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I haven’t forgotten what happened at Serafino’s, Sara.
Serafino’s—the Michaelson club in the Seaport. Daniel’s club.
Daniel sent me these emails—why?
My hand slammed my laptop and I all but shoved it away from me as I stood up, heart pounding.Daniel—no. He wouldn’t.I shook my head and began to pace. But who else—it was too specific. Exhaustion made my temper surge to the surface faster than I could control it and tears stormed down my face as I snatched up my phone. Chest heaving, wondering if he’d gotten drunk and done this, or if it was another stupid test—maybe he’d gotten wind of me moving to San Francisco and took it as some kind of betrayal. Or perhaps the paranoia, the violence was getting to him. I had no idea, but I was done. Beyond done.
I couldn’t believe I’d woken up worried about him, grieving for him, andmissinghim.
Every time, I let him tangle up my heart strings and this shit happened. However, this was pretty bad for him. I wondered, briefly, if he’d been on drugs or—whatever. I shook my head as I pulled up his contact and dialed him for the first time in two and a half years.
“Sara? You’re calling me?” His deep, sleepy voice answered, sounding puzzled and too close, causing my stupid, stupid heart to leap even as fury ripped through me. He’d just woken up. Two and a half years later, and I still knew what he sounded like when he first woke up.
“You are a real piece of shit, you know that?
There was a startled breath. “Did you call me just to tell me that?” He drawled, sounding more alert.
“I’m done with this shit, Daniel,” I snarled into the phone. “What I do with my life does not revolve around you. Me moving away doesn’t mean I’m threatening your fucking empire—so how dare you fill up my inbox with shitty threats and memories.” I let out a ragged breath and tried to gather my thoughts, tried to think of a way to hurt him. “I don’t care about you anymore but if you pull this shit again, I will go to the Feds. I’mdone.”
“You’re crying—” Daniel sounded baffled and like he was trying to wake himself up. “Why are you crying? Did something happen, did a Fed contact you?”
“You know what you did,” I shouted into the phone. “Just—just leave me alone. Stop with this shit, stop.” I heaved out a shuddering breath. “Right after the wedding, after all this time, and with email? I didn’t think you could sink any lower.”
“Sara, please, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Daniel said, and I vaguely registered that he sounded frantic. “Tell me what’s going on. Why did you call? Why are you upset?” His breathing was rapid, and I thought I heard the click of computer keys. “Are you home—are you safe?”
“Go to hell, Danny,” I spat and hung up the phone, then I blocked his number.
You should have done that the morning he sent you packing.
A sob heaved out of me through clenched teeth and exhaustion washed over me. But I forced myself to go take a shower, to get dressed, and get out of this goddamn apartment. I left a message for Lia, asking her to call me back, and resolved to tell her and Ty what Daniel had done. I couldn’t be around him—maybe I’d even try to get out to San Francisco sooner or something.
Struggling with bone-deep exhaustion and jet lag, I left my house and ambled toward downtown, thinking I’d go to a coffee shop. Maybe go catch a movie.
Suddenly, my phone began to buzz, and I scowled when I saw it was Pasquale. I sent it to voicemail and ducked inside of a coffee shop, then it began to buzz again. Heavy. Ugh, why was Heavy calling me? Was Daniel trying to do reverse psychology on me?
I ordered my coffee and snack, ignoring my buzzing phone, even as I thought I felt other patrons’ side-eyeing me. Finally, my coffee came, and I sipped at it, pulling out my phone to put it on silent. But Artie was calling me.
Shit.He’d become like an uncle to me—hell, a father, even. With a sigh, I answered before it went to voicemail, although I immediately said, “Artie, if Daniel—”
“Kid.” Artie’s voice shook down the line, relief and fear pouring through. I jolted and almost looked at the phone to make sure it was Artie. I’d never heard him sound like that. “Sara—yeah, I’ve got her.”
“Artie, what’s wrong?” I asked and I set down my coffee, pressing my hand over my other ear. My heart jolted. “Is Lia okay?”
“She—I’m trying, asshole,” Artie snarled. There was a garble of static and then the music in the café began blasting over my head.
“Hold on, I can’t hear you,” I said and hurried outside, gripping my coffee.
“Miss, your order,” the barista yelled.
“I’ll be right back,” I called over my shoulder as I pushed outside. “Artie, what is it? What’s wrong?”
He was breathing hard in my ear, and I heard banging. “What’s wrong—what’s wrong?Sara,where are you? Are you home? Please, God, tell me you’re in that fuckin’ fortress of yours. We’re downstairs, come on kid, let us in.”
“I’m down the street.”
“Where?” Artie—he sounded panicked. A panic that pressed into my bones and closed up my throat. “Where are you?”
“I’m at theDowntown Bean,” I said, and Artie said it out loud, then cursed in Italian. “I’m less than five minutes away—whatis going on?” I began to walk in the direction of my apartment. “You’re at my place? Why? Never mind, I’m coming.”
