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"Holyshit! Now I kind of wish I was asking some questions because I'm wondering if I can come over for Thanksgiving dinner."
I laugh.“They probably wouldn’t even notice a few more guests.”
She grins before she says, “Good luck.”
I open my purse to take out some money. Not that I have much, but she just drove me all the way here. If I wasn't afraid that I'd have been chased,Iwould've gone somewhere else. Maybe I would've taken the train ora cab oran Uber or something,but at least I made it here inone piece.
"Don't you dare even think of paying me,” she says. "My name is Regina, and I have a feeling we'll meet up again someday." I get out of the car and when I turn to leave, she's already halfway down the road. “Okay, Regina,” I whisper to myself. I’ll pay it forward somehow.
Isquaremy shoulders and look up at the castle whereEden and Sergio reside.
A year ago, my best friendEdenescaped the clutches of acult andended upfalling in love with one of Boston's most dangerous men. You would think that was unusual and a little unexpected, especially if you knew that Eden looks like a model for an Amish catalog. But when you seeEdenand Sergio together, you quickly realize they are a match made in heaven,as ifcreated for each other. I don't believe in soulmates, but if I did, Eden and Sergio would be in the dictionary next to the definition.
That's kind of a problem right now, though, because it's almost impossible to talk to Eden without Sergio finding out.
Maybe Iwant him to find out. Since I’m Eden’s best friend, he's notgonnalet one of his guys kill me…is he? The reality is I have no idea what SergioMontaviois capable of.
Scratch that.
I'm fully aware of what SergioMontaviois capable of, I just don't know what he's going to decide when it comes to me.
Maybe this wasn't the best idea to come to Eden, but there's a shortage of anonymous, purple-haired women with cars that will come and drive me away from here, so I've kind of made my bed.
Shit.
Maybe Sergio's in Tuscany. Maybe he's traveling.I don’t know what he's doing, but right now Ihave tofindEden.
Thankfully,Edenand Sergio aren’tthe only people that live in this house, since it's actually owned by Tosca, one of Sergio's relatives, the matriarch of the Rossi family. She's friendly enough if you are on pleasant terms with her, but if you're not,you'rekind of fucked. Tosca has a spine of steel and isn't exactly the most hospitable woman. She's nice enoughwithherfriends, though, and luckily for me we're friends.
I pull up my phone and text Eden. I texted her on the way, but she hasn't responded. Eden isn't atexter, though. She barely knows how to use a cellphonebecauseshe just doesn't care about them. She's one of those freaks of nature that likes to do things that don't involve interference from social media.
I don't get it either.
To my surprise, though, a few little dots pop up on the screen.
Quinn! Where are you? What's going on?
Ihit the call button, thinking that's going to be easier than waiting forEdento realize she has a text.
"Hello?"
"Open the front door, please."
I'm shaking, out in the wide open, where anyone can see me.
Eden opens the door, takes one look at me, grabs my hand,and yanks meinto the house.
"Go straight to the reception room,” she hisses.
Reception room?Ooo-K.
“Shhh,” she whispers."He's here and I don't want him to see you."
Oh, sweet Jesus.Did I just leave Boston only to drive straight back into the arms of the guy that's trying to come after me?
I look around the reception room,wondering where the hell she's expecting me to hide inthisstupid place, when SergioMontaviohimself enters the room.
"Ah,there you are. Making my job easier again, are you, Quinn?”
