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No. Can’t be. I pause with my purse in hand. But then, I promised.
Third ring.
With a sigh, I climb out onto the fire escape, barefoot and in my robe. Quite the sight with my wild hair and puffy eyes—if I had neighbors watching me.
By the fourth ring, I grow impatient. This is thirty, maybe forty seconds of my life I’ll never get back. I could be sleeping.
I eye my bed from the window as I wait for the fifth ring.
I wait and wait.
And then, I’m moving.
My hands and feet slip and slide on the steel steps as I clamber down. Luckily, I have my purse and cell phone, so I can call Kelly to pick me up if need be.
There’s a drop between the last metal rung and the grassy courtyard below. I could sprain an ankle, all for no reason.
It could be a wrong number.
If not, what’s the worst that could happen?
“Promise me.” My stranger warned me for a reason, right?
I release my purse, and it falls to the ground. Fingers wrapped around the lowest rung, I stretch my body and dangle my legs. Then, I let go, dropping like a sack of potatoes, hitting the ground, and then tumbling onto my buttocks so hard, the wind’s knocked out of me.
I’m sprawled on the grass and peering up at the sky when it happens. A loud, earth-shattering boom. The ground shakes. Bricks fall. Within seconds, flames shoot out of a window overhead.
Wait.
No. No. NO.
Not any window, my apartment window.
CHAPTER FOUR
“How am I alive?” It's the question that’s been foremost on my mind. But the answer is always the same.
Four times. Disconnect. Flee.
The police said there was a strong smell of gas on-site, and it was likely a faulty gas line that caused an explosion that ripped away walls, collapsed floors, and blew the roof off the building. If there’d been other tenants …
I escaped with a silk robe, and the contents of my purse: a wallet with my new NY driver’s license and credit cards, my passport, plus a checkbook, cell phone, a touchup makeup bag, birth control pills, tampons, and a box of Altoids. Oh, and keys to an apartment that no longer exists.
I should feel thankful.
Ciro and Kelly took me in after the explosion. A month later, and it’s not just my apartment that’s in shambles. My friendship with Kelly’s been strained since I walked in on Ciro snorting cocaine in our apartment living room. As best friends do, told her. “You’re an ungrateful bitch,” was her response, and the last words she’s said to me.
Still, I owe them for helping me get back on my feet. Casino construction invoices are flooding in, and C&C Enterprises has never been so busy. Before I return to Marietta at the end of summer, I’m determined to establish an organizational system for Ciro. Repairing my relationship with Kelly is another thing keeping me in NYC.
As for the last reason I’m still putting up with Ciro’s nonsense?
It’s not as if I’ll see him again.
I sigh. That part of my life is over.
The paper in my hand crinkles, drawing my attention. “Who is Emilio Smith?” I mutter, glaring at the unfamiliar name. I spent hours organizing Ciro’s desk, only to discover that within the hour, he’d carelessly tossed more paperwork onto the clear surface.
I set off in search of Ciro.
