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“I can’t.” I shake my head. “I’ll figure something else out.”
“No. If you need the money, you will get the money. Give me your banking information.”
Giving it to him, my chest is twisting with anxiety. “I’m sorry.” I sigh.
He gives his own heavy sigh. “Whatever is going on, when it all falls apart, Manuel will be…let’s hope it stays at upset alone. Something tells me you know that though.”
Three hours later, the money is in the account. I send the money and then a text to Helena confirming it’s sent.
Her only response is a thumbs up.
Bitch.
* * *
Manuel
I look around the room. It’s a dump so bad roaches don’t want to be in here. Vancouver is a place we’ve brought a significant amount of cocaine into. I’m not exactly a get out and see a city person. However, it’s a beautiful city, and when I was younger, it was one of the places I liked most to watch people to figure out how to form the masks I needed.
Nothing about this city makes any sense for it to be a place Richie Angelo ran to. First Newfoundland, now here. He was also in Toronto and Montreal. The first two places seemed like a given. Since he needed to get lost, he probably crossed by ferry or car into Canada. Then once he got in, he was going to move around more freely in Canada.
Except the locations… they’re not exactly the places most people escape to.
There are traces of cocaine on almost every surface in the room. How the hell is he still alive if he’s this jumped up all the time?
The fucker better not die before I get my hands on him.
* * *
Nicolette
I’m in the library reading, when my phone rings. I assume it’s Manuel calling. He thought he might be able to come home today. I’m wondering if it’s good news or bad news.
Only it’s not his name on the display. I close my eyes. I’m not answering. I’m not. She can tell the whole fucking world for all I care.
A sigh of relief slips out when my phone finally stops ringing. It starts ringing again, and I flinch. No. No. No. A text comes through. I shake my head. I’m not reading it. Fuck. I can’t read it through the tears.
The phone begins ringing again. I answer, but shame fills me when I can’t say a word. Just cry.
“Ah now, where did that fiery Nicolette go? I liked her. It’s sad really. I liked you a lot. If you had told my father Eddie was gay you wouldn’t have needed to do a thing. He would have killed Eddie for you. But you took it into your own hands. And here we are now.” It’s almost sad.
“Fuck you.”
She laughs. “There’s no crying in the underworld, Nicolette. We all made our deals with the devil to get here. My deal was done at seventeen. Except it wasn’t a deal I made; it was one between my father and the bastard Brandon. Why should I leave? He’s the scum, and he’s worth more than five million. I want him dead. Your husband is the perfect man for the job.”
“How the hell—”
“I don’t care, Nicolette. I don’t care about anyone but me and my daughter. Figure it out.” The same words from before. The same disdain for what she’s asking me to go through. She hangs up without another word.
There’s no way to hide it now. There is absolutely no way to hide it. This isn’t five million. Killing a member of the Outfit is… Oh god.
Panic sends me into actual flight off the long sofa and around the huge library like a chicken with my head cut off. Where can I go? What can I do? Overwhelmed, my legs give out from under me, and I hit the floor with a thump that hurts my ass. But it’s nothing close to the pain in my chest at the thought of losing Manuel.
Joe is in front of me on his knees. “Mija, talk to me. Tell me what is going on.”
I shake my head. I can't tell him.
Suddenly, Joe is ripped away from me with a roar. “What did you do to her?” Manuel demands.
