shop with Teresa, the owner, ushering me out while promising to send over a package to the house with a beautiful set of aqua glass bowls I’d pretended to look at while I waited for her to finish up with another customer. The bell chimed behind me as she swung the door closed, apparently not bothering to wait for the automatic weight to close itself.
I had half a mind to stomp back to Francine and ask her why exactly she’d been so sure I’d find someone to help me, so giddy when I left. Glancing down to the end of the street, there was only one more storefront to go to, and I couldn’t make out the name from where I stood. I took a step in that direction, not wanting to stand in front of Teresa’s shop any longer in case she came back out to shoo me away or offered to send me throw pillows. But my steps faltered as I glanced at my watch. It was already four in the afternoon; I’d have to head back to the house soon to reapply a pound of makeup under my eye. Was it really worth it just to be disappointed again?
I pulled in a deep breath, steeling myself for more of the same, but I couldn’t leave, not with what Francine had said still ringing through my mind. What if this last shop was who she’d been talking about? Could I really just walk away without trying?
With the last of my strength, I strode toward the last storefront, my mind barely managing to remember what had been here before. The outside looked different than it once had when it was a salon, the crisp white paint around the trim now black. I turned around the corner to where the front entrance was and glanced up at the large sign that read “Tattoo” in bold lettering. My lips thinned into a line at that; what sort of help could I offer here, perhaps cleaning up the stations or helping with bookings? I couldn’t really sit out front, not with the location and the two walls lined with windows that showed off every square inch of the small storefront. Judging by what I could see there was only one station, the black patent leather bed looked as though it had been freshly cleaned, the ink and gun arranged meticulously.
Frowning, I considered my options again, but this might be the only chance I had. I could use the money Francine gave me to book a bus ticket, but I wanted to leave that as a last resort. At least some of the tension had eased from my chest with that lifeline in my back pocket.
I threw the now empty coffee cup into the garbage can at the corner and pulled open the glass door. The name of the shop was plastered to the front door, but I barely caught it, my nerves ratcheting up too high to focus on it—Something About Ink, which would make sense for a tattoo parlor.
I stepped into the store and took in the dark interior. The walls were a deep violet with black velvet armchairs stationed by the door as a waiting area. Tattoo designs were hung on the walls, some as samples while others were framed as decor. The front desk sat empty, a computer and phone sitting at the corner, along with what looked like a booking calendar.
“Be right there,” a masculine voice called from the partially open curtain leading to the back, his voice muffled as though he was attempting to speak around the food in his mouth.
“Take your time,” I called back distractedly, something on the desk catching my attention. A small photo sat framed on the desk almost tucked away, out of sight. I placed the bouquet of yellow tulips on the counter and sat the bags on the floor before grasping the edge of the silver frame. My fingers smoothed down the edge, my sunglasses slipping down my nose a fraction, needing an unobstructed view of the photo. It was a pencil sketch, the detail exquisite, every strand of hair placed perfectly, the smile stretched from ear to ear, a look of hope, of joy on her face, so full of life. A sob racked my chest and moisture flooded my eyes, my hand lifting to stifle the sound. I blinked furiously against the tears now blurring my vision, unable to look away from that drawing, from the girl who used to be so carefree and so full of love, from the masterful artwork that sent memories of that night racing through my mind.
“Giana,” Kellan breathed from behind me, my name not a question—it was more like a prayer, like something he never thought would touch his lips again. I couldn’t hold back the next sob as the frame slipped from my hand, clattering back onto the counter. Cracks spiderwebbed through the thick glass, mirroring the ones spreading through my heart.
Chapter eleven
Giana
Six years ago …
“Itfeelssoweirdto be here in the middle of the day,” I admitted as Kellan unlocked the steel door to the firehouse. With the help of some of Merrick’s underground friends, we were able to get a key made for the back door, which was much more convenient than slipping in through the narrow window. Although I was able to slide through easily, both of the guys ended up getting stuck every so often. Despite having the entire station to ourselves, we still chose to stick to the basement area, our little home away from home. The rest of the place was eerie, the space so open with all the furniture underground, plus it helped in the summer heat with no air conditioning where the upstairs was stifling compared to our cool cavernous den.
“Yeah, I really hope no one notices us here.” Kellan frowned, looking back at the abandoned parking lot as though someone was about to pop up out of the bushes.
“We’ll be fine,” I chuckled, placing my hand over his, still poised on the door handle to pull it open. We both paused at the light touch. We so often held hands without even thinking about it, but lately—with my feelings drifting further and further away from being friends—there was an electricity that sparked between us, something that promised more. Heat flooded my body as I glanced up to find his sable eyes already on me. They were so warm, so full of love, of joy, I couldn’t help the way my heart fluttered at his attention.
My other hand itched to trail along his jaw, to grip the back of his neck and bring his deliciously lickable lips down onto mine. Would he take control of the kiss, searing his mouth to mine, or would it be soft and gentle, so full of care and love? Or would he push me away …? Would he tell me he didn’t feel the same and our friendship would be completely ruined?
