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“I suggest you invite us in,” he continues in a gravelly voice that would have been pleasant if it weren’t for the ice in every syllable.
Romano suddenly pushes the door open in with a force that belies his sinewy frame, causing me to stumble backward. He, Miguel, and the other goon step through the doorway.
I take several steps back, careful not to make it seem like I’m running. My heart races as I begin playing out scenarios in my head that don’t end with me dead.
Hulking men look intimidating, but all that muscle makes them slow. And slow is good. I can use slow to my advantage.
Romano stays behind his lackeys and locks the door behind him. He’s clearly the ringleader of their creepy trio.
The urge to run beats down on me—to make a run for my bedroom, bolt the door, and slip out the bathroom window—but years of learning from the Reaper Druids keep my feet firmly rooted in place.
My dad had warned me countless times. “Never turn your back on an enemy, and never let an opponent figure out what you’re going to do next. The trick is to keep them guessing, Sparrow.”
Besides, if I tried to run, they’d either have me riddled with bullets or tackled to the floor in two seconds flat.
I shift just enough to feel the reassuring presence of my knife beneath my skirt.
A big man with a gun will always underestimate a small woman with a knife—if he’s an idiot,” Mags had told me.
I really, really hope these men are idiots. I don’t know about Romano and the other goon, but Miguel isn’t the sharpest tool in the box. But then again, from his body language alone, I know he’s had me fooled for the last two months of therapy.
I take a slow, steadying breath as Romano looks me over. “I can see how you managed to catch his attention. Distract him even.” He shakes his head.
Miguel sneers, “Vitelli has been here practically every night for the last month. Every. Fucking. Night. I never knew you were such a horny little bitch, Dr. Kellan.”
I channel my revulsion into a sweet smile, “No? Well, I always knew you were a deranged cretin, Miguel. ‘Big ol’ Mommy’ sure did a number on you.” Fake or not, therapy did expose some of the skeletons in the man’s closet.
“You fucking bitch!” An enraged Miguel snarls, taking a step toward me but Romano stops him with a single hand up.
“Patience, Miguel, you’ll get your chance. Vitelli must be on his way here as we speak. Save your anger and take it out on that motherfucker.”
To me, Romano continues, shaking his head, “Do you have any idea what the Cartel does to mouthy little women like you? I just worry my men and I would make such a mess, mia cara, even the cartel might not want you after all, eh, Miguel?”
“I’m sure we’ll find some use for whatever remains of her.” Miguel’s smile is so downright evil that a surge of bile comes up my throat. But I want—need to keep him talking, to prolong the inevitable. Cade is gone. Nico isn’t coming back. I’m on my own, and I had better fucking survive these monsters.
“You’ve been watching me haven’t you, Miguel? You bugged my phone. It’s been what, two, three months. Why?”
Romano answers instead, taking a casual look around. “Leo Ricci’s family became property of the Cartel the moment he turned his back on me, but since Maria already talked to you, I thought you would make for a fine bonus for the Cartel boys. After all, who doesn’t like to play doctor?”
Miguel and the other jughead guffaw. Then the humor wipes off Miguel’s face. “But somehow, Vitelli developed this disgusting habit of showing up every single time the Cartel came for you; it almost became a fucking joke.”
I’m speechless. My head is still spinning, trying to process what the Cartel thinks I know. “But Maria told me nothing about the Cartel.”
For the first time, Romano smiles. It looks more like a baring of teeth than anything. He says quietly, “She must have told you something, mia cara . Something you have since repeated to Vitelli. The only thing that would make that cold-hearted bastard protect a traitor’s wife and keep rewarding you with fucks is if you’re feeding him information on Cartel business.”
Oh wow. Now I’m an informant on the Mexican Cartel!
Since we’re working with conspiracy theories here, I take a breath and say in a serious tone, “Did you know, for my thesis, I actually invented a time machine to communicate with aliens? It’s a neat little contraption I made from aluminum foil and a plastic spoon—”
“Cut the crap. Where the hell are they?”
“Who?” I ask.
Romano’s voice is tight with irritation. “You don’t want to play dumb with me, doctor.”
“Maria and Victoria?” I glance at Miguel. “Weren’t you eavesdropping this afternoon?” Then I say to Romano, “Maria called me about your creepy friend in the park at Cozumel. And good little informant that I am, I ran to Nico with the gist, and he moved them away—” I snap my fingers for emphasis, “—like that.”
Romano’s face twitches and goes purple with rage. Looks like his cool and calm veneer is finally slipping. “To where? Where did Vitelli take them?”
