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A faint grunt interrupts the quiet. A muffled sound, which has me falling backward. I search for the source, and find it at my kitchen table, a shadowy figure seated in the dark.
My eyes shift toward the door.
“Don’t.” His voice.
Fear quickly changes to indignation. “How long have you been sitting there?” The kitchen curtains are pulled closed, shrouding the table in darkness. I can barely make out his features.
I stand, arms folded, very aware how naked I am.
He doesn’t respond. Typical.
“I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I know.”
Three weeks, and he knows?
“Come here.”
I resist the urge to go to him. He disappears then reappears, and all he has for me is “I know”? He expects us to pick up where we left off without an explanation? I should have asked Ciro to change the entry code.
“Riley,” he says, his tone laced with warning.
I swallow hard.
“Please.”
My eyes widen. Not once, in all the time we’ve spent together, has he ever used that word. I’m a pleaser. He’s a taker. And never do the two vary.
I shuffle forward, then move past him to adjust the curtain. Moonbeams dance across my skin, though he remains in partial darkness.
“What did I say about the lock?”
Is he angry? He mentioned out of nowhere about a month ago that I should hire someone to replace the flimsy lock on my door. Ciro informed me that modernized new locks for the apartments were on back order, that he intended to replace them.
My lips part, ready with my reply. “My boss—”
He cuts me off with another question. “What else did I ask you to do?”
My answer is the same one he has me repeat every visit. “Four times. Disconnect. Flee,” I murmur, softening slightly. Only someone who cares would be this obsessed with my safety, right? Worried how a woman new to Brooklyn and living alone makes for an easy target. “If my phone rings four times then stops, I’m to leave my apartment immediately.”
“Good girl.”
My cheeks warm at his praise. Still, I can count on one hand how many calls I’ve received on the landline number. C&C Enterprises and a few random telemarketers—everyone else uses my cell phone.
“Capisci?”
“Understand? No. Maybe if you explained why—” Who would be calling me? Why would I need to flee?
Who is he?
“Unfold your arms.”
I flush, caught off guard. What a picture I must have made, bare-chested and crawling around on the floor. My reaction’s misplaced, though; this man’s had his mouth on every inch of my body so why am I suddenly feeling shy?
“I’ve failed, haven’t I?”
“Failed?”
