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Oh, God, oh,God. He told him what would happen?
I can see the entrance to the closet from here. At least I think it's a closet, but I pray it's a doorway that leads out of this fucking room.
I could… crawl over on my belly…
No. He might hear me. I try to convince myself he’s a little preoccupied at the moment, but the risk is too high. I shake my head and gently lower myself to my belly, grateful for those yoga classes because this would otherwise be a very uncomfortable position for me.
I slither my way to the door as a fist thumps against flesh and another cry erupts. “I told you if I caught you again what the consequence would be. I never give second chances and you fucked up.” Another slam of a fist. I flinch. It sounds like someone striking an anvil. God, he’s going to beat this man to death.
I make it to the door and my heart soars. Maybe this is not just an entrance to a closet but an escape route. The sound of cars driving past is unmistakable, which tells me that we’re on an outer wall near a street. Good, good.
I turn to throw myself through the doorway and try to remember a prayer from my school days, but I can't. Right before I leave, there's a little “ping, ping, ping” sound on the floor. I look down; my coveted pearl earring is rolling away from me.
Noooo! I am not going to leave it here.
First of all, big, scary mafia dude may find it. Second of all, that earring means something to me. It’s pretty much the only thing that does.
I have to go back for it. At that very moment, metal clicks and I realize that’s—the sound of a gun being cocked.
Oh my God oh my God oh my GOD!I look frantically for the pearl and don't see it anywhere. I can buy another one!No. I can't.Because those wouldn't be given to me by the only person who ever loved me.
Now in a complete panic, I keep looking around as the man pleads for his life. Oh my God. Finally, the smallest glimmer of a pearl shimmers into view and my fingers close around it just as the trigger is pulled. My thoughts are drowned out by a scream of pain and the blast of a gunshot. Another.
Jesus Christ.I get closer to the door just as a sharp voice shouts, "Who the fuck is that?"
The old expression says, “if looks could kill”…but I'm wondering right now if a tone of voice could kill. I run to the door, yank it open, and flee. I get to the parking lot, my hands trembling. Of course, I took public transportation here. I don't own a car.
I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. I look wildly up and down the street teeming with cars and exhaust, bright streetlights illuminating my way. Footsteps follow me at an oddly leisurely pace, as if their owner is certain he’ll get me. I run to one of the cars that’s paused at a red light and pound wildly on the door.
The driver turns at the light and zips away without making eye contact, likely convinced I’m some kind of a lunatic.No.I knock at the door of the next vehicle stopped at the light, a pick-up driven by a tough-looking guy. He starts to roll down hiswindowbut takes one look behind me and guns his engine, driving straight through the red light. I stare after him, frantic.
It's gotta be Adriano coming after me. Maybe I can reason my way out of this. Maybe I can tell him that I know Sergio and Eden.
Or maybe he's one of those guys who would rather do what he wants and ask forgiveness rather than permission. Because itisAdriano, and he has his gun out, pointingitstraight at me.
"Get in!” someone shouts behind me. I look over my shoulder to find ayoung woman driving abeat-upMazdaopeningthe passenger door for me.Not just unlocking it but practically throwing herselfupover the consoleandopening itfor me. I'm not stupid so I get in, slam the door behind me, and she takes off.
My heart beats so quicklyI can hardly think for several minutes. Finally, when my breathing steadies I ask her,“Is hestill following? Oh my God. Wehave todrive faster.”
Ihalfexpect gunshots to ring out.Ishe going to try to shoot her tires orsomething? But no. I glancein the rearview mirror to see Adriano standing casually on the street corner, his hands in his pockets. No gun in sight. He's staring at the car and as we leave him behind,he takes out a phone and puts it up to his ear.
I turn to see my savior, a slight woman with crazy purple hair pinned up on the top of her head.
"I know the look of a woman in peril!” she says with afrown. "I don't need to know details."
People say that women can be catty. People say that women are competitive. But this woman right here is the perfect example of a woman who's got other women’s backs, even though we don't know each other's names.
"Thank you."
She navigatesthe traffic with ease, leaning on her horn whenpedestrians try to take their lives into their own hands by jaywalking, and within minutes the angry man who was stalking after me is nowhere to be seen.
"Where to?" she inquires, the only questionshe’s asked me thus far.I'm so grateful I could kiss her.
I take ina deep breath and look out the window, debating with myself. My best friend in the whole world may not be the best choice to go to right now because the man who's following me works for her husband. ButEdenhas the best head on her shoulders of anyone I have ever met in my life, so the answer is easy. "I need to go to the North Shore. Can you help me?"
Thirtyminutes later, not because we're that close, but because this purple-haired woman drives like a bat out of hell, we pull up to The Castle, the Rossi family estate where Sergio and Eden live. They might be preoccupied with the baby or sleeping, or any number of things.
I draw in a breath. Imposing and beautiful, like a statue carved from stone, it stands against the night sky like a beacon, the windows twinkling with lights.
