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“Hi. I’d like to rent an SUV, please.”
Part of me thinks I should get a tiny, unobtrusive car. But the stronger part of me says get as close to a tank as you can in case someone tries to run me off the road. I give them all my information. While they process the reservation, I go to the vending machine and use almost all the cash I have to get snacks.
I know they’ll have the car gassed up, and I have an idea where I’m going. Even with a vehicle that’ll be about as fuel efficient as a Howitzer, I’m confident I’ll reach my destination on one tank. I can’t get around giving them my credit card information, even if I was going to pay in cash. I don’t doubt the Mancinellis will track that. But even Enzo doesn’t know about the place I’m going.
“Here you go, Ms. Russo. One of our guys will pull the car around for you.”
“Thank you.”
I force myself to appear relaxed when I’m nervous as hell. I’m trying not to draw attention to myself, but am I being watched? As soon as I get where I’m going, I’m calling Enzo. I don’t care if all I can do is leave a message. At least it’ll be there when he can listen to it.
It’s not long before I’m on the road. Once I cross the George Washington Bridge, I’m on Route 80. It’ll take me two and a half hours to get to my hiding place, but even with traffic as I leave the city, I feel calmer. By the time I approach the Poconos, I’m breathing easier. I’m constantly checking my mirrors to make sure no car follows too close or for too long. I even get off the highway at a few exits and make detours before getting back on. I’m alone.
When I pull off the gravel road to open the gate, I wait to see if any cars approach. I get as close as I can before I leave the door open and engine running. Even if I didn’t fear needing to make a hasty getaway, I’m always nervous about closing all car doors with the keys inside. What if I somehow lock myself out?
Once I’m onto the property with the gate shut again, I pull around back until I can get inside and open the garage door. This place — my grandparents’ hunting lodge where they never actually hunted — is isolated enough that people who don’t know where to look won’t find it.
Once I’m inside and I’ve tucked away the car in the garage, I collapse on the sofa and shut my eyes. I rest my head back and exhale. The adrenaline and whatever else I’ve been surviving on for the past three hours vanishes, and I’m suddenly shivering. Goosebumps form on my arms, and I can feel them under my skirt. I drag the blanket off the back of the sofa and wrap myself in it, allowing myself to catch my breath. Then I gather my last burst of courage and find the satellite phone. Reception is shit out here.
“Enzo, it’s me. I’m safe. I’m sure Marco’s already called you. And I’m certain you’re more pissed at me than you’ve ever been at anyone, but I don’t want you to be panicking. I’m somewhere few people know about and even less would know where to look. I don’t want anything to happen to your brother. Whoever this is already shot Afonso. I didn’t want Marco to be next. I’m not taking this to your parents, either. Right now, hiding is best. I don’t have reliable cell service where I am. I’m not leaving for at least two days, so if you call or text, I can’t promise I’ll get it. It doesn’t mean I’m in danger. It means hiding is working. I hate saying this over the phone. I love you.”
I feel the tears welling, and the lump in my throat threatens to keep me from saying anything more. But I persevere.
“There’s nothing I won’t do to keep you safe, and the same goes for your family. I know they’re trained for shit, but I still refuse to force them anywhere near this. I pray you understand because I love you more than anything or anyone. Bye.”
I don’t know what else to say, so I hang up. I’m completely drained.
ChapterSeventeen
Lorenzo
Success. Fina-fucking-ly. A trip to New Orleans ensured the Grassos and Rizzos now understand that nothing happens without my uncle’s permission. Ships they both depend upon are at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico. No one is even going to look in their direction after the fear of God I put in them. Kansas City wasn’t so easy.
The Grassos had the means to put up a fight there, so I had to use logic and not brute force since I don’t have the men to wage a war. Watching his bank accounts drain in real time can be very convincing. Seeing photos of how I fucked up Tony while holding his own son hostage in his dorm room convinced the Grasso don to agree to my terms. Clothes hide his son’s injuries. Not so much for Tony. He won’t be recovering from his.
“Luca—”
“You need to get home now. It’s Michelle. We can’t find her.”
I stare at my phone for a second. I’ve only just turned it back on for the first time in four days.
“What the fuck do you mean?”
“Right after you talked to Marco, someone pulled the fire alarm in her building. She got separated from Alonzo and Marco after someone shot Afonso. David searched for the shooter. The crowd panicked, and it was a near stampede. They saw her get in a cab, but no one could get in a car fast enough to follow her. Our drivers were on the other side of the building, jammed up in traffic. We know she rented a car from her credit card record.”
“What about the vehicle’s tracker?”
“It only has GPS, and she isn’t using it.”
“Then she knew where she’s going. I’m calling Laura.”
“Fine. I’ll call back when we know more.”
I hang up and notice the voicemail icon. I know she called. Whatever she’s done is rash and driven by fear. It’s naïve, which makes it foolish, but I know she has a plan. I skip over the ones I don’t care about until I hear her voice. My chest aches so much that I rub it. I finally hear her say she loves me, and it’s over the phone somewhere I might not find. Fuck that. I’m finding this hiding spot. There’s no two ways about that. And when I do, I’m turning mypiccolinaover my lap and reddening her ass — after I make love to her until next week.
I listen to the message three times before I hit save.
“Laura, it’s Lorenzo. Where would Michelle go if she didn’t want anyone to find her?”
