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Drive there, eat, chat, and drive back.
Two hours maximum, he said.
I watch myself in the elevator mirror, a mix of anger and guilt rolling around in my stomach.
My mind flashes back to seeing Vaughn helpless on the sidewalk. Back to pleading with strangers to help us. Back to the frantic trip to the hospital, not knowing if he was going to be okay.
Of washing his blood from my hands as I cried useless tears.
And I tip my chin up, sticking with my decision to see this through.
Jules is waiting in the basement garage when the elevator doors open. He walks me to the waiting SUV, helping me into the rear passenger seat before rounding the car to slip into the driver’s seat.
“Where to, kid?”
“Take me to Lucia Romano’s apartment.”
His eyes find mine in the rearview as disbelief takes center stage on his tanned face.
“That’s not funny.”
Without dropping his gaze, I deadpan. “It’s not meant to be, Jules. Now, are you going to take me…” I trail off to pop a threatening brow. “Or should I find someone else who will?”
He shakes his head silently. “You know I can’t—”
“Fine.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and place my hand on the door handle. Right before I tug it open, Jules’s agitated voice stops me.
“Don’t!” I pan around to find his panic-stricken eyes on me. “I’ll take you. But this stays between the two of us.”
I press my lips together to suppress the grin that threatens my mouth, nodding solemnly. “Of course.”
He lets out a heavy breath as he spins in his seat, muttering low under his breath. “Damn women.”
Streets zip past as we close in on our destination, and less than ten minutes later, Jules pulls over on a tree-lined street in the West Village.
“That’s her brownstone over there.”
I follow the line of his sight, noting steps leading up to a beautiful townhouse.
“Let’s go then.”
With a heavy sigh, Jules slips out of the door, and I make my way onto the sidewalk alongside him. He walks beside me as we close the distance, climb the steps, and winces openly when I ring the bell.
I take a second to start a voice recording on my cell, dropping it into my ass pocket right as she answers abruptly, a sleek eyebrow arched at the sight of us—mainlyme—on her doorstep.
“I can’t believe you hired those men to kill Vaughn Burton.”
She smirks sadistically with a shrug. “My only regret is that they didn’t end his sad little life.”
I swallow a retort, needing this to play out perfectly. Instead, I simply ask, “Can we come in? Just to talk.”
She snorts at my request and looks me up and down as though finding me lacking, before giving me her back, inviting me in.
Just as I’d known you would, bitch.
My lips lift in a savage smile as I follow her, palming the heavy bag that rests on my hip.
She leads us to a wide-open living space, gesturing that we sit.
